#and ive allowed myself to reconnect with this band that i have so much love for

[miwtual]

the lyric “the only way to win is to reconnect, stay alive, stay alive” gives me chills every single time i hear it when i relisten to

[hystericalrogertaylor]

Reconnecting (Chapter Eleven)

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor X Reader

Word count: 2597

Summary: (Y/n) and Roger have been friends since the cradle. When they’re suddenly pulled apart and reconnected years later, they both can tell that the relationship has evolved. They lead very different lifestyles now. Can they continue what they had, or go for something more, with this gap between them?

Warnings: Verbal and physical abuse, cussing, drinking, one slightly sexual situation? 

A/N: Why do these chapters always seem shorter than they actually are? Whatever, I guess. Enjoy! 

Master list

Spotify playlist

~~~

You refused to go back into James’s room. You didn’t want to see the man you still loved (regrettably) unconscious and suffering. You just sat in the waiting room, crying silently.

You’d called Roger on the hospital’s phone, telling him what happened. He said he was on his way, and that he’d bring food. He arrived with the rest of the band and some takeout Chinese. They all sped into the waiting room, looking panicked and sad.

“Oh, my God, (Y/n).” John was the first to approach you, sitting down next to you and wrapping his arms around you. This only made you cry harder, holding onto him with all your strength.

The rest of the band sat around you, attempting to look sad. None of them liked James, and they wouldn’t care if he disappeared, it was still a horrible thing to have happened.

You sniffled, finally letting go of John. “I’m okay, guys. Just...thanks for being here.”

Freddie set a takeout box on your leg. “We’ll always be here for you. You’re like our sister.”

You slowly took the takeout box, opening it up. The smell and Freddie’s comment made you feel tons better. You took a fork from Brian and dug in, almost inhaling the food.

Once you were done, you took a long, deep breath. “I think I’m gonna go back there.”

“And see James?” Roger asked.

“Yeah.” You stood up, brushing some crumbs off your shirt. “Someone stand outside the room in case anything goes wrong.”

Roger immediately shot up. “I’ll go.” He put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you back towards James’s room.

You stood at the door, hand on the knob, gathering the courage to twist it. Roger had an arm around your waist, holding you close to him for support. You leaned you head onto his shoulder, as if to absorb his energy. After several minutes of standing like that, you broke away from him and opened the door to James’s room.

You were shocked to find him awake. He was sitting up in bed, two IV’s in either arm, looking absolutely livid. When you opened the door, he looked over at you, and you could tell this wasn’t going to go well. You shut the door slowly.

“Hey (Y/n),” he started, “what happened?”

You blinked. You could tell he knew the full extent of what happened. “Um, y--you overdosed on cocaine.”

“Uh huh.” He looked off into space, seemingly deep in thought. “And yeah, whose fault was that?”

“Y-yours?”

“No!” he screamed. You backed up against the door, suddenly terrified. “No! It’s yours! You weren’t there to help me! You were out with friends, likely making a fool of yourself and me!”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, beginning to hyperventilate.

“If you look stupid, it makes me look bad! Hell, maybe you even cheated on me while you were out! Who the fuck knows?! Certainly not me! Certainly not you!” You could tell he still had drugs in his system, because his words were mushy and he wasn’t making much sense. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Because you’re my boyfriend,” you sobbed. “I care about you, you scared me. I thought you were going to die!”

“Like you’d actually care!” he screamed.

“How dare you?!” You stomped over to him, suddenly angry yourself. You stuck a finger in his chest, articulating your words. “I come home every night to take care of your drunks ass. I cook you meals when you’re hungover. I called the ambulance for you! How fucking dare you insinuate that I don’t care!”

James grabbed your wrist, twisting it and pulling you forward so his face was close to yours. You let out a yelp of pain, having to put your other hand on the bed to keep yourself from falling on him. “Don’t yell at me, sweetheart,” he growled, terrifying you. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, holding the place he’d had his hand on and backing away slowly. In that moment, you were genuinely scared he was about to kill you. “What happened?” you asked, tears falling freely. “What happened to the sweet, American boy I knew? The one who loved me and wanted the best for me? Where has he gone?! Where’s the real James!” You flew out the door when James began shifting to get out of bed.

Roger was still there, leaning against the wall with his ear pressed to it. He looked calm, but you knew that if he’d been listening, it was masking a storm of rage.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said. As his hand reached for the door, you quickly reached out and grabbed it, holding it gingerly.

“Please, just let him be. He’ll come around,” you said softly.

“No, he won’t!” Roger took his hand back, unleashing the storm you knew was there. “He’s had time to get better, to fix himself, and he hasn’t done jack shit!”

“Roger, please just drop it.” You wrapped your arms around him, only in need of some affection. He reciprocated your hug, running a hand up and down your back.

He sighed. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

You stiffled a sob. “I know. It just doesn’t feel like it.”

---

You were the only “family member” James had in England, so you stayed with him at the hospital for the night. Once visiting hours were over, the band had to go home, albeit reluctantly. Roger had told the rest of Queen about what had happened, but he did it in the cafeteria where you couldn’t hear and, subsequently, relive the moment. None of them wanted to leave you alone with the madman, but they just weren’t allowed to stay.

You sat in the chair in James’s room, staring at his sleeping figure. One recurring thought you’d had for a while was that he looked so peaceful while he slept. You could almost reach across the bed and run your hand through his jet black hair that you loved so much. You could almost pretend it was like the college days. Lunches together, joking around and sharing food. Study dates, which always ended up in the corner of the library, kissing and hoping no one was looking. After sex, how you’d cuddle and he’d run his fingers along your waist, tickling you and making you smile. In his sleeping state, you could almost pretend you weren’t falling in love with your best friend and that this man was still a good person.

But then he’d stir, and the feelings were gone.

---

After another day on watch at the hospital, James was allowed to go home. You’d called Brian to come and get you both, because you knew Roger would cause a scene and you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. James was in a wheelchair next to you as you watched Brian pull up to the curb. You helped James into the back seat and you went and sat in the passenger seat.

James brooded the whole way home. Brian caught you up on what you’d missed at the studio, and you told him about the random things you’d seen in the hospital waiting room and cafeteria. You left out anything related to James.

Brian dropped you off at your house and made you promise to call him if any troubles arose. You thanked him, giving him a hug before assisting James into the house.

Your boyfriend went straight for the fridge, pulling out a can of beer. You came up behind him, yanking it out of his hand. “Hey!” He turned to you, grabbing your wrist. “Give it back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “The doctor said no more alcohol. You need to see that therapist like he suggested.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting me to see that bitchy therapist.” James used his other hand to yank the beer out of your hand, pushing you backwards until you fell. He stepped over you on his way out of the kitchen. “Now leave me alone.”

You stood up, trying to contain your anger. You’d decided that you couldn’t be sad about this asshole anymore; it was time to stop taking his shit.

“James Lewis Mathers, you get back here this instant!” You stormed out into the living room, glaring at him as he sat down in his chair. “If you want to stay in this house, a few things are going to have to change.”

He chuckled darkly. “Nice try, sweetheart. I’m the one with a paying job. I pay the bills and the rent. You have no power to kick me out.”

“Right, and when was the last time you went to work?” you asked.

James looked around awkwardly. “A couple weeks…”

“Mmm hmm.” You shook your head, putting you hands on your hips.

“Oh, and when was the last time you got paid for something?” he asked, standing up. “Last time I checked, your money was being used for coffee for that stupid band.”

“Don’t you dare call them stupid!” you shouted. “Queen has been there for me more than you ever have!”

“Right, which is why you’re still in the same shitty apprenticeship position after almost, what, four years? Five?” he retorted.

“At least I’m able to enjoy myself in the studio!” you screamed. “At least Roger knows how to treat me!”

James blinked, frowning. “I didn’t say anything about Roger.”

You tried to ignore the dump of adrenaline into your system. “The whole band,” you stumbled. “That whole band is more of a family to me than you are.”

James nodded. “All right. Whatever. Think what you want.” He sat back down, opening the beer. You sighed, turning into the bedroom and locking the door. He could sleep on the couch for once.

---

“Don’t tell me how to play drums if you can’t even hold a drumstick properly!” Roger nabbed said drumstick out of Brian’s hand, rolling his eyes. “Let me play my own bloody instrument, you stick to yours.”

“But it sounds clunky and weird!” Brian responded. “It sounds like you’re drumming just to drum, not keep a beat.”

“Oh, go cry about it.” Roger sat down on the couch next to you, drumming the sticks on his knee.

“No, I won’t! We’re working on this together, we have to agree on shit!”

Paul Prenter, who had decided to start showing up to recording sessions, looked back and forth between the men. He refused to look at you. “Maybe if Roger--”

“Butt out!” Roger said, not even giving Paul a glance as he lit a cigarette that hung off his lip. “This has nothing to do with you.” Paul nodded, pressing his lips together.

Sheffield, who was sitting at the soundboard, put his head in his hands. “Boys, we’ve got to release this album in a week. That’s ONE. WEEK! And we’re not even close to done with the finishing touches on recording. So someone get in there and record Roger’s drumming part!”

Roger stood up, handing his cigarette to you. You stuck the thing between your lips, figuring he wasn’t going to want it later. He slowly meandered into the recording room. You wondered why he was being fairly nonchalant (for himself) today. Sheffield groaned, hitting his head down on the switch board. Roger sat down at his drums, playing some random beat.

“See?” Brian shouted. “That sounds better than what he was trying to play!”

“Darling, please just relax,” Freddie said from his position next to Paul. “What Roger’s doing sounds fine and I’m sure you couldn’t do better, so please let him do his thing.” Brian groaned and turned towards Roger, watching him do his thing.

---

Roger somehow managed to convince you to go out again, along with the rest of the band this time...and Paul. But no one except Freddie was paying attention to him.

The six of you sat down at a table in a different bar than from a few nights ago. Freddie ordered a round of shots for everyone, and you politely gave yours to Roger. He downed both in quick succession, not even seeming phased.

You could tell something was bugging him. Brian had picked on him at least ten more times back at the studio and he’d hardly responded.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “What’s the problem?” When he just shook his head, you let out a sigh. “C’mon Roger. You can trust me.”

“But you apparently can’t trust me.” He grabbed another shot, downing it while you tried to figure out what to say.

“And what the hell does that mean?” you asked.

“It means you don’t trust me enough to not cause a scene around your boyfriend.” Before you could say anything else, he continued, “I don’t know why you didn’t want me to take you two home from the hospital. I mean, we’ve always gone to each other for everything and suddenly Brian is more helpful?”

“Oh look, a...thing...across the room…” Brian stood up awkwardly and walked away before he could be further dragged into the conversation.

“Roger, what are you talking about? I’m not crazy for wanting to avoid a fist fight!” you exclaimed.

“I know! But I can control myself. I’m not just some...violent heathen.” He suddenly looked extremely sad.

“Okay, but you were pissed off, and when you get pissed off, we both know you get violent,” you explained. “I know that’s not your defining characteristic, but--”

“But it’s prominent enough that that’s what everyone thinks about when they think about me.”

You shook your head. “Roger, it was just a car ride home. It’s not like I’m replacing you with him.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stood up, walking away into the crowd.

“Rog--” you called out, being interrupted by Freddie.

“Darling, it’s okay. He’s just already tipsy and emotional about...something. Just give him a day.” You noticed that Freddie was leaning towards Paul.

You nodded, actually grabbing a shot and tipping your head back, feeling the liquor burn down your throat. You stuck your tongue out; your lack of drinking experience still made shots difficult. But you were more particularly inclined to forget your life for the night.

---

Seven shots later and you were drunk as you’d ever been. But it didn’t make anything feel better. In fact, it just made you cry.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” you sobbed, your head on John’s shoulder. “Why is my life so confusing?!”

“(Y/n), you’re drunk,” he said, patting your head. “You need to go home and sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“But in the morning I’ll have to face James and Roger and deal with my problems!” You began to cry harder.

“Okay, well, doing shots isn’t going to help either,” he said.

“Stop making sense!” you yelled, pushing yourself off of him.

Whatever John said next was ignored; you’d caught sight of a certain blond across the room. You leaned over a little to try and see what he was doing. Your heart shattered when you saw a gorgeous, tall, skinny brunette woman in his lap, who was sucking on his neck. He was smirking, completely oblivious to your gaze.

You stumbled out of your seat, heading for the door. “(Y/n)?” John called after you. “(Y/n), please don’t--”

You waved him off, shoving the door of the bar open and walking out into the windy night.

Taglist:

@thessxoxo @roger-bang-the-drum @slavsher  @sabbrriiinnaa  @i-ship-it-ironically @blissfully-queen@oyoke@borhapqueen92@girlpluto @secretsweetscollectionblog@bentaylorrogerhardy @16wiishes @emmieliabedelia @onevisionliz (as always, message me or shoot me an ask if I forget to tag you or you want me to start tagging you) 

[humansremain-blog]

DISSEMINATION 6/29/17 

If the practitioner has not dedicated himself fully to his transformation, his Ritual and Craft can often become a substitution for experience rather than an expression and catharsis of it. I once read that one of the earliest forms of artwork ever discovered had been created by a migrating band of hunter-gatherers. The art itself was in the form of a desert rock painting, depicting a herd of animals and their hunters. No animals similar to the ones depicted have ever existed in that terrain during the artist’s time or otherwise. The idea was then put forth that the quite literally starving artist wasn’t expressing something which he’d witnessed or been a part of in this new land, he was instead using this crude depiction as a substitute for the experience of hunting, perhaps even as a plea to whatever possible force he may have believed controlled such things. Regardless of the accuracy of that article, I find the metaphor of this Paleolithic painter to be an accurate one.

Lately I have felt as if the public journaling of my transformation has taken over too much of the process, eating up time that I could be devoting to something that is of a more immediate importance. In fact, I’m certain that my Arrangement has been trying to tell me just that. This revelation along with a nagging intuition tells me that I am soon due to begin a new phase of transformation. This realization has lead me to the decision to put this aspect to the side for the time being so that I can allow it to come to full fruition. I feel that enough material has been put forth, and I do not want to force more as it will only lead to redundancy.


Today I read a book that was less than one hundred pages long and touches on several aspects of Ultra Atavism, even some of which I have yet to publish. After finishing the book, I went for a session of Reverie into the forest to meditate on this author’s description of the undertaking. I found a lot of encouragement in that 70 year old book. The goal of Ultra Atavism is transformation, but it is a transformation that is borne out of a renewed connection with our primal selves. A carnality that lies dormant inside of us now but only because civilization has been designed to beat it out of us at birth. Once we’ve reconnected with that primordial spirit we begin to uncover the tactics modernity uses to keep us from it and we immediately understand why. Once we’ve connected with it, we begin drinking from a primordial stream of consciousness that can be followed back to an ocean of ultimate truth. That truth is the same for all of us. To the authors that have directly inspired me are drinking from that stream, as are the authors who will inspire me that I’m yet to discover. The Dissemination of my transformation and the path I take to get there is a kind of spiritual duty. It’s a flag in the ground to say “here I am, this is what I can do, these are the blueprints to becoming free in my time”. It’s a howl in the woods meant to attract the attention of more of my kind. Whether they join my pack or start their own is of little difference to me. The more rebels in the forest, the better. Humans Remain is a collective founded within the ideology of Ultra Atavism, but is not a division of it. The group is one that I am piecing together with acquaintances that I feel embody one or more aspects of Ultra Atavism, but there is no demand placed on them to adhere to it as if it were their personal ideology. Some Members choose not to even participate or be known even within the enclosed group. The collective itself is meant for Dissemination and Erudition purposes. It is not a Clan within itself. Members are welcomed and encouraged to take whatever aspects of this fit their transformations and do with them what they will to create and strengthen their own Clans but if you are looking for a sense of “brotherhood”, you won’t find it here.

I have little tolerance for those who put on airs and graces. Personal transformation that leads to further self-reliance is the pursuit of the Ultra Atavist. I have seen those acquainted with Humans Remain as well as those who have chosen to stay outside of it do fucking great things already. I love to hear someone tell me that they’ve been inspired to pick up a paintbrush, take a class, make an album, join a gym, or even go for a hike because they were inspired by something that I’ve written. I don’t want or deserve any credit for it, I’m only doing what my transformation and Arrangement insists that I do. Even if I were to seek credit, what would I seek credit for? The primordial stream flows within all of us, I’m only describing my own attempts to get there.
 There is an element that I see creeping in from the outside that is not like those who are truly participating in the undertaking. They take from the whole for self-serving purposes, as I’ve intended it to be used, but rather than strengthening and reinforcing it by applying it within their own Clans, they instead weaken it with substance-less showmanship. There is no true desire for transformation. They take the broadest parts of the ideology, the aspects that seem as if they can be easily demonstrated, and do so with the sole purpose of garnering attention for themselves with a false facade of individuality. All that truly lies underneath is the burning desire for acceptance overshadowed only by their paralyzing fear of being exposed. I continually see these leeches repeat the same patterns again and again. They take from another’s method, sap it of spirit, and then regurgitate it to an awaiting hive of human blanks at the ready to coo over the resulting pablum. One of the tried and true ways to kill a parasite is to detach it from the host. By the time I return from hiatus, they will have moved on, likely citing the lack of online activity is indicative of a lack of ambition or they will invent some imaginary disagreement that is meant to be interpreted as their transcendence. One thing that is always certain with these types is that they never go quietly. Meanwhile, those who are truly engaging in the vital existence should hardly notice my absence as they’ve never made particular note of my presence to begin with. Throdle Vieda! Sean David Stoltenburg _____________________ As this is my last Dissemination for some time, I figured I’d end it with some things that I am looking forward to between now and my return to Disseminations, probably sometime around Halloween.

As far as the pages are concerned, there should be no lack of projects and events to keep them from going dormant for too long. I am still asking for Disseminations from Members and supporters if they feel that they have something to add to the Canon. They are also welcome to curate their own Sonic Ritual Chambers, which are something that I will also be ending for the time being. I’m also encouraging Members that if they want a project to be advertised by Humans Remain and Handwerk to contact the page about it. In exchange for your contribution to content, a graphic will be created for it and it will be used as a paid promotion free of charge. You can also create your own graphic as long as it meets the aesthetic criteria.

I’m awaiting the proof of Ultra Atavism: An Anthology of Articles for Humans Remain, Volume II which will be out on October 1st. It includes all of the Disseminations to this point (excluding this one) as well as a few unreleased drafts and writings, five new Articles including two which were previously unreleased Cleromancy and Acumen, and two Rites including The Rite of Erichtho that previously only came with the Nekromantia Talisman and The Rite of the Pythia which is unpublished.

I’m already planning the next two journals, Of The Body: An Anthology of Articles for Humans Remain, Volume III and a fourth volume, both ideally set for release next year. I plan on continuing with the essay format for Volume III, which I hope will be made up of a large majority of writings from other Members and acquaintances rather than just myself. Volume IV,  which is going to be simply titled Ndinzengalg will be the biggest undertaking, involving more than just myself, of which aspects will be revealed in due time. _____________________ 
 In personal, non-Humans Remain related news, my “noise poem” The Hawk and the Groundhog will be released as planned on July 4th on Handwerk and will be available on Amazon. There is also a free sampler on the Bandcamp page right now that includes tracks from all of my releases so far. When I do find time to write, I plan on beginning Brimstone Road Part 2. When I re-released Brimstone Road, I released it with a lot of different material than was in the first edition. I took out several essays that I felt were unnecessary and replaced them with other essays, one of which was a very long autobiographical essay about one of my “lost years” living with a notorious character. I plan on Part 2 having much more of this autobiographical tone. With my perspective now, I’d like to re-explore a specific time of my life in that context. My adolescence was a very interesting mish mash of five specific backdrops, my violent home, my violent school, my conservative ultra rural surroundings, my conservative suburban church, and my involvement in the local punk and hardcore scene. I think that I will then foray a bit into other lost years and maybe a lengthy reflection of my eras in music from Eastwood, Murder4Hire, Mysterious Black Helicopters, Jaw Horse, and Coffin Spell. Starting at the end of August, I will be re-opening and making daily posts in the Halloween group that I started last year which was called Coffin Spell’s 66 Days of Halloween, but since we are no longer playing, I’m just going to go with The Mystic Light of Halloween. I have no shame in allowing myself to be enveloped within social media for those days. Halloween is my favorite everything and it’s the time when my Clan makes our most cherished memories. It’s an indulgence. All are welcome to join. 

I also have some other minor projects that I am considering. _____________________ Here are some events already upcoming that you will be hearing much more about. July 9th I will be participating in an art show in Sunbury, PA just as myself, with a small table selling books, I believe the show has a total of 7 members of Humans Remain participating with tables, the show is being hosted by Hideous Vision and Rad Pizza Dad. EVENT LINK September 23rd there is an event in Williamsport, PA that I cannot say anything more about until I’ve been given the okay that it is ready to be officially announced. October 20th my wife is curating her third craft and art exhibition in Selinsgrove, PA. The first under her moniker Nouveau Witch, which is also titled The Mystic Light of Halloween. This is an evening event that will feature several members of Humans Remain and will also include music and libations. This is an adult Halloween event. EVENT LINK 

_____________________ 

Last but not least, the artwork that accompanies this final Dissemination before hiatus is a manipulated photograph of a large one-of-a-kind lithograph piece created for Humans Remain by Matthew Kunkel, which was a part of the A Night on the Brocken display at the In Bloom exhibition on Walpurgisnacht. I don’t have the time right now to explain how the mountain is maybe the most apt representation of mankind’s existential and physical struggles as well as the transformative rewards found in each, so you’ll have to just trust me that it is.