#it being some sort of eagle is actually so genius

[ni-kol-koru]

KnB 30-Days Challenge

Day 13 : Favorite Member of Seirin

Izuki Shun ❤️

This was tough... It was hard for me to choose who my favorite member was beacuse I just love so many Seirin boys. Shinji, Shun, Taiga, Teppei, Rinnosuke, Tetsuya... But in the end I chose Shun. I chose him mostly because I always liked him, which I can't say for some of other Seirin boys. Unfortunately, I used to be a bit of a Seirin hater when I was younger, heh... Never hated Shun, though! Always loved him and always found him cool! I mean, let's be honest here... How can anyone even hate a person like Shun? He is really good-looking, he is very intelligent, really cool, easy-going, and a very skilled basketball player. Also, I actually find him to be quite funny!

Since he first got introduced, he caught my eye. In the beginning, it was literally because of his eyes. I kept looking at them because he didn't have pupils like everyone else, which I found pretty strange. I couldn't help it, they kept drawing my attention to him. Then, his special ability, Eagle Eye, got introruced, and I was pretty amazed! Being able to visualise, rotate and change points of view of a 3D space and predict where objects that are out of one's sight are is very complicated, consumes a lot of mental energy, recquires a big spacial intelligence, fast decision making, all at once! It's not just something everybody can do. This guy became a genius in my eyes.

Throughout the show, he just kept getting more and more amazing. Finally, when he was matched up against Kotarō, an Uncrowned King, and outsmarted him and stopped him, my jaw dropped. Instead of being angry that my favorite character got beaten, I was amazed by Shun. In the last seconds of the Rakuzan-Seirin match when he pulled that steal... I was, once again, stunned. Seriously, he is just that awesome. He is a fantastic player because of his smart brain and cool attidue.

Other than being such a weapon on the court, can we talk about how good his personality is? He is cool, chill and smart, and then he just reveals he likes puns. It's kind of awkward, because he always seems to come up with them in the wrong moments, but it just gives him some oddly specific and necessary flavour. I find most of his puns and jokes quite funny, and honestly, whenever people tell him he should stop making them, I get a little pissed off. Being able to make puns and jokes on spot is a skill, it showcases how intelligent, creative and fun he is. I am just not a big fan of how everybody keeps telling him to just, cut it out. Let him have fun! Let his brain do its thing! Let him shine! He deserves more appreciation, seriously. When it was revealed his mum and sisters like puns, I was sort of relieved. At least somebody supports my boy in his hobby!

If I could, I would listen to him make 100 puns in a row. ❤️

[lokitvsource]

You came into the show with the idea of Loki clashing with the TVA already in place. How exactly does this kind of arrangement work at Marvel? Michael Waldron: There was a creative brief that was 20 pages or so that basically said: “We want to do something about Loki running up against the TVA. Here’s some different avenues that might be cool to explore.” It was really serving it up for writers as a jumping off point for us to put together our pitches. Then I went off and really worked on the idea of Loki being brought in to hunt another Loki, and that becoming the heart of the show, and the Loki/Sylvie relationship. The big thing that I did in my pitch — even as early as pitching it to Kevin [Feige] — I really walked through the six episodes, kind of similar to what they were. I knew I wanted Episode 3, for instance, to be a little bit of a Before Sunrise, with Loki and this character walking across this apocalyptic moon. But Marvel had the initial, probably the most important spark of genius, which was just Loki and the TVA.

Where did the idea of the variant being a female Loki come from? That was one of my ideas, that we then confirmed in the writers room. Yeah, we knew from the get-go that it was going to be Loki falling for another version of himself.

Why was that appealing to you? I love writing any romance; it’s fun. Especially, it hasn’t been done a ton in the MCU. There’s an obviously self-reflective quality to it. And a show that’s quite literally about self-love; it is Loki getting to see parts of himself. At the start of the show, he kind of hates himself. He assesses himself to Mobius as a villain. And then he meets Sylvie, and he sees her as someone on a heroic crusade. He sees the good in her, and is able to see the good in himself.

Mobius suggests that, of course, Loki fell in love with his own variant, because he’s a narcissist. Do you think he’d be capable of falling in love with someone who is not a version of himself? [Laughs] I don’t know if he didn’t fall in love with himself first. Maybe after that, but the first time he falls, maybe this is what it had to be.

What’s the key to telling a time travel story that takes advantage of the concept without confusing the audience? I think it’s doing a lot of work that the audience never sees. It’s really understanding the logic of this thing, building out the TVA as a real organization that actually exists in our minds. Our writers room, we had a TVA handbook, encyclopedia, what they do and why they do it, a glossary of terms. And then you want to only give the audience the absolute bare minimum to understand the story, and to just get swept up in the emotional stakes of everything. If the sci-fi of it all, if the time travel logic of this show did not hold up week to week, then that would have distracted from the emotional journeys of the characters. So I’m glad that even though everyone had to take their medicine a little bit, along with Loki, in episode one, I’m glad it didn’t distract from the story we were telling. And we had the benefit of Loki being the audience’s eyes in. The audience is learning as he is.

There’s a funny scene in Avengers: Endgame where the Avengers start arguing about exactly how time travel works in the MCU. How much did you have to study what other Marvel movies had done with the idea to make sure your rules were consistent? Fortunately, Endgame was the main one, and that’s how they understand it. The TVA is an organization that understands time travel on a deeper level, probably more comprehensively than the Avengers do in Endgame. We wanted to make sure we were staying true to any rules that they laid out, but sort of establishing our own rules. It’s a time travel show. What was I thinking? A movie’s one thing, but a show is hard.

How many Loki variants did you have on the writers room whiteboard at various points? Hundreds. So many different Lokis. There was one Loki, actually maybe it was a version of Mobius that took off his glasses, and he just had really tiny eagle eyes, like he could see everything. There was stuff like that all over the white board. Tom Kauffman, who wrote that fifth episode, he’s an amazing comedy writer, and was on the first three seasons of Rick and Morty. His first draft of that episode was just bananas.

Was there a variant, or a crazy idea in general, that you really loved but couldn’t ultimately do? There was so much different stuff that we wanted to do in the Void. But the truth is, I don’t want to say any of it, because you never know. The ideas that I want to do the most may pop up elsewhere.

Okay, so let’s stick with a variant we did see. Was Alligator Loki actually a Loki, or just an alligator that happened to be wearing a Loki’s crown? A magician can’t reveal his tricks, man. That’s the great debate. Let it rage.

What was Alligator Loki‘s origin story on your side of things? Who pitched him and how was that initially received? That was maybe my very first meeting with the producers at Marvel, Kevin Wright and Stephen Broussard, talking about the show, and me saying, “When we’re doing this, you can encounter lots of different Lokis. You could have an alligator Loki. Why? Cause he’s green.” And us all laughing about how stupid that was. I think I made the point that it’s that energy of what we can do with the show. We can have something like that, but let’s play it straight. Alligator Loki, you get a laugh out of it, but by and large you try and play it straight. That was the fun tonal balance that we tried to strike in the show.

There’s been some conflicting information out there about whether the big bad was originally just going to be He Who Remains, who’s a different comics character altogether from Kang, and whether the casting of Jonathan Majors changed the plan. From your point of view, what happened? The character was always written as a version of Kang, as early as the first draft of the script, we knew in the writers room, relatively early on. He Who Remains, that’s the guy behind the curtain with the TVA, and we saw an opportunity to fuse that mythology with the Immortus mythology. And that was just really compelling. It was a way to elevate, it just felt right for Loki, because Loki was there in the first Avengers, he’s the one who brought the Avengers together, and here is directly related to the exploding of the multiverse, this event that will drive the events of Phase Four. Certainly, when Jonathan came in, it allowed us to step on the gas of just how eccentric and charismatic this character could be. I was inspired in the writing of He Who Remains by Tom Cruise’s character in Magnolia, trying to give it that Frank TJ Mackey energy a little bit. He captures that and then elevates it to something else that’s different and weird.

You just said how important the multiverse is going to be to Phase Four of the MCU. How challenging is it to have to set up this big thing for the larger Marvel endeavor while also serving the needs of the particular story you’re telling on this show? It’s a challenge in the sense that it’s all a relay race, and you’ve got the baton on this thing, and you want to do a great job. The name of the game over at Marvel is with each movie or TV show, make it the best it can possibly be. And they’re really supportive of that, and trust that it will organically fit into the larger blueprint of everything. We were excited about introducing a version of Kang, because yeah, to introduce this new big bad was cool for our show. I was aware, and cautious, of the thing I read in your review, that it might not be the most sound storytelling to introduce a new character at the very end that we’ve never seen before as the big bad of this thing. Obviously, we had the benefit that people know who Kang is, and there’s a meta thing where a portion of the audience knows Jonathan Majors is going to be playing Kang in Phase Four. But the finale was only ever going to work if He Who Remains, in a compelling way, serviced the Loki and Sylvie emotional story. That was the most important job that that character did in the finale: he laid out a very compelling conflict that ultimately drove the two of them apart.

There has also been some confusion as to exactly when you knew that there would be a second season, as opposed to you just making a limited series. Initially, in the writers room, we were not operating as though there would be a second season. And the whole way through was, this should be a story that should stand on its own. I referenced The Leftovers and Mad Men all the time. I think about those seasons, they pushed the overall stories forward, but you can pull any one of those seasons and look at it on its own as an individual story. I wanted that to be the case here, whether we did a second season or not. I think we always felt that we would want to propel Loki forward into the MCU after the conclusion of our season. The only question was, would that be in an appearance in a movie, or would that be in a second season. And it was only over the course of development that the stars aligned to make a second season.

But that end scene, where Mobius no longer recognizes Loki and the TVA is filled with Kang statues, wouldn’t have been a satisfying conclusion to a limited series. That is an ending that only works if there’s going to be a second season. So there is another conclusion to the story that I wrote that exists out there, that I guess is just for me. My own little play, that I perform with my action figures.

What was Sylvie’s original plan, before Loki hijacked her to that dying moon? It was to empty out the TVA. The entire bombing of the Sacred Timeline was to create a diversion. She’s not going to be able to create a multiverse from doing that. Ultimately, the TVA has the manpower to get out and take care of these events, but they’re going to have to scramble a lot of their minutemen teams, and it leaves the Time-Keepers significantly less guarded than they would have been otherwise. That was her plan.

You didn’t come into this as a big comic book nerd. So was there someone on staff who could tell you, “Well, there’s this giant cloud called Alioth that eats time,” or, “Well, one time Thanos had a helicopter,” or maybe someone assigned to you by Marvel? I’m constantly reading the comics but trying to not be so beholden to the and do our own thing. I charged our writers assistant, Ryan Kohler, with, “You’ve got to become the authority on all things TVA, all things Kang, and all that.” So he and my assistant, Sophie Miller, became a support staff who read a ton of these comics and became a wealth of knowledge for the writers to turn to. And then the Marvel producers, obviously are very well versed in the comics. It was Kevin Wright who came in one day and was like somebody throwing down a blueprint in an asteroid movie, going, “Alioth! Look at this!” And we were like, “Ohmigod, this is perfect!” The best thing about working on these comic book shows is that if it’s from the comics, it doesn’t matter how much of a deus ex machina it is, it’s just cool, like, “I can’t believe you pulled that from the comics.” Alioth, that was a big breakthrough that unlocked the last two episodes for us.

That is not a famous comic book that introduces Alioth. It’s an obscure Nineties miniseries, with really ugly art. But you look at it and see what it could be. You say, “If we do this, and it feels like Twister, it’s going to be really cool.”

Was Mobius’ love of jet skis there simply to illustrate his character, or did you have a grander idea in mind? I will come clean: I’m a jet ski guy. I’ve spent a good amount of time on jet skis in my day. I used to tow a jet ski to a lake and ride it in college. So it probably was me. Loki, I was just becoming a steward of that character. Mobius was a character I really felt I got to create from nothing. There’s not really anything to that character in the comics. So bits and pieces of me found their way in. I just think there’s something so poignant — here Mobius is, a guy who is literally fighting to preserve all of time in the multiverse, and yet his interests are maybe the most humble, human, terrestrial, unremarkable thing you can think of. Just a jet ski. And when you’ve got Owen Wilson playing him and it’s just that much better.

Will you be back in some capacity for Season Two? [long pause] Time will tell.

‘Loki’ Head Writer Michael Waldron — and ‘Rick and Morty’ Alum — on MCU, ‘Heels’ and More

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Beg ∣ Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: Hi, friends! This is my first time writing a fanfic piece, so of course it had to be for my love, Dr. Spencer Reid! This literally started out as a blurb in the notes app in my phone of maybe.... one line of dialogue?

Also, I am ready and willing to receive feedback! Please enjoy! 

If this opening scene was in a movie, the opening lines of Me & Mr. Jones by Amy Winehouse would be playing.

Nobody stands

In between me and my man

Me and Mr. Jones

(Me and Mr. Jones)

What kind of fuckery is this?

Category: Smut (and some cuteness at the end)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Dom!Spencer, PostPrison!Spencer, bondage, unprotected penetrative sex, con/non con, safe word mention (not used, just mentioned), mention of overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, indication of sub-drop? (then after care).

Word count: 3.0k 

Prison had changed Spencer. Obviously. Your once timid, tightly wound, germaphobe genius was now eerily patient, quicker to react, and able to eat in group settings with less hesitation. He was also more dominant with you in and out of the bedroom- just more assertive in general. Even his coworkers at the BAU mentioned his demeanor had changed when working on cases.

You had assumed it was due to him not feeling in control for those months he was property of the prison, and needing to exert his control in other aspects once he could eat and sleep on his own schedule. 

Before Spencer had gone away, your sex life was great- he was always sweet and attentive but rough when he needed to be. It was a mirror of his personality. 

Though you’d never know the extent of what happened in those concrete walls- and you’d never actually say this to Spencer- you weren’t terribly upset about the changes that resulted in the man who came out on the other end.

This man was more primally need-driven, more calloused and hungry than the Spencer you knew before. His words became fewer while his actions spoke volumes. He devoured you like you were his last meal on earth every time his hands were on you, like he was afraid this time might be the last time you two would be together. 

 His hands were more strong and confident with his touches, his mouth and movements more sure. Gone were the hesitant questions asked by fingers skimmed lightly over skin, and here to stay were imprints left from sure grips, unafraid to show signs of possession. 

His hunger and drive, these new deeper and darker urges had also allowed you to come out of your sex-shell. You weren’t afraid to ask for things that you feared my have intimidated Spencer before. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t ask for and nothing he wouldn’t do to you, for you. Did it make sense to trust him more now that he’d gone to prison?

You knew his newfound desires could be a sense of shame for him, but you wouldn’t let them be. If anything, you wanted him to be the one he explored them with more than anything. 

You rose to the challenge and arrived on the other side victorious- usually in a sweaty heap of bliss.

******

Murder in your eyes, you watched him cross the room to fasten your wrist in the restraint dangling from the bedpost. 

Once he was satisfied you wouldn’t be able to move from your slightly spread eagle position, he rounded the corner back to the foot of the bed, leaning forward to place his palms on the soft duvet, just staring. 

“Comfortable?” he asked nonchalantly, like he was asking about the fucking weather. 

You tried to lunge forward, but the restraints at your wrists quickly snapped you back, reminding you of what a not great idea that was. The fabric stuffed in your mouth as a makeshift gag caught most of the profanities you spat at him and turned them into nonsense. 

He chuckled and shook his head, “Glad to hear it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest quickening as you realized the gravity of the situation- you really couldn’t get out of these restraints. And you really weren’t sure if you wanted to. 

“Do you know why I like when you’re tied up?”

Attempting to keep your face as stoic as possible, you offered no reaction and turned your head away from him, opting to look at the artwork on the wall instead. 

“Because when you’re tied up, you can’t get in my way of taking what I want.” His voice was level and low, speaking matter of factly. 

At this statement, you couldn’t help but throw him an incredulous look and an over-the-top eye roll.  

“And you can’t stop me from fucking you and making you cum as many times as it takes to break you,” he continued. 

The idea of that kind of delirious pleasure instantly caused a pool of heat to flood your lower belly, spreading through your veins. 

He made his way around to the side of the bed, watching your face with a thoughtful expression. 

His hand caressed the side of your face, cupping your cheek before forming a strong grip on your jaw. You tried keeping your face turned away, but were quickly humbled by the sharp turn of his wrist. 

Your eyes searched his, trying to determine how much truth there was in his statements. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked softly. 

You nod, flexing your wrists against their restraints, and mumble around the fabric in your mouth. “Yeyow ng wed” you sighed, feigning annoyance. 

“Good. And if your mouth is full?” he prompted. 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your fingers for ‘yellow’ and snapping them for ‘red’. 

He hummed and left his position at your side and returned to the foot of the bed, content with your answers.

He crawled up on the bed and pulled your legs towards opposite sides of the bed with enough room between them for him to sit on his knees. 

You watched as he brought a hitachi wand from behind his back and place it in your line of sight. Your eyes narrowed, trying to unravel his plan. 

Suddenly his words made a lot more sense- You can’t get in the way. Make you cum as many times as I want. 

His finger traced the line between your clit and quickly dampening entrance, teasing with the lightest amount of pressure.

Your hips involuntarily made almost indiscernible movements to increase the friction, but with each movement, he would stop his ministrations and scold you with a ‘tsk tsk’.

His thumb found its way to your clit, drawing slow languid circles through the thin fabric. You tried your best to appear unbothered, but the fabric in your mouth wasn’t doing enough to stifle the whimpers slipping from your throat. 

“I bet if I checked right now, you’d be a wet fucking mess. Is that right?”

Even though you’d been betrayed by your body, you opted to test your luck with shaking your head no. 

“Hmmmm, see, I don’t think that’s quite right.”

His hands found their way to the edges of your panties and dragged them down your hips, thighs, knees and eventually off your body. 

Suddenly feeling very exposed, you pressed your knees together in an attempt to salvage your remaining dignity- well, what was left, after being bound to a fucking bed. 

He shook his head and placed a hand on each knee and forced them apart, staring at the apex of your thighs. His tongue poked out and made a quick sweep of his lower lip.

You knew, you just fucking knew you were in fact a wet mess, despite your best efforts to resist being turned on by the nonchalant, condescending, cocky fucking asshole he was being. 

He half smiled and chuckled, looking back up at your face. 

“Oh baby, was I right.” With that, he took a single finger and collected evidence of your arousal and brought it up to your eye level as proof. 

Without breaking eye contact, he popped the finger into his mouth, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, hollowing his cheeks, and slowly pulling it out of his mouth with a slight moan. 

Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of humiliation and raw attraction driving a fire to ignite and course through your veins. 

“God, you taste so fucking good.” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. 

Quickly returning his hand between your thighs, he dipped inside for a moment with one finger before adding another. 

The intrusion was dreadfully delicious, your hips bucking in an attempt to ride his fingers. An involuntary moan escaped your throat, muffled by the gag. 

Spencer started lazily thrusting into you, curling his fingers to meet just the right spot every time. The slow pace was agonizing- your head falling back, begging the gods above for him to grant you some sort of mercy. 

 Your head fell forward with a drawn out groan. Every time you tried to created more speed or friction, he would slow down or stop completely. 

You let out a frustrated whine, knitting your brows together to convey your displeasure with the pace he’d chosen.

Without warning, Spencer ’s fingers started plunging into you at a brutal pace, eliciting a surprised squeak and heavy pants from your lips. 

The muscles in your core tightened, your wrists pulling against the restraints as the breathy pants became moans of anticipation. 

The slow burn in your core continued to build, rushing to beat him before he decided to stop again.Your walls began convulsing around his fingers, indicating your impending orgasm.

Then, just as quickly as his fingers were there, they weren’t. Your eyes shot open, immediately searching for his. 

“Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?”

If looks could kill, he’d be one dead motherfucker. 

“I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, baby. I don’t think you want it bad enough”

Spencer’s other hand came to rest just above your mound, applying pressure on your lower belly while his thumb started circling your clit once more.

Between the deep pressure, stimulation on your clit and his relentless fingers fucking you blind, you were about to explode. Silent sobs left your chest, no air in your lungs made for a hard time breathing.

“I want to hear you beg me to fuck you” he said, his voice low and dark.

Reaching up, he removed the fabric from your mouth, tossing it to the side. 

“Beg.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat. Knuckle deep or not, there was no way you were giving in to him.

Arching an eyebrow he shook his head, reaching to his side, pulling something white into the space between his knees.

Your eyes widened at the hitachi wand in front of him, then darted to his face in an attempt to find any indication of his intention.

He climbed off the bed to remove his pajama pants. From your compromised position you had the perfect eye line to watch his dick strain against the waistband of his pants before springing free. 

Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth as a means of controlling the drool pooling in your mouth. Spencer’s laugh drew your eyes up his body until your eyes met. 

Pumping his fist a few times over his already hard cock, he climbed back onto the bed and towards you, gathering some of your wetness with the tip of his cock before positioning himself to enter you. 

Before he moved, a wicked grin flashed across his face as he reached for the wand and turned it on to its first setting, pressing it gently to the top of the hood of your clit. The introduction of the direct stimulation on your clit made every muscle in your body tense, white hot adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His thumb guided him to realign with your entrance, and he wasted no time with teasing. He quickly sheathed himself inside of you, now pressing the wand’s vibrations head deeper into your folds. 

God you wanted to fucking scream, but all that came out was a whorish moan. Your hands instinctively made a move to remove the source of the overstimulation, but were quickly reminded that wouldn’t be possible by the strain against your wrists. 

Your walls tightened around him, encouraging him to bottom out with each thrust. His aggression and moans mixed with curses let you know he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“Should I let you cum too?” 

His relentless thrusts did not show signs of slowing, and his clenched jaw and flared nostrils made him look, well... criminal. 

A quick flick of his wrist caused the wand to hit a sweet spot- eliciting a squeal. He pressed the buzzing head harder against the spot, wiggling it ever so slightly. Your hands formed fists as your head thrashed to the side, craning your neck- your breath hitched and came in short, shallow breaths as your body prepared to be pushed over the edge into bliss. 

That was, until Spencer removed the wand from its promising position, tossing it onto the bed beside your leg. The sound of buzzing against the sheets was dull in the background as your head swam at the loss.

In a swift motion, his arms hooked under your knees and pulled your bottom closer to the edge of the bed as far as your wrist restraints would let you. A surprised squeak left your lips as his hands positioned your ankles by his ears. 

This new position allowed him deeper access, hitting your cervix with each thrust. This new sensation caused your head to fall back against the pillow and eyes to squeeze shut. 

Quickly grabbing the wand from beside him, he matched the movement of the wand with the patterns of his thrusts, making it difficult to tell where the pleasure started and ended.

“Please please please I want to so bad,” you begged, “Oh my god, please!”

“Hmmm, want to or need to?” he asked quickly, chasing his own orgasm.  

“FUCK, need! I need to! Please I need to cum, please Spencer!”

“Cum.” It was one word, but enough to be your undoing. 

Your walls clenched around him as your hips buckled against the head of the wand. 

Your heels dug into his shoulders beneath you, arching your back off the sheets as he buried himself deeper into you. 

Air burned your lungs as they tried to force enough oxygen in between pants, a moan ripping the rest of the air from your chest. The waves crashed into you, over and over making up for lost time. 

Fire raced through your veins, curling your toes and causing your hands to form shaking fists in their tethered positions. You cried out senselessly for him to stop. 

“Good girl,” he cooed. “One more.”

You shook your head vigorously, unable to even able to wrap your head around cumming again.

“Yes,” he said. There was no room or invitation for argument. 

Voiceless pants left your throat, your mouth dry from gasping for air.

Your eyes begged Spencer to give you just a moment to breathe, which he promptly ignored. 

Setting the wand to its next highest setting, Spencer’s thrusts found a faster pace. 

His name came out between mangled moans and broken sobs. 

“Cum for me baby, come on,” he forced out between clenched teeth. You knew he had to be close too.

Your second orgasm tacked on to the tail end of the first and possessed your body with more power than you thought possible. The vibrations racked through your body leaving flames in its wake until you couldn’t register your body as your own anymore.

The feeling of Spencer throbbing inside of you, emptying himself only added to the pleasure, your walls continuing to milk him. 

Involuntary sobs escaped your lips as you came down, Spencer’s thrusts slowing, the wand returned to its lowest setting-allowing you to ride the rest of your wave down to planet Earth. 

Watching your chest heave, gasping for more air, he removed the wand from your clit and slowly withdrew himself from you.

Sweat glistened on your forehead, your cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, now dripping a mixture of your releases.  

“God you’re so fucking beautiful” he murmured, kissing the inside of your calf before gently removing your ankles from his shoulders and placing them on the bed. 

After a few moments, an overwhelming wave of emotion crashed over your body causing tears to spring to your eyes. Your lip quivered, but you bit it between your teeth in an attempt to collect yourself. 

“Shh shh shh,” he said, quickly undoing the restraints at your wrists and pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed around you. He sat on the bed and pulled you into his chest, his legs around your body with your legs thrown over one of his, gently rocking the both of you. 

“You did so good, baby. So good,” he said kissing the top of your head. 

You didn’t have any witty or snarky remarks for him. The hot tears slid down your cheeks as you pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around your body. 

His hand rubbed big, soothing circles into your back while he tucked your head under his chin. 

You pushed the blanket off your shoulders, needing to be closer to him than you currently were. He watched you turn and straddle his waist, wrapping your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck- grabbing your opposite elbows to bury your face in his neck. 

He let you settle before wrapping his arms around your back, hugging you closer to his chest. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said matter of factly between dropping kisses on the top of your head. 

You hummed in response, too tired for real words. 

He held you for a few more minutes, rubbing your back with small circles and offering praise. 

“Do you want to take a now bath, baby?”

You grumbled a sound of protest into his neck and felt his body shake with a laugh. 

You always wanted to take a bath, baths with Spencer were your favorite thing. But at this moment you were blissfully content and unwilling to move. 

He pulled you two apart for a moment to look at your face. Brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, he inspected your face for any residual tears.

 Your eyes met his and found a softness in his eyes you didn’t think was possible from the man who had just teased, edged and fucked you so thoroughly. 

“Five more minutes,” he conceded, kissing your forehead. 

You nodded and nestled back into your spot, pressing your lips into the side of his neck.

———

Tell me all about it!

[aellynera]

An Off Day (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

AN OFF DAY

(okay, look. my husband thought he was being funny and said “give me a character and i’ll give you a scenario” and then i snorted laughing and then...well. this happened. set sometime before the events of the movie.)

((shoutout to @anetteaneta for an important bit of info and @tinygaydemonbby​ for the random chat and another key bit.))

Word Count: 2100(ish)

Summary: It’s your day off and you’re just trying to enjoy it. Nathan is working and he’s trying to enjoy it. It doesn’t at all go the way you imagined.

Warnings: Cursing. Banter. Robot sex (not graphic). Personal injury. Innuendo. Propositions. Nudity. Complete and utterly ridiculous trash. Possible typos. Nathan Bateman.

The absolute magnificence of the Alaskan landscape was something that, quite frankly, you were never going to get used to. The trees, tall and majestic, towering over the lush green grass. The river, crisp and pristine, bubbling its way to the immense waterfall that cascaded down the cliff face and eventually made its way into the ever-vast ocean. The bald eagles that would soar from treetop to treetop, even the occasional moose that would make itself known at the edges of the compound and then disappear like ghosts into the forest beyond.

It was otherworldly.

The occasional twig snapped and leaf crunched under your boots as you hiked along your usual trail along the north side of the property. Today’s air felt cool on your cheeks despite the sun overhead; at least it was summer - technically, even if the temperature wasn’t getting much above 60 degrees Fahrenheit these past few weeks - so you had twenty hours of daylight instead of the twenty hours of darkness in winter.

You found your favorite spot on a nearby rock and perched on the smooth surface, tilting your face up to that glorious, shining orb. This really was what you needed right now.

*ding!*

...And that was really what you didn’t need. Definitely not right now, and probably not later either. Speaking of otherworldly.

Your boss was a difficult man, and you had a strange rapport with him that was irritating on a daily professional basis, and to your dismay, increasingly so on a personal level. To be fair, you were the only two humans out here. To also be fair, your boss was kind of annoyingly hot.

You sighed and reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone and glancing at the screen.

God: Where the fuck are you?

God? What the… You were annoyed by the text, but more annoyed by the name. When the hell did that bastard changed his name in your phone? He was insufferable on the best of days, but this was a new low. A new high? You weren’t really sure. Sighing, you shot a text back.

You: It’s my day off.

God: You know that’s not really a thing here right?

You: It is when I need a break from you.

God: I’ll make it up to you.

You: Unless you’re asking me to dinner, I don’t want to hear it.

You groaned. You really didn’t mean to say that.

The little ellipses that showed he was typing back flashed across the screen several times, then stopped. Then popped back up, and stopped again. And just because your boss was your boss, it did it four more times, but still no response.

You shoved your phone back in your jacket pocket and returned your attention to the river, breathing deeply and watching the water swirl around a pile of rocks on the opposite bank.

*ding!*

Dammit.

God: I need you to come back like right now.

You: I’m not gonna sit around and be your Eliza Doolittle today, Nathan.

You weren’t just saying that. Last week, the man had dragged you, literally, into the lab by your elbow and had you repeat vowel sounds and random words extremely phonetically while holding a pulsing orb of glowing blue goo. He claimed it was some kind of brain training. You’d said it wasn’t part of your job description, but honestly, it probably was. You were there to assist, you were there to manage, you were there to occasionally have a satisfyingly intelligent and non-arrogant conversation, and you were mostly there to make sure Nathan Bateman didn’t blow anything up or burn anything down.

That didn’t necessarily mean you liked any of it. Okay, fine, you kind of liked the assisting part and definitely the intelligent conversation part. But it was your day off, and all you wanted to do was not be in the house.

God: What? No, it’s...I just need your help with something.

You: Nathan. It. Is. My. Day. Off. No assistance today. Bother me tomorrow.

God: ...Please?

That gave you pause. Since when did he actually ask for anything politely?

You: Fine. I’m halfway up summit trail, give me like 20.

God: Make it 10.

You:  Asshole.

God: And bring a bag of frozen peas.

What the actual hell.

You blinked at the screen twice, turned your phone off completely, and started back towards the house.

*****

You didn’t know why you paid the slightest bit of attention to Nathan’s request, but once in the house, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling a bag of frosty legumes out of the freezer. With it in hand, you made your way to the lab.

Nathan hadn’t told you where he was, but you knew where to find him. He was always in the lab.

“Okay, I’m back,” you called out as you pushed through the door to Nathan’s inner sanctum. “Now what is so damn important that…”

“Oh thank fuck,” Nathan’s voice called out. “Do you have the stuff?”

You glanced around suspiciously. You couldn’t see him. Until you came around the side of the long table in the middle of the room and found him. Your eyes widened at the sight of Nathan, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, sweating and vaguely shaking.

And totally naked.

He glanced up as he saw your shoes approached and weakly raised his arm and made a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

Tossing the frozen vegetables to him, your mouth opened and closed several times, trying to process the scene. Before you could really take it all in, you watched as Nathan reached over his shoulder, grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and wrapping the icy bag in the shirt, placed it directly on his crotch.

“All right,” you finally got out, “what the actual hell is going on?!”

“Ohhhhh,” Nathan moaned as the cold compress made contact with his skin. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Why are you naked?” you yelled at him.

“There was a malfunction,” he replied, nonchalant as if you were simply discussing the weather.

You just gaped at him. This was definitely not in your job description.

“A malfunction,” you repeated.

Nathan made a feeble gesture at the table. It was covered in metal parts and wires, screwdrivers and other things you assumed were robotic but couldn’t recognize. He had been working a new body build for the past few days, that much you knew. But now there were metal bits everywhere and Nathan was bare as the day he was born, sprawled in the middle of the floor. Your eyes scanned the table again; the biggest object, in the middle of the mess, looked sort of like...oh, you did not like where this was going. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I may have miscalculated the required tension,” Nathan said, still curled up on the floor.

The required...oh hell no.

“Nathan...you know you’re the literally the smartest person I know, and you know I think you’re brilliantly creative and inventive and all that important stuff, but please, please tell me you were not actually doing what I think you were doing,” you muttered.

“I was working!”

“You know I can just check the security footage, right?” you stared him down.

Nathan looked at you over the top of his glasses. “I had to test it and make sure it worked.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Why does a robot have to have working...parts?!” As soon as you asked, you wished you hadn’t. This idiot genius actually had the nerve to blush. Slightly. He would never admit it, but his ears definitely got pinker than they’d been a few seconds ago.

Nathan sat up suddenly and glared at you, adjusting the ice pack again - thank the heavens - to keep himself covered. “First of all, it’s not a robot, it’s an AI. There’s a big difference. And second of all, we talked about this. The point is to make it as human as possible, so this particular part was necessary.”

The glare you shot back at him could have melted his current loincloth. It was your day off and Nathan couldn’t even leave you be for one whole day without his compulsion to cater to whatever whim was in his head and get under your skin. You dropped into one of the lab chairs.

“So...let me get this straight,” you sighed. God help you. But not the God in your cell phone, because he could go fuck himself. Or get fucked. Whichever.

Suddenly, through your haze of utter exasperation, what you’d just thought clicked into place and you snorted a laugh. Your eyes flashed over to the thing in the middle of the table. It was definitely shaped like a pelvis.

Nathan’s eyes became daggers. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

Your eyes went to the thing on the table and to his hands, and then back again. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried not to laugh again. It didn’t work. “Sorry. Um. So...what you’re saying is...you got injured because you were...fucking a robot pelvis.”

“I should fire you,” Nathan grumbled.

“And you got injured - from fucking a disembodied robot pelvis -”

“I am so going to fire you.”

“...because it was too...tight?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for your help. I should have just let myself die here, naked and unsatisfied.” He flopped back down.

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your laughter rang through the lab, a mixture of actual amusement and horrified reality. You snorted again and that made you laugh harder. Nathan had always joked about making a sex robot. Well, you thought he had been joking, but now, clearly not - and he’d hurt himself in the actual process of trying to make sure it worked. You weren’t a monster, you hoped he wasn’t truly actually injured, but you also took a little satisfaction in knowing karma existed.

After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes and looked down at him. Nathan stared back, but you could see the start of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I told you I miscalculated the tension. It was fine--”

“Until it wasn’t?” you wheezed.

“--until it cut off all the circulation to my dick.”

You bit your lip. “Nathan Bateman. You literally cockblocked yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away. But then he spoke, at the same moment you noticed the smirk on his face fully bloom and what you’d come to call his “up to some bullshit” look glimmer in his eyes.

“Are you gonna come help me or not?”

“Excuse me?” You were fairly certain your eyebrows could not go any farther up your forehead.

“Well, I’m not in excruciating, unimaginable pain now, and I’d like to make sure my dick isn’t going to fall off. And I didn’t finish. Need a little help here.”

“You want me to--” you stuttered.

“Un-cockblock me,” his wolfish smile broke out fully now.

You hurled a pen at his head. “You really are an asshole.”

“I admit,” he continued, easily dodging your projectile, “this wasn’t what I was expecting for the first time you saw me naked, but I’ll work with what I got.” He started to remove the ice pack.

Another pen went flying his way. “You know, I’m just going to pretend that you’re not about to flash me with your mechanically impaired penis, and that you didn’t just proposition me, and I’m leaving this room now,” you said, standing up and shaking your head.

“Baby, you’re just gonna leave me hanging here?” he grinned, stretching back out on the floor. He folded his hands behind his head. The t-shirt wrapped bag of frozen peas remained - now perched rather proudly, you noted - on his groin.

A vexed growl left your lips as you walked towards the lab door. “Leaving now!”

“Well could you at least toss me my pants?”

You glanced down. Nathan’s sweatpants were balled up behind the lab door. How they’d gotten all the way over here...nope. Nope. You decided that information was entirely unnecessary.

You threw his pants at him and they hit him in the face with a satisfying whump.

“You sure I can’t convince you to help me out here?” Nathan asked serenely from under the fabric.

He couldn’t see the small smile on your face as you walked out the door. Thank god. Or...God. Whatever. The man was a menace.

“Ask me to dinner,” you called over your shoulder.

“I’ll text you,” he called back.

God.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @damerondjarin @deeandbobbymcgee @rosemarysbaby13 @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @itspdameronthings @poedjarin @spider-starry @tinygaydemonbby @writefightandflightclub @woakiees @veuliee2 @yourbucky084​

(taglist open, click here to join if you’d like)

[megashadowdragon]

Sly Cooper Theory - Penelope's DARK Hidden Truth comments on youtube

Yeah, Penelope's history needed to be shown to us. Thru out the games, we received backstories from BOTH good and bad guys; learning why they became who they are. Penelope's story could have been explored in the 4th game, or possibly the 5th game. Since she and Bentley were dating, she could have told him about her childhood, her parents, how she became an RC pilot. From there, we'd than learn why she'd go on to betray the Cooper gang; the 4th game does (sort of) explained it, but it could have been done better. Also, the idea of Clockwork raising Penelope? I got All for One-Shigaraki vibes from this theory... Where the villian raised an poor child and molded them into their image...

I remember the theories after the game came out that Penelope was the one who helped Clockwerk transform his body with robotic parts. Seeing as he was was born in Ancient Egypt some kind of time travel being involved makes sense and Penlope is a robotic genius and now she hates Sly and the gang. Using her knowledge of Bentley's time machine to assist Sly's greatest enemy makes sense. I think that would make a pretty good twist personally....showing remorse and regret afterwards would be even better. I like a redeemable villain. When any of this may happen though....I have no idea

Here's a theory, what if it's reversed?  Penelope knows about clockwork but what if it's Penelope that helped turn him to machine, not because she was influenced but felt that she was betrayed instead, and knowing about clockwork knew where about to start her come back, after all she is just as smart as Bently just misguided, she's even made soldiers that are types of cyborgs in sly 4, not to mention it's kinda odd that her bad guys are all Robots not one is normal at all,  as for time paradoxes in sly 3 she only heard about sly's gang not much as to their skills, after sly 3 she's figured out a lot more even how much they rely on Bentley and his plans, she just didn't get their bond and started to hate sly. After some thought she could have snuck off to meet with clockwork to tinker with him a bit thus may be why clockwork's eyes were in the ice age time-line, a spooky thought with this is maybe there are more than one clockwork out there as during sly 4 we see every once in a while a variation of clockwork in the background, yes it's big but it's not the same as sly 1 or 2 almost like they are just watching and gathering data.

It is also symbolic relevant as eagles prey on mice! Meaning clockwork took penelope in his fangs to use her genius to manifacture the hate chip and grant clockwerk the immortality he was searching for!!!! Actually I think Vivi did a theory on Penelope helping turn Clockwerk into machine! It’s an older theory. (If I’m wrong because I forgot, it could be a MulatoSly Theory or a collab theory.) Check out all their theories videos on Sly, it’s Awesome!!!

About those easter eggs in Sly 4 either A: Clockwerk originates from the present timeline and time travelled to 10 000BC. Or B: Mainly just an easter egg, meaning Clockwerk REALLY originates from Egypt.

I feel.. wouldn't say Penelope was taken under Clockwork's wing. The Time of Him watching the Cooper Line up to Sly wouldn't have the Mecha Bird know of a future love  interest that happens to be with ties of a friend of a last link to a rival family one hated.

Seems way too much of a coincidence unless if The Clockwork Time Lord theory is in play, and even THAT Theory still seems far fetched. I like what was said of Him just being on a steady diet of Jealousy and Hate, with the sole decision of replacing his own body with souless machinery. I like the Theory so much, of the one where Penelope COMES ACROSS Clockwork remnants that very much so were miraculously alive to do its psychological damage, like how the clockwork eyes did in the past...if an actual robo eye is found in one of the bottle safes .......who..put it there?... 😳😳😳 But also, EXTREMELY very good point referencing Dr. M's battle of words back in Sly 3! That really slipped my mind, and makes perfect sense that it may have planted a seed of wrong in Penelope's mind!

Anyway, I still accept wholeheartedly of a theory where Penelope does come in contact with Clockwork. A quick comment as well about Sly in Egypt, could it be that how Sly ended up there would be because of His Cane?? If the time machines needed authentic real items of that time period to go to, would it make a heck of a lot sense that The Cane Sly has was passed down by Slytenkamen? Or that Because Sly is in Egypt, it's a paradox loop that has the Cooper family come to be by His own Hands?? 🥴🥴🥴 Wonky theory, but I like it!

Like maybe with penelope’s strengths in robotics and her time travel and new hatred towards sly maybe she instead was the creator of clockwork, atleast his robotic form

Vtnvivvi hear me out and really hear me out what if Penelope is clockwork I mean in the name clockwork and her building her own version of The Time machine plus compare clockworks voice to the Black knights voice don't don't they sound the same , no wonder we keep seeing clockwork in every single time. Of where sly's ancestors are Penelope could have just use her time machine with her owl body to just study slides ancestors in order to in order to to see what makes him tick I guess. It's just a theory. I don't really know hopefully it's a good one I guess.Show less

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Chapters 25-27

This is the first leg of the “D” arc.   I had originally planned on trying to do the whole thing in one post, but it’s pretty long and meanders in places, so instead I’m going to break it up, starting with the part that wraps up volume 4 of the collected editions.

Much of these first three chapters just showcases Millennium preparing to depart their secret headquarters in Brazil.  They have three blimps, maybe more.   We already saw the Graf Zeppelin III, but there’s also a Graf Zeppelin II and a Hindenberg II.   Also, the Major refers to all of this as “Operation Sea Lion 2″.  The original “Operation Sea Lion” was Nazi Germany’s plan to invade the U.K. during World War II.   It was never enacted, however, because the Germans couldn’t establish air and naval superiority over the British.  Basically, the Major is declaring that he has finally achieved what Hilter could not, thanks to his “Last Battalion” of 1000 vampire soldiers.

The bridge of his flagship (flagblimp) has this big comfy chair on a robot arm, and a panoramic world map.   The arrows on the map point in all sorts of nutty directions, including the United States and other European nations.   I could have sworn I had heard some mention in Hellsing Ultimate of Millennium sending forces to the U.S., but the international angle was never mentioned again, and I assumed that I must have imagined it.  In any event, the Major made it clear that his target is Alucard specifically, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense to invade places where Alucard is not.

The Major prepares to take his seat only to find Warrant Officer Schrödinger sitting in his chair.   Remember, Schrödinger inexplicably teleported himself to London to address Hellsing and Iscariot, and then he got shot and killed for his trouble.   But now he’s back, alive and well.   He mocks the Major for being to slow, and the Doctor scolds him for his insolence, but the Major orders Doc to back off.   This is a running gag throughout the rest of the series.  The Doctor keeps trying to chastise Schrödinger, but the Major lets him do whatever the boy wants, almost like he’s some favorite pet.  

Meanwhile, an unidentified helicopter tries to land on a British carrier, the H.M.S. Eagle.   The Captain orders his crew to open fire, but the first officer suddenly does this:

So yeah, the first officer is a vampire now, and he’s sold out Queen and Country for Millennium.  He and a handful of vampire crewmen kill the rest of the crew and turn them all into ghouls, allowing the helicopter to land, making way for...

This lady, Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle.  I should point out that in the pages leading up to her boarding the Eagle, she was singing Engelandlied, a German war anthem from World War I.   She’s nutty, is the idea.

So, I’m gonna go ahead and put forth my fan theory that all the bad guys we dealt with prior to Rip were just patsies for Millennium, and not actual members in their own right.   This includes Tubalcain “Dandyman” Alahambra, because, for all his powers, no one ever said his rank, leading me to think he didn’t have one.   Same with the Valentine Brothers and any of the vampires Alucard and Seras were sent to fight during the first dozen or so chapters of this manga.   Millennium may have turned them into vampires, and in some cases they even let them in on Millennium’s inner workings, but they were never more than cannon fodder.   Jan seemed to understand this, although Luke and Dandyman seemed to believe they were genuinely created to represent the new pinnacle of vampiric power.   Even the Doctor thought Dandyman had a strong chance of beating Alucard, but in the end they were just experiments meant to test Alucard’s mettle.

And, really, the rest of Millennium is not much different, except Rip and the others actually know why they’re being sacrificed, even if they don’t necessarily understand how or when.

Meanwhile, Seras still won’t drink blood, and she keeps trying to eat regular food instead, even though she struggles to swallow every bite.   I’ve never been very clear on whether vampires in Hellsing can eat non-blood food or not.  Seras is doing it, albeit painfully, but I don’t think she really gains anything from it, except whatever coping mechanism this is supposed to serve.   

So in walks Sir Integra, who dumps a bag of medical blood on her table.  Seras never really answers Integra’s question, but she already told Walter, and it’s not much of an answer.   The heart of the matter is this: Seras really doesn’t want to be a vampire.   Or, maybe, more accurately, she doesn’t want to stop being human.   The trouble is that she already lost that battle way back in Chapter 1. 

In many ways, Seras has accepted her fate.   She works for Hellsing, recognizes Alucard as her vampire master, and so on.  I think she understands that this is the only life she can have now, and her will to live is strong enough that she appreciates what Alucard and Integra have done for her.    At her core, Seras is a public servant, and fighting monsters for Hellsing is not so different from fighting crime as a policewoman.  I think she sees her current condition as a means to that end.   She doesn’t crave power like the evil vampires we’ve seen thus far.    Seras views her abilities as a means to an end.   Alucard biting her gave her a way to stay alive and continue fighting the good fight.

However, she doesn’t want the baggage that goes along with that.   She wants to retain as much of her humanity as she can, and drinking blood is the one thing that she has some control over, or so she believes.

But Integra’s far too practical for that dilemma.   Alucard was willing to respect Seras’ relucatance, but she needs her troops on their toes and ready for action.  So she takes a knife and cuts open her finger, and then orders Seras to lick the blood off.    This is... disturbingly sexual, and one of a number of scenes that reminds me that Hirano Kouta had done a lot of, er, adult comics before Hellsing.   I think he did a lot of uniform fetishy stuff too, which is why Seras and Schrödinger’s uniforms look so similar to each other.   Both are meant to resemble German WWII gear.   I’m willing to grant some leeway here, because there’s probably only so many ways to do a finger-licking scene like this without sexualizing it a little, but the last bit with the saliva trail is just revolting. 

So, what’s bugged me for a long time was that if Seras drank (a little) of Integra’s blood here, why did this subplot not get paid off until much later in the story?  She drank blood, didn’t she?   Well, yeah, but Integra ordered her to do it, so it doesn’t count.   This came up a couple of times earlier in the story, when Walter and Al mentioned that she wouldn’t drink blood willingly.  It’s not just an ethical issue for Seras, or she’d simply chow down on the medical blood.  I guess Integra could force feed her every night, but that wouldn’t solve anything.   This is about Seras accepting her transformation as a fait accompli.   I think this is why she very nearly drank Alucard’s blood back in Northern Ireland, when it sure looked like there was no other way for her to survive.  But if she’s just sitting there with no one making her do it, and no urgent need to do it, she’ll refuse every time.  

I think Hellsing uses the premise that a vampire has to do more than just bite a human to turn them into a vampire.  That is, Alucard had to put his own blood in Seras’ body to complete that transformation.   I think that’s how it worked in the Dracula novel, and Seras herself mentions it in the Gonzoverse anime.   But that wouldn’t count either, because it’s part of the change itself.  The idea is for the new vampire to partake in blood-drinking by choice, and until that happens, they won’t get all the cool powers.   

One other thing, Integra takes this opportunity to mention that she’s a virgin, which is a weird flex for this situation, but okay.  In Hellsing, that means Integra could become a vampire herself, but not if Seras bites her, because it has to be a vampire of the opposite sex.   In any case, Tegs warns Seras not to bite down during this creepy finger-licking KFC-hentai thing.   

Back in the damn ocean, Lt. Rip van Winkle is welcomed aboard by the traitorous crew of the Eagle.   She asks them how it feels to be a vampire, and causally reminds them of their treachery.   Then she gives them new orders, which are to die by her magic gun, which fires a bullet that can turn around in midair.

And so the First Officer and his lackeys learn the same lesson as the Brazillians working for the Dandyman, and the Dandyman himself, and the Valentine Brothers and whoever else.  Millennium might turn you into a vampire, but that hardly means that you’ll live forever.   Millennium always demands treason as payment for their help, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they might betray you sooner or later.

Besides, Rip doesn’t need the British crew, because she has her own henchman on board her chopper.   While she waits for them to wake up, she paints a swastika on the deck, just to make it clear that they’ve taken control of the Eagle, which she renames the Adler.  That’s German for “Eagle”, you see.

Back on his blimp, the Major cuts this twenty-minute promo which basically amounts to “I love war, we have no particular agenda except to wage endless war for the fun of it.”   Back in England, Alucard is eagerly awaiting their arrival.  

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 1: CamelNOT

[Lively Music Plays]

I shit you not... that’s what it said in the CCs.

Tower of London (?)

*Catherine looks at the array of crowns like a museum curator and the proceeds to strut down the halls*

Wolsey: *gives her this strange look which is a mixture between damn girl and the eagle is my spirit animal.

Then Catherine gets fake detained and taken to Henry in what must be a strange variation of the whole Robin Hood/Maid Marian roleplay they historically engaged in.

... did she just call his erhm manhood his kingship? Well that’s original, I’ll give them that. Also funny how Bessie Blount initially looks on in fright... don’t worry girl that will be you soon.

———————————————————————

*the four ladies have a brunch friendship moment together*

I see Blount is among them... I see they are setting her up as Catherine’s friend in order to play up the whole betrayal.

Alright. Jokes aside, I realised how much I’ve played myself. I was inspired by @melusineloriginale ‘s sporks (which if all this TSP episode posts got you in the mood for PG show mockery I urge you to check out here - you’ll thank me later). In truth, Henry VIII’s early reign is a bit too late from my main area of focus for me to make intelligent jokes.

I’ll content myself with just bullet-pointing random thoughts that came into my head, and if some intelligent thought gets through, well that would be the pinnacle. In any case I’ll aim to not parrot some of the stuff that’s already been said, repetition can get annoying.

This image embodies this post, but maybe not the show. I’ve noticed those Starz productions get better by the end.

First Scenes:

- The recap just reminded me how much I will miss Margaret Beaufort in the coming episodes. I know her portrayal was innacurate but Harriet Walter just made everything better.

- They are making such a big deal out of this whole ‘we were crowned together, we rule together’ thing in this episode - it makes no sense. Catherine was an influential Queen but she was definitely no more than a consort and never saw herself as more.

- Ruairi’s new haircut is pleasing to my eyes.

- When she says ‘Abuelo’ it’s super adorable awww

The Ferdinand and Charles V scene:

- Bessie Blount looks so much like Ursula Pole lmao. Also they totally got the Pole children’s birth order wrong and UGH WHERE IS GEOFFREY POLE???

- I like Mary Tudor’s actress and her facial expressions. However, this whole polyglot image they are representing is innacurate. I am fairly certain she knew no spanish and I recall reading a contemporary account which said that she was not very learned.

- I’m pretty sure it would be considered bad luck to prematurely crown your son ‘Henry IX’ while you’re still alive.

- I actually like the whole Grape motif in this episode. It’s probably the smartest thing they’ve come up with so far for this episode. I know a lot of you will be all like ‘there’s no record of Ferdinand being abusive’ but this choice sort of makes sense when you recall Joanna’s treatment. Also I appreciate them for not being tacky and showing flashbacks of more overt abuse eg physical. The sugared grape is also fairly symbolic (the sugar is like a gilding, the grape easily crushable)

- OMG the guy from Garrow’s law is playing Thomas More!

- AND PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME IM NOT SEEING THINGS? Margaret Pole x Thomas More is happening?? Please god that is a historical crackship I am getting behind. Yes. This is what I’m most invested about.

Margaret Tudor and Scotland Scene:

- The whole ironic cutaway to Margaret being all depressed after Charles Brandon’s statement about her charming Scottish king is such a cliché movie technique.

- If this were a more artsy film I would think the whole setup resembling a stereotypical middle-class family breakfast was done on purpose for humorous effects or to create a link with the past. But here I don’t have as much trust in the producers. I think they just failed to capture the time period accurately.

- The modernisms continue: ‘Negassi please stop playing’ idk, there just something so modern about this for some reason ahaha

- Also again, I’m getting tired of all this ‘Catherine is basically queen herself’, ‘Catherine is a political genius’, ‘Catherine Catherine Catherine’ ugh. I don’t think the producers understand that Henry VIII was a very autocratic and traditional ruler. He didn’t make any show of joint-rulership (correct me if I’m wrong).

- The teeth thing is funny, smart and I liked it.

Back to Westminster:

- I like Ferdinand’s actor!

- Also Catherine’s response to ‘who are you loyal to?’ was not that smart. I feel like the producers wanted us to be impressed. What if Spain and England’s interests conflict, ey??

The Joust:

- I care too much for the whole Margaret Pole plotline. I’m so invested.

- I could watch a series of More and Pole just exchanging lines. I love the actors too and this is my hope for this series. The whole frustrated parents is SO CUTE.

- I didn’t know More tutored Reggie, I would be curious to know more.

- The way compton says groom to queen’s stool is freaking hilarious. He looks like a pervert.

- Henry Pole is a darling and must be protected at all costs.

- Oh Christ oh Christ that eyeball shot was just... good job on the special effects guys. Don’t know what the point of that choice was.

- I found the whole armour mentions after interesting, it looked so set up as a PR campaign because Stafford speaking about the armour just sounded like a statement agreed on beforehand ‘should have worn the same’ and the Catherine with ‘steel in the bones’ and Ferdinand’s impressed face (it was him playing them?)

- Am I giving this show too much credit?

- Also whats up with “God save the Queen?”

War Counsel:

- Henry VIII’s actor is quite charismatic in this scene. It’s almost as if Catherine is the hothead and Henry the wise one that speaks less but more significantly. It almost feels like they gender-swapped them.

The Bedchamber:

- Did Catherine breastfeed the baby? I thought it was Anne Boleyn. Doubtful... I’m tired of the trope of ‘you’re a good woman if you insist on breastfeeding the child yourself despite social conventions’. For a feminist show, the writers seem very attached to some 1950s perceptions of motherhood.

- I feel like the age difference between Catherine and Henry is well conveyed.

Scotland Again:

- ‘All the sheep were pregnant’ 👀 oh touché Margaret. oh my. Did she just?

- I know they are playing out this disenfranchised Margaret arc to reinforce how great Catherine and Henry are (cheap technique) and to build up to her involvement in Flodden (innacurate historically but I know what the show will do). But I will say this: the humour is pretty good in the Scottish scenes! But I know it’s unintentionally so... (I highly doubt they wanted us to laugh at Margaret hitting James or calling Alexander a pig).

Westminster and the baby chamber:

- What’s are those red splotches on the babies face??

- Oh that shot of Margaret and silent Reginald :((( it makes me sad.

- And now the Poles are at church! I just love the look of them.

- That scene of Maggie and Catherine was needed, as we didn’t get the best friends vibe much in this episode. The whole thing looked a bit pagan though, but it was nice :)

The whole Ferdinand’s betrayal segment:

- The grape motif again was fitting, him snapping the fruit right before she gets to it even despite her knowing what he’s like and what he’ll do, was a good parrallel.

- I’m tired of hearing of this ‘Camelot’. Even in the novel, Camelot was Catherine and Arthur’s dream and... can we just live it up with Arthur?

- Ursula Pole’s, Bessie Blount’s and Mary Boleyn’s actresses look way too similar.

- I fail to see why Catherine thinks she’s turning into her father... she doesn’t strike me as much of a game-player or subtle two-facer.

- I’m intrigued what will happen with Oviedo and Lina... I feel like they won’t stay in England long.

- He was made knight bannaret... nice... but why does he thank Catherine publicly for this? It was in Henry’s gift that he was made a commoner Knight.. if this transpired irl Henry would have been gravely insulter.

Catherine’s Dead Baby and thereafter:

- Guys. In all seriousness, I don’t think the TV series is trying to imply that Catherine killed the baby with her negligence. I mean, they are so bent on us liking her they wouldn’t do that. It would be a bit too ballsy anyway. Remember the red splotches I mentioned earlier? Could those have been a sign that he was already ill but no one noticed/was in denial?

- The pebbles in hands would have had more emotional payoff if it had been established earlier if you know what I mean. Basically, this episode is too fast and entire arcs begin and end within it which extinguished any build-up.

- Oh man Henry is so sweet in this, how will they build him up as the tyrant he was historically if they keep this up?

Scotland Again:

- I must admit, I don’t like all those nicknames they keep using. But somehow James calling Margaret ‘Meg’ is nice and seems fitting.

- What’s a hermana sister?

England Last Mourning Scenes:

- YOU DID NOT BUILD CAMELOT ughhh

- Why is Catherine giving the speech and not Henry?? It turns out Catherine was more emotional historically then the whole perception of ‘perfect queen of stone’ to which some people hold her. However, I doubt it would have been proper of her to give a speech in such a emotional manner.

Conclusion:

6.5/10

Some of the dialogue was stilted, the costumes are confused as to which era they’re supposed to be (aesthetically distracting) and many other characterisation issues.

I don’t have high hopes for this series in terms of cinematography or art but I sure as hell expect it will be entertaining. So far, everything is just getting set up and I find some aspects promising. As you can tell I am truly excited over how the Margaret Pole plotline. I am also interested in how Henry will be portrayed, with Catherine being so OTT and pushy this episode Im starting to Stan him more. In this show he appears sensitive and serene and kinda... adorable. Kind of like a little brother hanging onto his sister’s skirts.

But in a way that is a disservice to the real historical figure which would not tolerate such a representation. I am very irritated by this whole ‘joint-rulers’ thing which is just sooo innacurate. These STARZ shows have an obsession with showing women turn into men for the purposes of feminism - I see.

Catherine overpowers Henry too often and it sometimes feels like he’s HER consort. Of course, the feminism in this show is schizophrenic as we get the overemphasis of Catherine as a 1950s motherly ideal with the whole breastfeeding angle (“you’re better than other noble woman who would find this beneath them”, “they’re not as motherly as you”).

So the relationship dynamic between Henry and Catherine is a bit off at the moment, but oh well.

Mary Tudor is a bit distracting with her dark hair but I find the actress extremely endearing and promising. I know there will be emphasis on her storyline too and I hope they’ll not be clichéd with it.

[echodrops]

Home and a Half Pidge Headcanons

An ask I got yesterday reminded me that I never posted the HaaH headcanons for Pidge like I promised, so here they are! (I’ll answer the actual ask as soon as I can with some new material instead of headcanons I already had written... oops...)

Anyway, without further ado, some headcanons for Pidge related to my fic Home and a Half!

Pidge:

- Grew up in the picture of the nuclear family: mom, dad, two kids, dog, nice upper-middle-class house in a quiet neighborhood, dinner on the table at 7:30pm on the dot… Of all the paladins, Pidge had the most stable and “average” childhood… at least on paper.

 - In reality, there is not a single person in the Holt family who isn’t eccentric as fuck. Grandma Holt? May or may not still be an active intelligence agent for MI6. The dog? Woofs in Morse code. Auntie Ariana? Has actually seen the Jersey Devil. Colleen Holt? Has killed a man. If you ask Pidge, she’ll say that her upbringing was perfectly normal and she’ll genuinely mean it, but this is a consequence Pidge having no idea what “normal” even means.

 Rest under the read more to save your dash:

- Not actually a girly-girl when she was young. Although they’re eight years apart and thus unlikely to be mistaken for one another, very early on Pidge got frustrated by how similar she and Matt look, and she definitely did not want to wear his tacky hand-me-down clothes, so she pitched a royal fit and insisted on wearing dresses and hairbands so that her family would have to buy Pidge all her own things. (They probably would have bought them anyway if she’d just asked calmly, but Pidge was three at the time, and they were all very impressed by her grasp of cause and effect.)

 - Of course, when Matt disappeared on the ill-fated Kerberos trip, those tacky hand-me-downs ended up being some of the most important items in Pidge’s life. Even outside of infiltrating Garrison, wearing Matt’s old clothes was one of the few comforts Pidge would allow herself—when she cut her hair and put on his baggy shirts, for a second, looking in a mirror, she could almost convince herself he was still there—

 - Pidge has no intention of changing the way she dresses or styles her appearance until she’s reunited with Matt and her father. After that? Well, they may not be the coolest looking things ever, but Matt does have a point that baggy t-shirts are very comfy…

 - And okay, because I’m sure everyone expected this headcanon first: Pidge and gender is a surprisingly uncomplicated subject. Side note before I go further: I’m sure everyone has their own headcanons for this and none of what I say here should be taken as rejecting or invalidating any other fan’s views on Pidge. The only thing invalid in the Voltron fandom is canon. Anyway, I personally like to imagine that Pidge is very ambivalent on gender. There is so much else going on—the war, Sam and Matt being missing, freaking giant robot space cats—that sitting down and sorting out the question of “Do I identify as male, female, nonbinary, or anything else?” is just really, really low on Pidge’s to do list. Pidge thinks of Pidge as “Pidge” and even that’s rare because Pidge doesn’t sit around thinking about herself or what other people think of her.

 - In fact, what strangers think is, in general, extremely low on Pidge’s radar. Although she used to be more self-conscious due to bullying from both classmates and her teachers, the combination of her parents’ consistent support and Matt’s… extreme tactics (“I’m telling you Pigeon, nanobots in their lunches will solve all your problems.” “That’s illegal, Matt.” “Nothing is illegal until you get caught.”) Pidge (mostly) overcame the phase of being affected by other people’s opinions. Who cares what strangers think? Absolutely none of them will ever be even close to as smart and talented as her family anyway. (My IQ is three times yours, your argument about my gender is literally invalid.)

 - By the way, I’m using “her” simply because that’s what I’m used to seeing in the fandom and to keep the fic and headcanons consistent, but in the functional world of HaaH, Pidge answers to any pronouns and doesn’t have a preference for any set in particular over others. In fact, Pidge is used to going by different sets of pronouns coming from different people, and might be “he” to one person, “she” to another, and “they” to yet someone else. Pidge is just… Pidge.

 - Again, with the war and Voltron and missing family and literally everything else going on--and the fact Pidge is far more practical than all of the rest of her fellow Team Voltron members combined--she isn’t wasting time and energy doing something as troublesome as falling in love with an alien. (“Keith, can’t your melodrama wait until after we win the war?” “My drama waits for no man.” “Then please explain how you and Lance manage to engage in synchronized dumb-fuckery at least three times a week.”) Eventually, after life has settled down and Pidge has had some time to think about it, she’ll realize that the reason she somehow managed to avoid any romantic entanglements in space isn’t because she’s just much more mature than her teammates (although this might be true)—it’s that she’s just not really interested in romantic engagements with anybody, period. 

 - Pidge’s one true love is discovery; she feels far more passionate about knowledge and learning new things, encountering new puzzles, and grasping new concepts than she does about anything else. In between all her creations and codes and experiments and observations, it just doesn’t feel like there’s room—or that there needs to be room—for a romantic relationship with a real person.

 - Pidge will make room for friends though, if and when they insist on worming their ways into her life. She tends to be a fairly private person who has never really had a large friend group (back on Earth, before Garrison, there wasn’t anyone but Matt and her parents who really understood her, and she didn’t have much in common to discuss with children her own age), but once someone earns Pidge’s trust, she does open up and form close bonds and she will give her all to help and be there for her few, but close, friends.

 - Meeting Hunk at Garrison was a huge revelation. Up to that point in Pidge’s life she had never really met any young person outside her own family with a soaring genius-level IQ that was a match for her own. Although she and Hunk bicker frequently because their approaches to science are extremely different, she’s still over-the-moon to have someone who doesn’t stare at her like she’s talking gibberish whenever she goes off on one of her tangents.

 - If you ask Pidge, she will violently swear up and down that Lance never and in. no. way. reminds her of Matt, fills in for Matt in the lame-older-brother role, or helps her miss her brother just a little bit less. That did not happen, never had a chance of happening, what are you even talking about—

 - But if you ask about Shiro, she will be flat-out honest and admit she totally thinks of him as Space Dad. It’s not her fault. Shiro literally hero worships Sam Holt (still to this day!!) and may or may not have taken on more of his mentor’s mannerisms in order to fill the leadership role for Team Voltron. Sometimes Shiro will say or do something and Pidge will be absolutely dumb-struck because he got that from my dad is an actual thing she has to deal with.

- “Pidge” is actually a derivative of “Pigeon.” Everyone in the Holt family has a bird-based code name. Mr. Holt is Eagle Two.

 - People often get the impression that Pidge is scatterbrained because she can talk about ten different things at once and pounces on leaps in her own logic that other people just can’t follow, but her thoughts and speech are very organized. It’s not her fault you couldn’t understand her system of organization if you tried.

 - Put Pidge on the spot on a subject she doesn’t know, though, and watch the awkward jump right out. (“Oh, you meant the pop band Galileo, not the person. You know, that’s really an easy mistake to make. You can hardly blame me when you stop to consider all the similarities between modern chord progression and the trajectory of supermassive objects like—”)

 - And if it’s not awkward, it’s defensive. Pidge may be hyper-intelligent, but she’s still very, very young, and it’s hard not to get snappish when challenged by people whose opinions she really does care about. She has a far quicker temper than Matt (who is a “revenge is a dish best served cold” champion), a trait she shares with their mother. Colleen, in turn, blames it on her having been born in New Jersey. Pidge has flipped so many tables on the Castleship that Coran and Lance eventually went around and bolted them all down.

 - Do not even so much as hint that Sam and Matt Holt might be dead instead of just missing in space. Keith is still scared after his last attempt at reasoning with Pidge about her family’s fate.

 - Has a bad hoarding habit. Back on Earth she had her parents there to insist she clean her room at least once a week, but in space, things are getting a bit crazy. The Castleship closets and cabinets can hyper-condense their contents and she’s STILL running out of room for all the neat doodads and parts and scientific wonders she finds on their adventures across the galaxy. Is definitely in the “Look, there’s still a mostly clear path to the door; it’s fineee” category. It’s not like she finds it hard to let things go once she’s gotten attached to them or anything. Nope. Definitely not.

 - Pidge’s mess is absolutely of the “everything has a proper place” type though. Move anything with her name on it and you will feel her wrath.

- As the only one of the Earth paladins to have technology on her when they were unexpectedly swept off to war, everyone on the ship relies on Pidge’s laptop for their monthly dose of Earth nostalgia. Good thing for them Pidge and Matt’s pirating skills put Pirate Bay to shame, and she’s got basically every Earth movie from 1980 to the present. She even has every episode of the timeless classic F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (Keith hates that show with a burning passion that even he cannot explain.)

 - Speaking of technology Pidge had on Earth—every single person in the Holt family is (and has been for decades) aware of the existence of aliens. Pidge’s family tree has been involved in communications, radio wave technology, and interpreting space observations since those fields were first invented. When Earth first identified patterns of waves that obviously corresponded to alien communications going on outside Earth’s galaxy, Pidge’s great- great- grandfather was there. When world governments covered up the discovery, he was the loudest voice of dissent. Since then, the Holt family has been deeply involved in military and space operations across several countries, operating from within an oppressive system they fundamentally disagree with, using their positions of authority to monitor the Milky Way and beyond, keeping tabs on what the aliens might be saying—and what messages Earth might be inadvertently sending back.

 - Of course this is top secret work—secret even from the Garrison and government where the Holts were employed. Other kids learn how to play piano and soccer; Pidge and Matt learned how to hack virtually impenetrable military databases and hide their data behind uncrackable ciphers instead.

 - But the Kerberos Mission was supposed to be safe. They’d all monitored the chatter so closely—there hadn’t been anything hostile anywhere even near Earth’s galaxy, no sign at all of any technologically advanced race like the Galra in years and nothing about one little Earth mission that would disturb any other intergalactic travelers anyway… Why would they...

 - Pidge is surprisingly athletic for a self-professed nerd. With youthful energy to burn and a family to save, Pidge took to Allura and Coran’s intense Altean training like a duck to water, and while she’s not quite Shiro or Keith when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, she can definitely holds up better than Hunk or Lance.

 - Favorite color is actually yellow, and if Green wasn’t totally The Coolest™ lion, she’d be sort of salty about Hunk getting the Yellow Lion instead.

 - Absolutely capable of cursing up a blue storm, and hasn’t been friends with Hunk quite long enough yet to remember to censor herself around him all the time like Lance does with his “Holy crow!”s. She’s trying, dammit!

 - Big on pets. Gets attached to pet-shaped creatures (whether living or robotic) very easily. 110% kept the space caterpillars, who live happily free-roaming the piles of space junk in her bedroom. The space caterpillars and the space mice do not get along, however, as the space mice do not take well to having their status as the favored fuzzy team mascot squad threatened. In their micro-Cold War, which is occurring without any of the ship’s humanoid occupants being aware, the space caterpillars are currently winning.

 - The caterpillars’ names are Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton.

 - Remember that one post about Lance drawing angry brows on the space caterpillar and siccing it on Keith? I very much accept that as canon. Pidge was Not Happy™ when she found out what Lance had done and she is NOT letting anyone else near her caterpillars again any time soon. Is very, very careful not to let Niresh see the space caterpillars so that they don’t end up stolen right from under her nose.

 - Speaking of the kids, Pidge is super awkward with them and skedaddles at the first sign of tears. Next to Allura, there is probably not any member of the team worse suited to babysitting duty. That said, as someone who has lost members of her family in the war, Pidge is probably the member of the team who most directly understands Dulsara’s anger and the children’s loss. That doesn’t mean she’s really ready to let herself sympathize with the Galra though, at least not until she finds her own family first.

- Pulls all the most bullshit moves in Monsters and Mana. Whenever the team reminiscences on the truly legendary moments from their campaigns, somehow Pidge is the star in all of them.

And that’s all I’ve got for now!

[9hwa9joong]

My Top Songs [2020]

Hi all!

As 2020 comes to an end (thank whatever higher power there is), I wanted to share a list of my favorite songs! (the following are songs RELEASED this year) (I’ve included a list of songs that I heard this year, but weren’t released in 2020, after it). These are mostly korean/chinese.

Alright, this is in NO particular order, just my favorites. I’ve mostly included one song from a group/solo act and added their other great releases in description. It is mostly music that I listened to, so if your favs are not here, feel free to rec me good music! ENJOY!

(the list ended up becoming quite long, so read under the cut)

Black swan(orchestral version) by BTS

BTS had a great year musically. 2 korean albums, 1 japanese and lots of solo stuff. My most played songs are Dynamite (listen, she did what she had to do), Stay Gold (if gold had a sound, this would be it), Black Swan, Blue and Grey (i live for melancholy), Life Goes On (spring day’s successor), Filter(park jimin is a threat), Friends (my feels!), Louder than bombs (TROYE SIVAN), UGH (murder music), 00:00, Moon (jin solos are beautiful always) and Your Eyes Tell (honestly, show me one bad japanese single, i dare you).

Ghosting by TXT

I got into TXT a lot more this year, as opposed to being a casual listener that I was last year. Many people say they have a no-skip discography and I believe it’s true. My most played songs were Blue Hour (i ADORE this song), We Lost the summer, Wishlist, Can’t you see me (the song that made me a stan), Fairy of Shampoo (ethereal), PUMA (choi yeonjun is a threat), Eternally (an ATTACKK!) and their f2020 cover.

Answer by ATEEZ

Ateez is another group i really got into this year, mesmerized by their performance abilities. My most played : Star 1117 (i’m very soft for this song), To the Beat (a true bop), Inception (holy jongho vocals), One day at a time and Good Lil Boy (does hongjoong ever have a bad rap verse?). Their Black Cat Nero cover also blew me away!! (i’m lowkey obsessed).

God’s menu by Stray Kids

I’ve been keeping an eye on Stray Kids ever since hellevator came out and this is my favourite song by them, so far (yes, i had a heart attack when i first saw Hyunjin). Most Played : Back Door (the beat drop gives me life, the choreo is probably my fav), All in, Easy (do they ever have a bad chorus?), GO LIVE (the beat??!! killer), Another Day (i am a slow jam hoe) and My Universe.

Pacman by eaJ   

I didn’t think it was possible to love him more after day6 but Jae’s solo music has proved me wrong. Yes, i love Pillows (with Keshi) to bits but pacman is my first love. Most Played : It just is (Seori and their golden vocals), LA TRAINS (vocals!!!), Pinocchio (the mv is adorable, the beat is so fun), 50 proof (the vibes man, it's the VIBES) and TRUMAN.

Left & Right by Seventeen

Another group with amazing releases this year, I’m slowly getting into Seventeen more these days. Most Played : Fallin’ Flower (so beautiful, the vocals), 24H (the beat change?!!???), 17 (Joshua, DK and Pink Sweats) and HOME;RUN (this is a brand of fun that is entirely their own).

Not by the moon by GOT7

I am no stranger to GOT7, i’ve liked their music for years now but this is one of their more lyrical releases this year and i adore when GOT7 does this type of music. Most Played : Poison (jackson opens it and the vibes are immaculate), Last Piece (the way the vocals flow into the rap) and Thank You, Sorry.

So Beautiful by DPR IAN

This is literally the first song i’ve heard from this artist, please rec me more. I also adore No Blueberries with DPR LIVE and CL.

Eight by IU, Prod. SUGA

IU is an indisputable vocal queen, and her music always comforts me greatly so when i heard she was having a song produced by Yoongi, i promptly lost my shit. It was everything I expected and more and embodies sorrow and pain with great grace. Give you My Heart from the ‘Crash Landing on you OST’ was also a loved song this year.

Cry for me by TWICE

How do i talk about the queens? TWICE is the group i go to when I want fun music with good vibes but this song has such bad b*tch vibes that i am in love. Most played : More & More (a bop), Don’t call me again, I can’t stop me (i love the way it flows), Handle It (the vocals??? How pretty this song is???) and Say Something (seriously, eyes wide open is an amazing album).

Criminal by Teamin

Where do i start with Lee Taemin? I love almost all his solo stuff. He grabbed me by the neck ever since ‘Move’ and hasn't let go. Criminal is SO taemin that i don't think anyone else could have delivered the concept with such grace and grit. Most Played : 2 Kids (the chorus is so good), Clockwork, Idea (i love the vibe) and Pansy (i'm a ballad hoe).

Maria by Hwasa

Listen, i loved Twit when it came out but i love Maria as her sound so much more. Most Played : I’m bad too (feat. DPR LIVE) (i love the beat, the vibe and the flavor), LMM and Orbit from ‘The King: Eternal Monarch OST’ (as soon as her voice comes in, i loved the song).

Breath by DEAN, Rad Museum, Mokyo

I’m not aware of many DEAN releases this year, please feel free to rec me if I missed any.

Dear my friend by Agust D ft. Kim Jong Wan (NELL)

D-2 was everything expected from the second mixtape off Agust D and yet it brought a fresh wave of singing and melodies, once again proving the man’s production genius. This song is so reminiscent in it’s lyrics and still so real, its my favorite off the record.Other songs I loved : People, Deachwita and What do you think? (i DID love the complete mixtape though).

Given - Taken by Enhypen

Yes, I watched  I-LAND. Given-Taken was a better debut then I expected at first. 10 months (the chorus and beat) and Flicker off their debut album were also played a lot. 

I just want to stay with you by Zion.T

The King: Eternal Monarch was a much awaited drama for a lot of people and it’s OST is one of the best ones this year. Zion.T’s amazing vocals really did an amazing job of expressing the love in the story. Other songs I really liked from this album were Gravity by Kim Jong Wan and the Hydrangea Instrumental by Lee Geon Yeong.

The purge by Jay Park, pH-1, Woodie Gochild, Sik-K, and others.

H1GHER: RED TAPE is my hype album of the year. All artists involved did an amazing job. Seriously, get yourself some bomb ass beats, as a treat. Other loved tracks : Telefono Remix (Woodie Gochild is great at his flavour of delivery), Closed Case and The Arrival.

Soul by Lay (zhang yixing)

Yixing’s album LIT was his best project till date, no arguments. He’s really evolved into such a refined musician, especially with how well he merges traditional chinese instruments into Hip Hop/RnB beats and I adore the vibe of this album. Although the album is great entirely, Soul is my favourite for how softly and prettily it flows. Other loved tracks: Eagle (the BEAT), Fly, Boom (bops on bops on BOPS) and Call My Name.

100 ways by Jackson Wang

It is astounding how well Jackson has formed his own style of music ever since starting off with Papillon. He’s also sort of come into himself as an artist and it has birthed some great music. Other loved tracks : Pretty Please (i love the vibe of the song!) and Should’ve Let Go (ft. JJ Lin).

SUGA’s interlude by Halsey 

Idk how else to explain it but Halsey and Yoongi have great music synergy. There’s something about their song/lyric writing that matches very well and needless to say, I adore the song. Blueberry eyes by MAX is also another great Yoongi collab.

In Your Time by Lee Suhyun

It’s Okay to not be Okay had an OST that was dreamy, gritty and very fairytale-esque, much like the drama itself. Among a bunch of great songs, this one is my favourite. Other loved songs: You’re Cold by Heize (always delivers!), Breath by Sam Kim (OST angel), Hallelujah by Kim Feel (chills!), In Silence by Janet Suhh (literally how angelic is her tone??), I’m your Psycho by Janet Suhh (it’s creepy in a dreamy way) and Brother | Her World | Through the dark Tunnel of time | Butterfly - all amazing instrumentals by Nam Hye Seung and Park Sang Hee (seriously, go listen to the album).

By my side by Junny

Another great discovery towards the end of the Year, Junny has vocals for DAYS and admirable delivery. Other loved songs: AURA ft. pH-1, edge (this is so hypnotising in it’s beauty) and I will. Please feel welcome to educate me more about this artist!!

Make a Wish by NCT

NCT always provides bops and NCT U is my favourite sub-unit, for their unique style of music, so when they came out with this song I was ready and they delivered! Most Played : 90’s Love  (the old boy band theme was so well done), From Home (i’m a sucker for slow songs), Nectar (yes, i adore WayV’s music), MAD DOG by NCT 127 and Kick It by NCT 127 (this is the flavour of NCT i LOVE).

Zombie by Day6

Day6 has always been in my daily otations and as always, they put out good music after good music. I loved both the original Korean and the English versions of this song (they do rock well, what else is there to say?). Other loved songs : Tick Tock (oh the vocals, the way the beat moves!), Love me or Leave me, Day and Night... actually the whole Album is great, go listen to ‘The Book of us: The Demon’.

Fearless by Ma Di [other chinese songs]

Chinese songs have been a surprisingly pleasant addition to my daily rotation. Fearless from the “Go Ahead” OST takes the top stop because of how well it embodies the struggles of stepping into adulthood, the melody and MaDi’s amazing vocals. Other Chinese songs I loved: Praise for Red Plum Blossoms by Xiao Zhan (the perfect welcoming of spring paired with  such expressive vocals), Remaining Years by Xiao Zhan (Joy of Life OST) and his OST for the Oath of Love.

 ____________________________________________

The following is the list of songs I heard in 2020, but were not released in 2020. Please let me know if you like them, or if you know other similar music! (I know, I know, I’m late to the game) Enjoy!

DEAN - Sometimes I hear Howlin' in my head 

Zhang Jie/Zhang Bichen - Simple Wish 

Li Ronghao - If I were Young

JJ Lin - What I Miss

Ateez - Mist | Twilight | Wonderland | Say my name | Thank you 

Stray Kids - voices

Seventeen - Trauma

Loona - Hi High

Day6 - Shoot me 

GOT7 - You calling my Name 

RADWIMPS - Is There Still Anything That Love Can Do?

Baekhyun - UN Village

Taemin - Goodbye | want

Aquillo - Silhouette

Talos - To Each His Own

Cigarettes after sex (literally everything)

__________________________________________________

I know this was long, if you read it till the end, I hope you all enjoyed it still.

Have a smooth year in 2021,

-love, c.

[haikyuuscreaming]

omg hi! you started off your blog greatly, im so proud of you! do you think you can write an angsty scenario for akaashi? where his crush likes this guy and wants help from him and he feels all sad :( but she ends up confessing to him! i love your writing so far, keep it up!

UMM so i accidentally got really invested in this so it’s WAYY longer than a drabble and i often write long stuff bc of ao3 so this might sound a little more like that kinda fanfic style instead of a tumblr scenario? mainly cos im really a sucker for this stuff hehehe love you anon

also ! the request made it sound sort of akaashi-centric so i hope you dont mind? there will still be a lot of reader-chan here though! please dont leave yet and i hope u enjoy

again ALSO i wrote this half on my laptop half on my phone so please dont mind if it seems a lil clunky in some areas 

3092 words jesus ok here you go

-

Crushes weren’t necessarily a new sensation for Akaashi. Just an uncommon one. In fact, the last time he remembers even being attracted to someone was in first grade when everyone had a crush on this popular girl. He’s not even sure if he really liked her, or just found the idea of it interesting.

Now, second year of high school, Akaashi finds himself in trouble. Because for once, he really, really, really likes this girl. You. 

He can’t even fake himself out of this, because every damn time he looks at you, he feels all warm and tingly and his stomach feels less calm and he can hear his heart bump against his ribcage and god, his face even flushes a little bit.

(A little bit inconvenient when he accidentally finds himself staring at you and daydreaming.)

Akaashi doesn’t like this feeling.

I mean, yeah, Akaashi has somewhat of a sense of confidence in his looks, manners, and ability to make friends. He’s not exactly the top in each subject he thinks, but it lets him pass through high school without too much of a depressingly lonely life. He could easily befriend you and steal your heart, his inner ego-brat says.

But.. but what if you reject him?

He should become closer to you.

(For the record, he doesn’t not like the feeling. He kind of likes the serotonin boost you give him. But he definitely, more than kind of likes you.

A lot more.)

And one day, in the spring, he finds himself paired up with a special biology partner. With familiar, sparkling eyes and the cutest, most gorgeous voice he’s ever heard that always makes his heart fucking backflip.

Akaashi doesn’t think he can survive this.

His teacher blares, “Start brainstorming ideas for your science fair project! It’s due in a month, you know!”, but Akaashi blocks out the noise because all he can focus on is you, goddamn it. He can only focus on the way you push your hair out of your face, the way your lips upturn into the most stunning smile he’s ever had the fate of encountering, and he really hopes he doesn’t get h-

“Akaashi-kun?”

(Fuck you and your completely gorgeous voice that drives him up the wall and makes him want to kiss you.)

“Oh– sorry, yeah?” He kind of hates himself for how his voice lilted a pitch higher.

You laugh, sounding like a goddess. He hopes that it means you don’t hate him. “Ahaha, I was just wondering if you have any ideas for the science fair? It’s a pretty big chunk of our grade, and I am… not the smartest when it comes to AP Bio..”

Akaashi thinks quite the opposite, but he isn’t currently in the position to contradict you.

“Um…” He pauses and thinks furiously. He comes up with some borderline generic idea that has enough room for a unique twist. And your eyes brighten.

“Waaaoo, Akaashi-kun’s a genius, hm?”

(God, he thinks he might have a little more than a crush on that teasing grin and glittering pair of eyes.)

He musters the courage to smile without looking stupid. “Of course.”

Two weeks later, he wants to sink into a hole.

Yes, it might have been his request that you two meet up to work on the project, but that was because he knew you were a procrastinator! You would start the project the night before if he’d let you!

But it was not his idea to do it at his house.

Now he has to live with the fact that you’re lying on HIS bed, spread-eagled in your sweater and shorts, complaining about how lazy you are.

(He wonders how you’re so comfortable about wearing shorts to a male classmate’s house. You two aren’t even that close, although you claim otherwise.)

“Come on, get up,” he rolls his eyes. “We have work to do.”

“But I’m so tiiiiiredddd… and lazyyyy…. wouldn’t it be such a gentlemanly act of Akaashi-kun to do the project for me?” You flash him a sweet smile while stretching out even more on the bed.

Snorting, he watches you sink into his mattress and roll around idly. “Hey, don’t you need the grade? You can’t pass if you make me do your work.”

Sighing, you hum in defeated content. “Well, it was worth a try.” You reach out your hand and tousle his wavy hair, and he almost flinches at the touch. He hates to say it but he loves it so much that you’re so affection with him, and Akaashi knows he would give anything to keep you teasing him with all this attention.

“Yeah.. yeah, it was,” he murmurs to himself before letting himself sit down next to you. He notices how you scrunch your body from a spread-eagle to a cute, curled up position to make room for him.

“Mm, so how are we gonna do this?” you ask, with a subtle mixture of bored and curious seeping into your tone. Then, he watches your features melt into a warm, mischievous smile as you hum, “Unless you just wanna nap and cuddle or something.”

(Holy fuck.)

Akaashi forces himself to scowl playfully and he shakes his head, sighing loudly in mock disappointment. “I don’t know what to do with you.” And equally as teasing, he adds, “I should just kick you out and not treat you to lunch if you’re going to be like this.”

“Noooooo!!!” you whine in this adorably frustrated and threatening voice. “Don’t you dare starve me or I’m feeding you to the rats.”

He chuckles. “See, that’s what I thought.”

But of course, your face wraps into a devilish grin as you say in a singsong voice and throw your arms around him (which makes him flush and makes his heart go WABAM), “It doesn’t matter though, ‘cause I got this whole-ass meal right here~”

“Shut up.”

(But you both know he never means it.)

Thanks to Akaashi (and your obliging albeit lazy participation), you two blow the science fair out of the way and get an A. He’s never seen you so delighted about a grade.

“I’m so happy~” you never shut up about how grateful you are for him, not that he’s complaining. “This is probably the highest mark I’ve ever gotten in this class.”

“Don’t over exaggerate. You’re not too bad at Bio,” Akaashi remarks. “You just need a tutor, probably, if you’re struggling.”

(By the way, he is ecstatic that you two are ACTUALLY FRIENDS!!! He’s even met your dog!!)

“Hmmmm…” You eye him warily before shrugging. “Whatever you say, Akaashi-kun.” Your eyes flit around before returning on him, and you start rambling about the newest anime you’ve gotten into and how it’s practically on-par with the manga, and how hot one of their characters are-

(For some reason Akaashi really zeroes in on that part.)

He really feels like he has to contribute something to the conversation, so he puts in, “Wow, [Name]-san, you’re such a fangirl.”

You snort loudly and put two peace-signs to your face like some kawaii anime girl, doing this mock-sweet smile. “Waaaooo, you’re rightttt. I’m Akaashi-kun’s number one fan!! He’s so cute when he’s yelling at me to do my work and super hot when he helps me with homew-”

He swears to god his face is radiating an inhuman amount of heat and he rolls his eyes before shaking his head and jabbing your side lightly. “Didn’t I tell you not to say that?”

“Ummm, maybe.” Your ‘innocent’ grin tells him otherwise. “But you know, you’re right, Akaashi-kun,” you cross your arms and give your cute little smirk again. “I am a genius, and I’m suuuper good at Bio. I just need someone to channel it.” And you lean forward until both your noses are touching, and Akaashi thinks he’s about to explode. “So maybe you could help me out?”

The subtle pleading undercurrent in your voice compels Akaashi to straighten up a little bit without flushing even redder. Keep cool, keep cool.

(He prays that his skill of keeping a poker face will hide the blood rushing around in his dick.)

“Well, what time?”

This time around, he finds himself at your house instead. You both are sitting at your desk, ‘working’ on your math and Bio homework. In other words, just talking.

He’s confident now in that the two of you are close friends. He’s learned that from afar, you were a sweet and confident yet perfectly kind girl. That was the girl he based his feelings off of. During your Bio project, he found the cheeky, sly and vibrant yet chill girl who always teased him but was still nonetheless sweet.

And now, under that facade, you were an anxious mess with a shit-ton of insecurities.

(He thinks it’s funny how you boast that you’re just like Shrek. You have layers.)

Akaashi glances at you, groaning with your head down onto the table. “I hate math..” he hears you grumble.

“Hey, you’re not too bad. You just have to be careful when plugging in your equations,” he counters.

“But what if I can’t remember my equations??”

“We both know you’re fine at remembering them.”

“I’m gonna fail.”

“Have faith in yourself, because I do.” And Akaashi is being completely honest. His confidence in you being just fine and being able to pass all your classes is strong because he’s seen you work (after procrastinating). “You just have to work on not putting things off until the last minute.”

You make a frustrated noise before resting your chin on your propped hand. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just.. destined to be set back, y’know? Like, everything I do is gonna somehow backfire on me.”

He knows the feeling, especially late at night in bed, stressing over what tomorrow might bring him.

“And like… I have this whole thing set up for me. When people know me as a classmate, I’m an average student, right? Then when we’re like… ‘friends’, I’m all weird and tease-y.” You let out a loud sigh. “And to the unlucky people who get to this stage, I’m a mess.”

“Stop.” Akaashi’s surprised at how firm he is. “I’m grateful to have met you and to have become your friend, [Name]. You’re going to be fine, you need to trust yourself more. Because I trust you more than anything.”

(Yes, he is on first-name basis with you!! Yes, he trusts you even more than he might even trust Bokuto!!)

Your lips twitch into a small smile, one that he’s grown to love and adore. He’s confident that he’s so fucking deep in love and he doesn’t know how to move on. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.” He flicks some crumpled-up post-it at you. “Since we’re not doing any homework anytime soon, what else do you want to talk about?”

Your gaze becomes a little more shy and nervous. “Umm… Weeell, I need help.”

“I mean, why else would I be here?”

“No, seriously, Keiji-kun. Seriously!!” You throw mock-fit, despite obviously looking anxious.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. Sorry.”

“Uh. Um, so…” You blink and pretend to look focused on doodling on the corner of your math paper. “There’s this dude I like. Like, I reaaally like him, which is surprising even for me.” You laugh a little bit, and as Akaashi feels his heart start to tear in half, he forces out a chuckle to match. “He’s suuuper pretty– I think that’s the word for it? Pretty. And he’s kinda funny in his own way, and he’s really sweet and listens to me all the time even when I don’t deserve his time. And I dunno, I think he might like me back? Also, I really really really like him. But I don’t really know how to confess…

“Because you know, I’m kinda wack like that, haha. I’ll probably screw up the confession and make things worse, and, well, I need help.” You finish your ramble with a loud breath and you collapse your head onto the table, groaning.

“Uh–” Fuck, oh fuck him, fuck his life. “I mean… I think just a heartfelt confession would do? Something simple and sweet that says you really like him, in case somehow your words don’t work.” Akaashi feels like he’s sweating, a lot, and he feels even more frustrated than ever. His heart is crashing against his ribcage, and his mind is a fucking mess.

You frown a little bit, and suddenly a gush of words fly out of your mouth like a stream bursting from a dam. “Oh my god, what if I’m reading the signs all wrong and he doesn’t at all like me back? I mean, I wouldn’t blame him because I’m kinda ugly and have this weird personality thing going on and I’m shit at math and Bio-”

“Stop.” Akaashi forces himself to intervene, mainly because 1) you’re literally the light of his life and 2) he feels like he has to leave really soon after dealing with the news. “Shut up, [Name]. You aren’t ugly at all, and I, for one, enjoy your weird personality. And I already told you, you’re fine with academics.” He makes himself make eye contact with you, peering up from your arm covering your face, and says, “If he rejects you, he isn’t worth your time at all and you should move on.”

(Preferably with me.)

He watches you exhale, like he just unwound a tight spring from inside of you, and your shoulders relax and you melt from your anxious state, just a little bit. “You’re right. If.. if he doesn’t feel the same, I’ll just forget about him.”

“Because you’re a genius.” Akaashi tries to hype you up, but he still feels like crumbling. Falsely checking his phone, he stretches and stands up. “I have to go now, sorry. My mom asked me to pick up my little sister from tutoring.”

“Huh, already?” Confusion flits across your face, and it hurts him even more to just leave you after you confided in him, but he knows he has to leave before he says something he might regret. “Oh, okaayy.. see you tomorrow then. Thanks for helping me out.” You yawn before standing up to hug him goodbye.

“No problem.” He says it casually, but Akaashi feels his mood drop faster and lower than ever. He hugs you back, but he breaks away fast.

After leaving your house and collapsing onto his bed in his locked bedroom (with his 11-year-old sister knocking on the door and curiously asking what’s wrong), he can’t help but feel hurt that you couldn’t even tell him who your mystery crush’s name was.

A week passes by, and neither of you mention the conversation at your house. It doesn’t matter either way, since you two are still so casually best friends. At the same time, he desperately wants to push the matter just to find out who it is.

Otherwise, Akaashi has noticeably been more quiet and moody to the point that he doesn’t know how to control it. Sure, he keeps up the same as he would before your conversation, but he can’t help but feel his heart sink everytime he sees you. His mind is ecstatic every time he talks to you, while simultaneously wanting to tear itself apart.

He’s tried getting rid of feelings for you, in literally every way possible. From avoiding thinking about you (which backfired horribly because he ended up thinking more about you) to focusing on other girls (ew, none of them were even capable of creating the same effect on him as you do), he’s tried it all and it’s all failed.

Akaashi realizes his silent slump has gotten so bad to the point that Bokuto made him sit out a few practice matches in the gym just because Akaashi was nowhere near the spot that any of the team expected him to be at.

After school, he meets with you near the vending machine as always. You buy two cans of coffee, one for you and one for him.

As soon as he takes the can gratefully, you clear your throat.

“Yeah, [Name]?”

Glancing around before staring him in the eye, you start, “Keiji-kun, before you run away, I just…. I just wanted to let you know I really really really like you. Like, a lot.” You start speaking kind of fast, so Akaashi can’t process what you’re saying.

“And I mean it. Ever since the Bio project, you’ve been so nice to me and you’ve been such a great friend even though I made it hard sometimes, and along the way I just caught feelings. You honestly mean everything to me, and I appreciate you so much for everything we’ve been through. I- I think, I love you, Keiji. And I hope you accept my feelings.” You smile, almost nervously but nonetheless sincere, and Akaashi thinks he’s about to explode.

“I- I,” Fuck, oh my fucking god, he thinks to himself. He’s shaking a little bit– that’s how happy he is. “[Name], I..” God fucking damn it, he can’t even express how happy he is. He feels his cheeks blossom and he feels his lips quirk into this goofy smile.

But then he watches you shy away a little bit as you hurriedly say, “I- I mean, sorry. It’s okay if you just wanna be friends-”

“No.” Finally, Akaashi can use his mouth and then he gently takes your cheeks in his hands and closes the gap between you two, lips connecting in a display of pining and affection.

He practically melts into the kiss, he’s never been so happy. He thinks he’s actually about to implode; he’s been dreaming about kissing you like this, against your soft, plush lips. And finally he’s able to call you his, to call you the one. When the two of you finally break away for air, he’s breathing hard and his mind is a mess, which is rare considering his usual stoic state.

Akaashi has also never seen you so flustered and blushy. He murmurs into your ear as he takes your hand, “Feelings are 100% reciprocated.”

“I can tell,” you laugh breathily, and he’s so happy to hear that some of your anxiety has dissolved in that sweet kiss. He’s absolutely infatuated with you in every aspect. He leans in for a soft, quicker kiss on the lips and savors the feeling of warmth he gets. “Dork.”, he whispers.

“Only for you.”

[eirabach]

For @gumnut-logic 's FabFiveFeb Challenge

Prompt Two - Gordon

[Can't / No clothes]

Also inspired by Nutty's TAG ages meta, because it gave me *emotions*. I'm super sorry. Added Vance Joy because it’s Gordon.

---

Under the surface you don't know what you'll find,

Until it's your time.

---

The night that Jeff Tracy took humanity's first step on the surface of Mars, he had three little boys watching at home. Gordon, he liked to say, was born of the fall out. A child created in a whirlwind of press tours and ticker tape and eventually brought home to that quiet little homestead that would never be truly quiet or homely again. 

By the time Gordon became a Tracy being a Tracy mattered. And sure money's great and influence is better, but Gordon's sixteen years old with sunlight in his hair and his eyes and his soul, and for him, for him the best part of being a Tracy is that no one ever tells you you can't.

Not that Gordon would listen if they did.

Because the other important thing to know about being a Tracy, is that Gordon isn't very good at it.

He's uninterested in physics or engineering or math. He has minimal desire to blow things up or shoot people or study space dust. He likes a party and he loves people, but he's miserable in a cummerbund and he kinda never understood capitalism.

When you're fourth, you gotta find your own way to be first. And all right Scott's a fighter pilot and John's a genius and Virgil's some sort of goddamn savant, but at least Alan can't even tie his shoelaces yet so Gordon's got one up on him. Gordon doesn't even wear shoes. Doesn't wear much of anything at all except teeny weeny trunks splattered red, white and blue.

Gordon won't be a hero, won't have a theory named after him, but what Gordon will have will be his.

Gordon's going for gold.

His muscles burn and his hair turns green and he sweats chlorine into his sheets every night, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the next millisecond, the turn, the cleanness of his touch. He can't care about anything but his coach's thumb hovering over the stopwatch and the crest of his fly because it's coming. Gold. It's coming, and it's everything.

Everything.

---

Dad calls on Wednesdays at three. Alan calls at midnight just to hear him swear. He gets weekly updates on daring-do from Scott and a monthly serving of sarcasm and space babble from John.

Virgil calls because they tend to forget.

"You gonna come home, you think? Before?"

Virgil looks different, his floppy black hair cropped short, band shirts exchanged for some weird quasi military uniform. He's still watching Gordon shovel food down his throat with an expression of disgusted awe, though, so some things never change.

"Dunno." Gordon shrugs, mouth full. "Gotta keep training. Four months to go, can't lose form now."

"You should come, there's -- there's a lot changed around here," says Virgil, like that's a reason. Then, when Gordon just chews at him in reply, "Dad built you a pool."

And maybe that's a reason, after all.

Cause sure, his dad's never told him he can't, but Gordon's been gone a long time, and he's not sure he remembers the last time his dad told him he could.

---

Home's not the farm anymore, or the ranch, or the townhouse in Manhattan. Home is some island a billion miles from anywhere, where huge portraits of his older brothers stare expressionlessly down at him and his shoes squeak on the super shiny floor, humidity making his tracksuit stick to his back. 

Gordon has only really spent a few weeks here, his training all taking place under the eagle eye of Uncle Sam and sponsored entirely by Old Glory, but he doesn't remember it like this. 

The decor is still retro spy movie meets crazy billionaire with paranoia problems, and his bedroom is pretty much as he left it, but nothing else seems familiar at all. He'd left Tracy Two in a great cavernous hanger that would have been overkill even for one of dad's crazy projects, Kyrano had rushed him past huge shadowy behemoths that suggested, pretty damn strongly, that Jeff Tracy is in the midst of another too easily financed midlife crisis.

"Please tell me he isn't planning world domination," Gordon had only half joked as they’d emerged into the brightness of the villa proper. "He'd look awful in lycra."

Kyrano had glared at him, swirled back into the bowels of the island, and left him with Scott.

Scott is wearing lycra.

He's sitting behind their dad's desk, two high points of colour in his cheeks and his eyes bright with something Gordon can't name as he pours over datasets. All he's missing to complete the look is a fluffy white cat and a maniacal laugh.

"Hey. Hey." Nothing. Scott mutters to himself as he sweeps his fingers through warning signs. "Scotty, hey!"

Scott looks up.  Blinks. Blinks again.

"Gordon?"

"The one and only."

Scott stands, still grossly tall, and moves to ruffle Gordon's hair. It's not as easy as it used to be, there's an actual lift of his hand, and Gordon can't help but feel satisfaction creep into his bones. 

"You grew."

"Hear it happens."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Got a pillow."

"Tragic."

"That's me." Gordon throws his arm across his eyes and flops backwards onto the sofa. "Sacrificing everything in pursuit of a noble goal. Hold tight, beautiful people. Only three more months and I'm yours."

He peeks out from behalf of his elbow to see Scott standing over him, arms folded, lips twisted into something a bit like a fond smile. A bit. 

Something unpleasant settles in Gordon's stomach.

"What are you doing desk work for? I thought you were out there --" He gestures to the cloudless sky beyond the glass wall. "Y'know. Saving the world."

Scott opens his mouth, but then there's a chime from the desk and Alan hollering from the staircase and Grandma crushing him to her chest, and Gordon is left to wonder.

---

Scott isn't the only thing that's strange.

There's a fish tank in the corner, empty but for a little model sub from that docudrama he and John used to love to watch with Mom, but when he lays his hand on the glass it hums beneath his fingers and makes his teeth ache. 

John's not here, replaced as resident super nerd by some guy they call Brains who makes John look dumb. Dad isn't there, either, but that's okay. Nor is Gordon, really.

He's lived apart from his family for the best part of two years, he shouldn't be surprised that they've changed. That's he's changed. But somehow, it doesn't feel like he has.

Alan's finally learned to tie his laces but still never bothers, Virgil's taken out his piercing, Grandma is being followed by a robot dog, but Gordon is still the same kid with the same dreams and he isn't sure what anybody else's dreams are anymore. Virgil's in a uniform and Scott's out of his and John is gone and Alan's looking at him like he knows stuff.

This is impossible, of course. Alan is an infant. This is the abiding certainty of Gordon's life and he intends to prove it this evening with three rubber spiders and a trapeze but whatever.

It's just that Gordon isn't quite sure where he fits, just like he doesn't know where to sit when holograms of the great and the good appear in his living room. Doesn't quite know what to make of the way their eyes skip over him to rest on Scott, or Virgil, and where the hell is John, anyway?

"Top secret," Alan says, all pre-teen smugness, "can't tell you."

"Dad'll be home soon," Virgil adds, ever the peacekeeper, "I'm sure he'll tell you everything."

Gordon's not so sure and Scott says nothing at all except a vehement 'no!' when Gordon dares to suggest going for a swim. 

So much for the pool, then.

---

Night is falling and Gordon's already ready for bed when the roar of engines fills the air and the whole family dart for the window, faces pressed against the glass. Gordon hovers behind them, unsure of his place, until Scott grabs him bodily by the elbow and drags him downstairs to where the deck leads down to the pool.

"Come on! You got to see this!"

It's a thing to see, all right. The pool withdraws beneath the villa itself, leaving a great gaping hole in the earth into which a great silver plane descends, jets first. And Gordon remembers the TV-21 and his father's fascination with speed and grace and more speed -- it's the one thing they have in common after all -- but this, this is something else. 

She disappears into the ground, and the pool sweeps over her, only the sway of the water left as evidence. Scott turns to him with an almost hysterical glee.

"Did you see that!?"

Gordon would have pointed out that he'd have to have been dead blind and comatose not to have seen it, but Scott's practically bouncing on his toes, his expression full of what Gordon recognises as real, true love.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come on, come on, Dad's gotta debrief and then --"

"Scott!" They both snap to attention, immediately turning to where their father stands, towering over both of them from the top of the stairs. "Debrief can wait. Let me see your brother."

Scott darts off, probably to hump the shiny thing, and Dad approaches Gordon, his eyes shining, dirt on his cheek.

"What do you think of her, son?"

"I think you've safely guaranteed Scotty won't be bringing you home any surprise grandbabies."

Dad snorts, clapping Gordon on the shoulder and turning him back toward the pool. They head out across the deck together, Gordon barefoot in only his sleep shorts, Jeff in a uniform like Scott's only gently singed.

"I've missed you. How's training?"

Gordon half shrugs. "Wet. Good. Pretty tiring."

Jeff looks him up and down with a critical eye "So I imagine. It looks good on you."

Gordon stretches and grins. "No more noodle arms, right?"

Jeff blinks, and for a moment Gordon almost thinks he sees something like sadness in his eyes, but it's soon gone and his dad's turning him to face the pool again.

"Will it do? I know it's not Olympic standard but we needed some room for the house and --"

"Dad," he says, because his dad is rambling and his dad never rambles. "Dad what's going on?"

Jeff looks down into the pool. The stars flicker into being in his reflection.

"Forest fire. Family home was cut off."

"Your rescue thing. You saved them."

Jeff looks at him, Gordon watches in the water as he schools his features, tightens his jaw. "This time.

"Scott and Virgil?"

"Are involved, yes."

"And John?"

Jeff looks up then, up to the darkening sky, and points. "We built a satellite. It monitors distress calls from all over the world - and beyond."

"Makes sense. Space case."

"Play to your strengths, isn't that what they say?"

"What about Alan?"

"Alan's eleven, Gordon. Even my insanity has its limits."

"And you built me a pool?"

"And I built you a pool. Is it -- " a breath where Gordon wouldn't expect to hear one "is it all right?"

"All right?" Gordon turns to him and grins. "It's perfect."

Because okay, so it's only a short course, and it occasionally has a supersonic plane blasting through it, but it's a pool and it's for him, and that's better than Scotty's super special plane. 

His dad's clapping him on the back again and smiling and that's better than any top secret technology. 

It makes a strange island full of strange things feel a little bit more like home.

Jeff's off again already though, gesturing to the round building above the villa and going on about blast radius and Gordon's content to just watch for a moment, to bask in that feeling for as long as it lasts. Then the subject changes.

"We'll be in Cape Town for the opening ceremony, of course, and I've made arrangements to ensure we can all make your races. I'm sure it won't shock you to hear Alan's made t shirts and John's bringing a banner. I hope it's safe for television."

His eyes snap to his dad's.

"John's coming?"

His dad's eyebrows twitch. "You think he'd miss it? Gordon, none of us will miss this. Not for the world. And as you now know, I mean that quite literally."

Gordon nods, mutely. There's a build up of something in his chest. Lactic acid squeezing his heart. His dad takes pity.

"What about September? Are you still planning on marine biology?"

Gordon scuffs at the tile with his bare heel. This is a conversation he's been avoiding for a long time, now. The after.

"Yeah. UCLA."

"California?"

Gordon shrugs.

"You don't seem keen? Sydney have an excellent program, do you --" Gordon feels more than hears the shudder in his dad's exhale. "No, no Jeff stop it. You tell me, Gordy. What do you want to do?"

Gordon's voice is never small, but it's as close as it's ever been. "Was thinking WASP."

Both of his dad's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "The military? You?"

It's not an unexpected reaction. Gordon scoffs. "You wound me, Dad. Maybe I have hidden depths."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," his dad says, then he looks up, right up, to where the milky way swirls and John sits. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yeah, I know, I thought, college first - couple of years of credits and I can join as an officer.”

“You’re my son, you can join as whatever you damn well please.”

“Dad--”

"Sorry, sorry.” And his Dad’s looking into space and Gordon’s looking down at the water and it’s kinda always been like this, between them. Gordon suspects his dad hates it even more than he does.”You know I'll support you, if that's what you really want."

Gordon finally follows his gaze, imagines John in the vacuum of space, alone with his books and his stars. He wonders if Dad had had this conversation with him, before sending him up there. "That sounds kinda like a don't do it, Dad, I'm not gonna lie."

"Can I be honest?" Gordon nods, because saying no seems kinda harsh, but his heart is thundering faster than after a sprint. "Gordon, when I designed International Rescue, I designed it for you boys. A legacy, I suppose. I wanted --" he shakes his head. "I'm getting to be a selfish old man."

Gordon scowls. "You're the least selfish man I've ever met. Pretty sure those people whose lives you saved today would agree."

Jeff shakes his head.

"I want you to know," he says, "that there will always be a place for you, here, with us, if you want it. But only if you want it." A twitch of Jeff’s lips. “God knows, I could never make you anyway.”

"Thanks, Dad." Then, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Race you?"

A splash, a shout, laughter rings out into the night and hell it's cheesy but it's true; for a moment Gordon kinda feels like he's already won.

---

The Olympics are due to start in June.

May, and his father dies.

Gordon flies home immediately, thirty thousand feet over Cape Town without even looking down.

He can't.

He has a place in a legacy.

---

[feferipeixes]

Grapefruit Juice

For @skia-oura. You know what you did.

(on AO3)

It was a quiet morning when Bentley awoke, nestled in between Dipper and Torako. Dipper was curled up in the fetal position, forehead resting on Bentley’s shoulder, a clawed hand caressing his other shoulder, little Z’s floating above the demon’s head. Torako, on the other hand, was practically lying on top of him, spread-eagled and snoring loudly. A small smile spread across Bentley’s sleepy face. It felt so nice, in a weird way he didn’t know how to express. He loved waking up next to those two dorks. It felt safe to be with them.

Also, the fact that they were sleeping meant they weren’t wreaking havoc, which was always a plus.

A glance at the alarm clock -- it was early. Too early to really start the day, but too late to get back to sleep. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, making sure not to wake either of his roommates up. Tiptoeing out of the room like a cartoon character, he eased the door shut and then proceeded to the kitchen.

He opened the cupboard to look for something to eat for breakfast. The box of Moffios immediately stuck out to him -- he noticed that the sigil preventing it from being touched was almost worn away. Either Torako had been scratching it out or she’d made some sort of deal with Dipper. He quickly re-inscribed the symbol, and the box took on a glittery sheen indicating that it’d sting any fingers who tried to take it. That should keep her away from it for a few more days.

He grabbed his favorite almond-based caffeinated cereal and closed the cupboard. Setting the box of Nutty Tweaks down on the table, he fetched a bowl and looked through the fridge for something to drink. His usual box of orange juice was nowhere to be found. Bentley rolled his eyes -- no doubt his doofus brother finished it off and forgot to put it on the shopping list. Looked like he was eating dry tweaks that morning.

Except...

In the back of the fridge, he glimpsed a bottle of pink juice. He pulled it out and looked it over for a label. Nothing. It was probably the weird old-timey juice that Dipper would import from Australia, which was apparently the only remaining place where it was made. With a glint in his eye, Bentley poured himself a glass. If Dipper was going to drink all of his juice, he’d just have to return the favor.

His revenge at hand, Bentley sat at the table and started spooning crunchy almonds into his mouth. He considered the box’s promise to get anyone who eats the cereal “absolutely shredded” with “ham wild muscles” and “disgustingly feral abs”. He wondered if people really fell for that kind of marketing. At any rate, it didn’t affect him. He just liked almonds. And caffeine.

...although if he Did happen to get stronger from eating cereal, he wouldn’t complain. He’d be able to draw longer-lasting sigils if he could cut deeper into a surface.

Cereal consumed, Bentley raised the glass of juice to his lips. He briefly wondered whether it really was such a good idea to drink a demon’s juice -- for all he knew, it wasn’t actually juice but rather distilled insanity with blood mixed in (for taste). The promise of vengeance was too much to pass up, though, and he took a small sip.

And then downed the entire glass.

Whatever that stuff was, it was delicious. Weirdly tart with a sweet aftertaste. He’d never tasted anything like it -- no wonder Dipper went to such great lengths to obtain it. Before he knew it, Bentley had drunk the entire bottle. Surveying the casualties of his breakfast, he felt a small seed of guilt sprout within him, but he quickly brushed it away. It’s only what Dipper deserved for drinking all the orange juice.

Out of nowhere, the bedroom door slammed open with enough force to shake the room. Salt and pepper shakers spilled onto the counter. A clock fell off the wall and shattered on the floor. Bentley felt the chair he was sitting on jump a foot off the ground, and his arms shot out instinctively to grab the table so he wouldn’t fall over. Disoriented, it took him a moment to parse what was happening. Then he saw Torako standing in the doorway with a crazed look on her face, and immediately knew his peaceful morning was over.

“Bentley!” she yelled, gesticulating wildly. “You’re eating breakfast? Without meeeee?”

“You were asleep!” he countered. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

He shrank into his chair as she stomped over to him, hands on hips, hair matted and messy. She picked up the cereal box and broke into a mischievous grin. “Bentley’s Getting Buff, I see.” She cackled and tossed the box aside, sprinkling almonds across the kitchen.

“Stop! I just cleaned the apartment yesterday!”

Ignoring him, she picked up the empty juice bottle on the table and examined it while Bentley eyed her suspiciously. It was very likely she’d pick Dipper’s side if a revenge battle broke out because the two of them combined were an unstoppable chaos machine. He had to get her off the topic of breakfast, quick.

“Hey, Tora,” he said carefully. “I was thinking about re-dyeing my hair. Did you wanna...”

Torako cut him off by screaming at the top of her lungs. Bentley winced and clapped his hands to his ears. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “You’re going to wake up the entire building!”

“Did you drink Dipper’s grapefruit juice????” she screeched.

Bentley shrank into his chair again. “Maybe. But he deserved it.” He glanced at the open bedroom door, curious about the fact that Dipper hadn’t come out yet to see what was going on. Maybe he’d been summoned.

“Oh NO Ben, this is BAD,” Torako continued to yell. “Holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT!”

Bentley started edging away from her. “Is something happening right now? Am I missing something?”

She tore her gaze away from the bottle and stared him directly in the eyes, radiating such delirium that it was almost nauseating to look at. She hurled the bottle into the ground as hard as she could, and it broke through the floor into the next apartment down. Before he could object to this, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and shrieked, “BENTLEY you’re gonna DIE, that was GRAPEFRUIT JUICE, don’t you KNOW, it’s gonna make your ANTIDEPRESSANTS EXPLODE IN YOUR BRAIN!”

He gaped at her. “What are you talking abouuuu- !” He yelped as Torako effortlessly lifted him up and wrapped him over her shoulders. He tried in vain to wriggle free of her grip, but she was much stronger than him. “Let go of me!”

“Hello? Hospital?” Bentley stopped flailing to see Torako talking into a phone wedged between her head and her shoulder that couldn’t possibly have been there more than a second ago. “Yes, hospital! Please come quick! We have a serious case of genius boy brain burst! Oh stars, I can’t do this!” She dropped the phone and started sobbing, prompting Bentley’s anxiety to shoot through the roof.

“Tora? Are you okay? I’m really worried.” Not about himself, because he was pretty sure his brain was not about to explode from drinking juice, but even in her most trickster of moments Torako had never acted like this before and it was freaking him out. “Is this part of a prank or are you... really having some kind of breakdown right now? If this is real then I need to know so I can help.”

“You’re the one who needs help, you poor thing.” She laid him down on a stretcher and patted him on the head. “It’s gonna be okay! The hospital people will save you! They’ll take you to the juicer from Willy Wonka and everything will be okay!”

“What’s Willy Wonka?” Bentley yelled as he was pulled away on the stretcher. He watched Torako get smaller and smaller before finally fading away into the distance. Exhausted, he put his head down and stared up at the inky black ceiling of the ambulance. “This is so annoying. I don’t need to go to the hospital. I need to bust out of here.”

“Please don’t,” Philip said. Bentley’s eyes boggled at the sight of his father steering the ambulance. He gave his son a wink before turning back to face the road. “I’d have to chase you down or I’ll get fired, and I can’t do that. You’re so much faster than me now.”

“Dad?” Bentley breathed. “Why are you driving an ambulance? When did you -- you’re not supposed to -- isn’t it late?”

There was a sigh from the front seat. “Sorry, Bentley, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, when you’re about to die from grapefruit overdose, but it’s true. I wasn’t making enough money doodling little hearts on pictures of your very handsome roommate. I had to pick up some odd jobs to make ends meet.”

“You what now?”

“It’s shameful, I know.” Philip’s head smacked down onto the steering wheel, and the ambulance started swerving wildly around on the road. “In a perfect world, we’d all be able to sit around and talk about demons all day without worrying about rent or food, but we don’t live in a perfect world and it’s my job as a father to break that to you. I’m so sorry.”

Bentley opened his mouth to respond, but faltered when he heard a hiccup. He flipped over onto his stomach to see his father weeping softly onto the steering wheel. Alarm bells rang in his head. “Dad, please don’t cry. It’s alright.” He attempted to undo the straps holding him on the stretcher, but they only seemed to get tighter. “We can talk about this. Please don’t cry.”

He reached out to him, his fingers gently brushing up against the driver’s seat, hoping that his father would sense his presence and take his hand. But it never came. There was a jerking sensation from beneath him as the conveyor belt activated, and the stretcher started moving away from the ambulance.

“Dad?” Bentley called, his voice heavy with reverberation. “Dad, don’t leave!”

No response. The sound of weeping faded away, and Bentley felt a pit settle in his stomach. He looked around and saw that he was rolling slowly on a track that ran through a landscape of stars. A row of doctors stared at him with blurry faces from behind a glass partition. Half of them gasped as he went by. The other half just looked disappointed, shaking their heads or crossing their arms.

“It’s… the Grapefruit Juice Boy,” one of them choked out.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he yelled, scowling. “This -- okay, I’m getting suspicious now! Am I dreaming? Is this what a dream that isn’t a nightmare is like? It sucks!”

The conveyor stuttered to a halt and the doctors all vanished. Bentley blinked, and realized he was in a dentist’s office. A pair of hands pulled a paper bib around his neck, and his scowl deepened. “Now what’s going on? I thought this dream was about medication interactions! Why am I at the dentist now?”

“Grapefruit juice is really sugary,” came a voice from behind him. “Your teeth are gonna fall out.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Bentley raged. “My roommates constantly pour sugar into every orifice on their faces, but I have a stress dream about the dentist because I drank a bottle of juice. I’d like to see Torako and Dip- hey wait a minute!” He cut off as the familiarity of the dentist’s voice hit him. The hands appeared again, putting a second bib on him, and Bentley noticed the fingers were tipped with claws. He struggled to tilt his head back, and caught a glint of light off the razor sharp teeth in the dentist’s grin.

“Hi Bentley,” Dipper said.

“Dipper? Why are you the dentist?” He collapsed back into the dentist’s chair and let his limbs fall limp over the sides. “Why are dreams like this? Is there some deep meaning behind all of this? I’d almost prefer the nightmares to Dipper cleaning my teeth.”

“Hey now,” Dipper pouted, putting a third bib around Bentley’s neck. “Maybe I’m really good at dental work. You know how hard flossing is with teeth like this?”

Bentley scratched his head. “Um, I guess not. But then why would I dream- hey wait a minute. Are you a dream Dipper or the real one?”

Dipper dropped the fourth bib he was holding and stepped back, bumping into a table of dental equipment. “Uhhhhh. Dream Dipper, definitely. Your brain just loves thinking about me. That’s it.”

The scowl returned to Bentley’s face in full-force. Sitting up, he tore the bibs off his neck and stared his roommate right in his dumb evil eyes. “It is the real you! What are you doing in my dream? This is all your fault, isn’t it?”

The demon smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Haha, well, uh, yeah sort of. Technically it’s Torako’s fault. This was all her idea, but I’m the one with the dream magic, so it just made sense, like oh who’s gonna keep Bentley in a weird dream so that he sleeps in today, Dipper obviously, and -”

Swinging his legs off the table, Bentley stood up for the first time in what felt like ages, and marched over shakily as Dipper backed away. “You trapped me in a crazy dream world??”

“No! Not really!” Dipper raised his arms, looking panicked. “I mean, okay, I made parts of it, but mostly all I did was stop you from waking up earlier! Sometimes people just have weird dreams, Ben! It’s a natural part of life for your species!”

“I’m putting wards all over the bedroom when I wake up. Why did you do this??”

Dipper shrank down to his 12-year old form and tried his best to look innocent. “No reason at all! You just looked like you needed some sleep! It definitely wasn’t that Torako needed time to break the sigil you made to prevent her from touching the box of Moffios!”

“Oh my stars Torako. This is ridiculous.” Bentley stared at his hands, picturing them each grasping one of his roommates’ hands, thinking about how that was definitely not going to be happening again for two weeks at minimum. “Does this at least mean you didn’t actually finish off my orange juice?”

Dipper giggled nervously. “Yeah, about that...”

Bentley facepalmed. “Wake me up. Right now.”

“Well, uh, you see,” Dipper replied, squirming, “it’s like, there’s a time limit on the deal I made with Torako, and yknow how it is...”

“If you don’t wake me up this instant, you’re gonna have a lot more to worry about than whether or not you’re getting cuddles ever again. I’ll have my dad over for dinner every single night and he’ll ask you every uncomfortable question under the sun! Do you hear me?”

Dipper blanched. “Yes sir, right away sir!” he babbled, standing up straight and saluting. He snapped his fingers, and the world fell away.

Bentley shot upright in bed, the sounds of squealing floating in from the kitchen. He jumped out from the covers, sprinting past the ashamed-looking demon at the door, to see Torako kneeling on the kitchen counter, jabbing at the box of Moffios with a dinner knife.

“Torako! No!” he hollered, racing after her. “I’m never buying Moffios again!”

Her eyes grew big as dinner plates and she took off with the box, running around the table to get away from him. “Bentley! You’re awake! Uh… this isn’t what it looks like!”

“It looks like I’m changing the locks is what it looks like!”

“Dipper!” she cried as she passed the demon, who was watching the scene looking half-concerned and half-amused. “You said you’d keep him busy! We had a deal!”

“He figured it out!” Dipper cried back. “I knew he’d be too smart to fall for this!”

“I’m coming for you next, jerkface!” Bentley roared.

The sounds of screaming and furniture toppling over filled the apartment. The people in the apartment immediately below them hesitated before calling the landlord to complain about the noise. It was, after all, not much worse than Saturdays usually were in the Pines-Lam-Farkas household.

----

A bright ray of sunlight beamed through a crack in the curtains and directly onto Torako’s face, waking her up. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position amidst the lumpy couch cushions, but eventually resigned to her fate and opened her eyes. She was in the living room, of course, because Bentley hadn’t let her sleep in his room for a week now, which was just a little bit of an excessive punishment if you asked her! All of this and she didn’t even get any Moffios. The sheer injustice of it all.

Sitting up, she yawned and surveyed the room. She scratched her head as she looked for Dipper. He’d been sleeping on the floor next to her since they’d both been exiled from Bentley’s room, but the demon was presently nowhere to be seen, which was strange. He must’ve had an early morning summons. Oh well.

She headed over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. If she wasn’t allowed to have Moffios, she’d at least have something sweet to drink for breakfast. She grabbed the box of orange juice, flipped off the lid, and started chugging it directly from the carton. When it was all done, she collapsed into a chair with a large grin. Just what she needed to start the day.

“TORAKO!” Dipper yelled out of nowhere, blipping into reality directly beside her. “Did you drink my grapefruit juice?”

She yelped and fell out of her chair. “What? No, this is Bentley’s oran-” She lifted her hand, still holding the empty box of juice, but trailed off when she realized she was actually holding a clear bottle with a small amount of pink liquid left inside. She stared at it in shock, then at Dipper who looked equally as horrified. “What? But, I -”

“Torako, you’re gonna DIE!” Dipper screamed, suddenly wearing a nurse’s outfit and pushing her down the hall on a hospital bed. “Your MEDS are gonna EXPLODE in your BRAIN!”

“Noooooo!” she shrieked, flailing around as her parents jogged up beside the bed and waved at her while sobbing. “Bentley was right! This is awful!”

In the real world, Bentley was in the kitchen, applying the finishing touches on a new Moffios-protecting sigil that would last eight times as long. He heard Torako yelling in her sleep from across the room and smiled. “Yeah, it is,” he muttered, walking over. “Next time you’ll think twice before you try something like that on me.”

“Um… do you think she’s had enough?” Dipper asked from his position on the floor. He had his hand on Torako’s head, and when he looked up Bentley could see Torako’s dream reflected in the demon’s eyes. She’d somehow managed to wriggle free of the straps on the bed and was running down a highway in only a hospital gown, being pursued by a fleet of ambulances. “She admitted defeat.”

Bentley sat on the edge of the couch and seemed to consider it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You can wake her up.”

Dipper nodded, and removed his hand from Torako’s head. She gasped and her eyes flew open, looking in all directions before making eye contact with Bentley. She leapt off the sofa and backed against the wall.

“Sorry, Ben! I’ll never Dip into your dreams ever again!”

Bentley sniffed. “Sounds about right. And you?” He turned to Dipper, who looked similarly panicked under Bentley’s purview.

“And I promise I’ll only side with Torako sometimes instead of all the time!” he offered, backing up beside Torako. “Also not to go into your dreams ever unless I really need to, which I totally won’t take advantage of ever!”

“Good. I’m glad we had this talk.” Bentley stood up. “Do either of you want breakfast?”

“NO!” Dipper and Torako both screamed, scampering away at full speed. They ran into the bedroom, dove under the covers, and clutched each other tight. “Never again!”

“Suit yourself,” Bentley said, trying out the shoulder up-and-down thing that Dipper always did to express indifference. He pulled the bedroom door shut and just stood there for a bit, reflecting on the day’s events. Then he walked over to the kitchen, poured himself a bowl of Nutty Tweaks, and took a seat by the window so he could watch the snow fall as he ate.

It really was a very peaceful morning.

(AO3 link)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 15: Midnight Manhattan]

A/N: Hi y’all! Thank you so much for your patience and support. I think it’ll be worth it...this chapter has something you’ve been waiting for. Only three more chapters left after this one! 💜

Chapter summary: A family visit turns awkward, Chrissie loses her cool, Roger and Y/N have a difficult conversation, John tells the truth.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies, miscarriage, cute kids, drama, angst, more drama, more angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh​@deakydeacy​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

They say losing a child will destroy a marriage, and you’re sure that’s often true; but it didn’t destroy yours.

Roger is the only one who can truly understand—who can feel that same aching and eternal, ravening absence in his bones—because he’s the only one who lost her too. He mourns with you, he stays awake through long nights with you, and when the future seems too oppressively bleak to imagine he drags you back into the light with tired daybreak smiles exchanged over mugs of tea and songs plucked on his acoustic guitar by the roaring fireplace, stories and jokes, walks through the green trellises of Hyde Park and the marble halls of the British Museum filled with ancient treasures stolen from Egypt and India and the Yucatan Peninsula, Italy and Greece, leaving craters of hollow memory littered across the planet like the imprint of the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.

Together you bury her ashes in the garden behind the Surrey house. John brings you a pot of white calla lilies, and when the weather warms you plant them beside the small black stone carved with two names you never speak: Joan Aurora. Together you watch the blossoms grow up and grow old and wither back into the earth like everything does when the clock runs out, when the universe claims back the debt of life we borrow thinking that we own it. And through it all Roger is so persistently kind and patient and present that you’re willing to try for another pregnancy, despite the odds stacked against you like moving boxes, despite the crushing heartache that another loss would entail; despite your fearful, growing suspicion that in both casinos and the genetic lottery, the house always wins.

It never happens again, and you reach a sort of peace with this; but it’s a peace that makes you feel small and immaterial, like when you think too much about how vast the universe really is, like when you wake up restless before the dawn and wander out onto the cracked cobblestones in the garden as the sun burns the darkness off the world from east to west, watching the stars as they vanish in a sky bloodied with another world’s light.

A year passes, and then another, and then another; and every February 15th John sends you a new pot of white calla lilies to plant in the garden where other people’s children play.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Look, look, look!” Laszlo frenetically waves a crayon illustration in front of your face. On his head is the hat you knitted for him, green and featuring a large white L and with sprigs of fluffy brown hair like John’s peeking out around the edges. “I can draw like Daddy!”

It’s November 24th, 1981, and Queen is in Montreal. The band is playing two sold-out shows, one tonight and one tomorrow, and Brian and John have flown in their families for one last visit to tide their wives and children over until the touring break at Christmas. Laszlo is six years old now, Anna nearly five, Lena three, Antoni—fast asleep and presumably dreaming of such complexities as Hershey’s chocolate bars and Care Bear plushies—two; and there have been no additional Deacon children, a fact which seems to be the source of some disharmony between John and Veronica. What Laszlo has drawn with his rainbow of Crayolas most closely resembles a very chubby banana, but with black spots like a Dalmatian’s.

“Oh my goodness, you’re a young Picasso!” you exclaim. “It’s amazing! It’s a...it’s a...a...” Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. “It’s a...giraffe...?”

“Yeah!” Laszlo confirms, grinning.

Oh thank god.

“Very impressive,�� John tells you. “I would have guessed pineapple with leprosy.”

“It’s not a leopard, Daddy,” Laszlo says seriously.

“Yes of course, I didn’t say leopard, I said leprosy, which is entirely different—”

“It’s not a leopard!” Laszlo insists.

“You heard the kid, Deaks,” Roger says, winking. “No leopards. Come over here, kiddo, let me see the nice giraffe...oh yes, it is so obviously a giraffe, you can tell by the expertly placed spots...”

“You’re so good with them,” Veronica marvels, perhaps not quite approvingly, noting how Antoni is dozing peacefully against your chest, a red hat stitched with a massive A snug over his jumble of auburn hair. “He never sleeps for anyone. Not even me.”

“Being comfortable to nap on is one of my many talents.”

“It’s true,” Roger notes, smiling, combing through the knots in his brittle bleached hair.

“No, no, no, don’t try to be modest, you’ve always been fantastically good at caring for people. I remember Brian was half dead when you brought him home from that hospital in Boston.” Chrissie is sitting on the floor of the dressing room with Anna and Lena, helping to facilitate a glamorous wedding for Barbie and Ken. Teddy and Evelyn, both four years old and with massive mops of dark ringlets, are scribbling on coloring book pages of screeching dinosaurs and plunging prehistoric comets above tangles of jungle treetops.

“Hmm,” Veronica agrees lukewarmly. “You’ll be a wonderful mother to your own one day.”

You wince, bite your lower lip, peer down at Antoni’s pacific little face. His eyes, when they’re open, are a greyish blue like John’s. Chrissie kicks Veronica’s ankle and glares at her. Brian glances over from where he’s tuning his Red Special, one rangy leg propped up on a chair.

“Not so sure that’s in the cards,” you demur.

“Keep praying, dear,” Veronica offers. “The Lord will provide in his own time.”

You blink at her. She stares pityingly back with infuriating, weepy eyes. Everyone is suddenly very quiet, except for Freddie; he starts humming Another One Bites The Dust and taps his white Adidas sneakers in rhythm.

“What uniquely helpful advice,” you reply.

“Well, surely one doesn’t need biological children to be fulfilled in life,” Roger tells Veronica lightly, like it’s a warning.

She looks thunderstruck, like this is such a novel concept, like Roger just shared with her the secret to time travel or immortal life. “Perhaps not, but you know...it’s so terribly important for most women.”

“How feminist,” Chrissie quips, lighting a cigarette, flicking the ashes away irritably.

John leans into Veronica. “Stop it,” you can just barely hear him say.

“It’s interesting you would bring up timing, Veronica,” you observe. “We were all so discrete about yours.”

Freddie snorts, tries to pretend it was a sneeze, smooths his moustache as he studies himself in the mirror.

“I’m just trying to help, love,” Veronica claims innocently. “All this can’t be good for you, this ceaseless globetrotting. Almost never waking up in the same place twice. The stress of it!”

“What do you want her to do?” Roger snaps. “Sit at home nine or ten months out of the year and, what, scrub the windows until I come back? Take up watercolor painting? Knit the world’s largest quilt?”

“I’m just saying that less physical and emotional strain might help with the situation.”

“Because you’re a freaking doctor, right?” Roger flares. Chrissie kicks Veronica again.

“People should spend more time close to home,” she continues, undaunted. “There’s nothing more important than family. Look at me, I should have another on the way by now, but the band’s schedule is simply murderous...”

“Trying for a football team?” you inquire. And in the same moment you realize: This isn’t about me at all. This is about her and John.

Freddie is still humming, modelling his Superman tank top and tight white jeans in the mirror, cinching and re-cinching his belt, sliding a red sweatband unto one wrist. The kids—all except the unconscious Antoni—are giggling and pushing each other around on the slippery linoleum floor, seemingly oblivious. John whispers something to Veronica, his face dark and furious.

“John should be home more,” she bursts out. “For me, for the children—”

Roger scoffs and rolls his eyes. “For christ’s sake, lady, he’s not your bloody lapdog!”

“You don’t really need him,” she protests, almost pleads. “He’s just the bassist, he thought this would be a hobby to fill his time on weekends when he was in school, he didn’t sign up to live this way and Queen could find another bassist and you don’t need him—”

“We do need him! He’s not just some bassist! He’s a genius and he’s irreplaceable and there’s absolutely no Queen without him, we swore to it, I’d leave if he ever did!”

“You did what?!” Brian exclaims. Freddie hums louder, stomping his sneakers to the beat, mock-boxing with his reflection in the mirror. John raises his eyebrows at Roger as if he had assumed Rog wouldn’t remember that, assumed he had never really meant it. Roger, flushed, fumbles with his lighter and finally lights a cigarette on his third attempt.

Antoni stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and Chrissie swoops in to take her turn holding him. She bounces him on her hip as she sashays around the dressing room, casting fierce scowls alternately at Veronica and John and Roger.

“You don’t understand,” Veronica hurls at Roger, lashing out like a cornered animal, her voice raw and splintering. “You’ve never sacrificed anything. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of just falls into your lap. No heartache. No consequences. You don’t know what it’s like to be one of the people who get burned.”

“You don’t know anything about me—!”

“Look, I get it,” you tell Veronica. “You want John to yourself. Anyone would. You want a normal life. But that’s the tradeoff when you love someone brilliant, isn’t it? You have to learn how to share them with the world. Because the world is so much better off with them in it.”

Veronica glowers, venomous and spiteful. She’s wearing makeup tonight, quite heavy makeup; she’s started doing that with increasing frequency. “I have no intention of sharing a husband the way you’ve had to.”

Roger stands, stalks to Veronica, towers over her, blows smoke into her stunned face. “Ma’am,” he says quietly, so the children won’t hear. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Okay, darlings!” Freddie flits over, pulls Roger away, fluffs his hair and straightens his black smock-like shirt as Roger glares around Fred’s shoulder at Veronica. “Fabulous. You look like a ten-year-old about to make a papier-mâché vase for his mum in art class. I adore it. Off you go.” He pushes open the door to the hallway and shoves Roger through it.

Roger nods for you to follow him, and you do.  

John frowns as you pass him. I’m so sorry, that expression says.

You shake your head in reply. Not your fault.

Roger slips his arm around your waist as you disappear into the hallway with him.

“That fucking miserable, judgmental, delusional, dogmatic bitch—”

“Shhhhh.” You cup his feverish cheek with your left hand, weighty with the ruby ring he gave you four years ago in New Orleans, and yank the white bandana out of his back pocket with your right. Then you knot it around his neck, smiling. “There. Now you look a little more rock and roll.”

“You’re not mad?” he asks in disbelief. “How are you not mad?”

“She’s clearly very unhappy. I feel sorry for her.” You tug on the bandana gently, fondly. You can hear Chrissie chastising Veronica behind the closed door of the dressing room. “Don’t let it ruin your show.”

“No, I would never.” But his eyes are still distant, unsettled, anxious in a way that is rare for him. “You are a freakishly good person, you know that?”

“I try. Don’t forget to smile so I can get some good pictures.”

“Oh, I’ll smile plenty. Just like this.” A grin splits through his face, and the Roger you know and love is back: bright, triumphant, flashing the daggerish points of his canine teeth. Then he draws you into him and kisses you, his rough hands in your hair, his lips smiling against yours. “Love of my life,” he whispers, rather pensively.

He shakes out his right arm—the one with the jagged scar along the soft vulnerable underside, the one he broke in a stairwell in Yokohama in the spring of 1975—and stretches the hand a few times. And you find yourself wondering, as you always do when he seems distracted like he does now, before he starts staying out late into the night, before he starts coming home drunk or high or not at all: Is he getting bad again? Is he?

I would never have to worry about that if I had married someone like John.

You fling that thought, that inconvenient and perpetual thought, back into the shadows where it came from; like a pebble tossed into the misted tree line of a forest, like a shell pitched into the sea.

“Rog, are you—?”

“I’m fine,” he cuts you off like a blade.  

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s someone screaming out in the hallway.

You reel out of bed in the darkness, step into your slippers, yank on your fuzzy white robe. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 4:11 a.m. Roger and Brian had stayed for one more round of drinks at the club when you and Chrissie left to go back to the hotel, Chrissie to relieve her nanny from kid duty, you to quiet a budding headache. You note—with a vague, drowsy sort of dread—that Roger is not in the bed beside you, his hair a disheveled blond mess peeking from beneath the covers, snoring softly, his calloused hands outstretched towards yours. Beyond the door there are earsplitting clashes of broken glass, thumps and pounding footsteps, people shouting. And now you can recognize Chrissie’s voice, shrieking and wrathful: “Now you’ve done it, now you’ve really done it, you’re going to fucking kill her!”

You throw open the door to see Roger crouched against the hallway wall, covering his head with his hands; he is surrounded by shards of glass, tiny hotel shampoo and mouthwash bottles, Bibles ripped from nightstand drawers. He’s dripping with what smells like a combination of every kind of alcohol you’ve ever tasted, and maybe some you haven’t as well.

“I wish she’d never fucking met you!” Chrissie screams, launching a bottle of Grey Goose from the minibar in her room at Roger. It explodes against the wall just above his head, and glass and vodka rain down on him. Brian is unsuccessfully attempting to coax Chrissie back into their room as she ignores him. “I wish she’d never stepped off that fucking plane because the day she agreed to come to London with you was the worst day of her life!”

“Will you stop?!” Roger yells. “Jesus christ, Chris!”

“She saved you,” Chrissie hisses, landing an elbow into Brian’s gut and sending him flying backwards. “She saved your life and this is how you repay her, you disgusting degenerate bastard!”

A bottle of Captain Morgan hits the wall and detonates two inches from Roger’s face.

“What’s going on?!” you shout at Chrissie, your arms crossed over your chest.

A few rooms down the hallway, a door opens and Freddie wanders out in a pink kimono. After a moment, John and Veronica appear from their own room in their pajamas, rubbing bleary eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep so I phoned my mum and guess what’s on the cover of the News Of The World this week.” Chrissie points at Roger. “Go on. Tell her. Tell her what you did.”

He knows; he doesn’t say anything, but he knows. You can see that he does. It’s lurking in the shallow cerulean pools of his glistening eyes like a shadow, like a ghost.

“What did you do?” John asks him, mystified.

Roger doesn’t answer. He’s looking at you, at Chrissie, back to you. It isn’t often that Roger is fearful, acutely and bone-rattlingly afraid; but he is now.

“Fine, you don’t want to own up to it? I’ll do it. I’ll tell her, you coward.” Chrissie spins to you. “Dominique Beyrand is seven months pregnant.”

I’m surrounded by goddamn mothers. “Okay. Good for her.”

Chrissie waits for it to hit you. And then it does.

Oh. Oh.

“Bleeding christ,” you hear Freddie sigh, rubbing his forehead. Veronica covers her gaping mouth with one pale hand, and she doesn’t look smug or vindicated or condemnatory; she looks terrified. John is watching you, you can see him on the periphery of your vision; you are dimly aware of him edging closer as you gaze at Roger, your eyes wide and blurring with tears, your throat burning.  

You can’t understand it, can’t imagine it, and then suddenly you can: his fingers threading through her glossy black hair, his lips skating over her neck, promises whispered through nightscape phone calls, haphazard lies whispered to you; reckless, small-boned, doe-eyed children with Dom’s olive skin and Roger’s sharp little canine teeth.

This is the part where I wake up. This is the part where it turns out to be just a hellacious dream.

But you don’t wake up, because this is real.

“Oh,” you exhale, brainlessly, helplessly.

Roger doesn’t sputter some desperate apology, he doesn’t beg you to forgive him. He stares at you with huge, starry blue eyes, booze dripping from his hair, surrender etched into the concave slump of his back and shoulders.

You ask him, already knowing the answer: “It’s not just a fling, is it?”

“No,” he replies miserably. “I thought it was, but it isn’t.”

You nod, those first hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “Okay,” you concede, your words brittle and fracturing. “I’ll file as soon as we get back to London.” File for divorce. File this entire misadventure away in my mind as a horrific and juvenile mistake. Shred the good memories into oblivion so I can’t remember how alive he once made me feel.

That seems to bother Roger, jolts him into urgency. The white bandana is still tied around his neck. “You don’t have to do that—”

“Are you fucking joking?” you pitch at him. “Are you not done humiliating me yet? Am I not ruined enough? Do I somehow still look remotely whole to you?”

John’s hand closes around your wrist. “Don’t,” he tells you gently.

Roger begins: “I never wanted to hurt—”

“But you did,” you seethe, tears slithering down your face. It’s sinking in now, it’s becoming real, it’s materializing from years of gnawing distrust into fact. They were all right about him. They were always right. John’s arms circle you, holding you back as you struggle against him. “You fucking did and I forgave you like an idiot just so you could prove to me over and over and over again how exceptionally little you cared.”

“That’s not true—!”

“You’ve done enough!” Chrissie roars at him. Brian wrestles a bottle of Don Julio out of her grasp. “You deplorable slut, can’t you see that you’ve done enough?!”

Freddie approaches Roger, dusts the glinting flecks of glass out of his hair, wrenches him staggering to his feet.

“Come on,” John murmurs, towing you towards your room. Veronica is tracking him with blazing eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go ahead, Roger!” you shout as John drags you away, as Roger is corralled into Freddie’s room. “Get clean for her, get clean for her children, tell her she’s the love of your life and marry her and give her a ring but don’t forget to remind her that none of it means a single fucking thing—!”

John stumbles with you into your hotel room. He slams the door behind him, and the world goes deathly quiet. You reel aimlessly, collapse onto the edge of the bed, dazed, staring at the bland landscape paintings on the wall, ticking down the mental list of things you’ll need to get from the Surrey house: photographs, paperwork, John’s sketches, the conch shell from Ostia.

What about the calla lilies? What about her grave?

And there’s another list as well, whether you want there to be or not; a list of things you’ll never feel again.

His teeth grazing my knuckles, his palms cradling my face, his raspy voice as he writes songs on quiet nights, the way he loved our daughter, the way he sets souls alight like wildfire.

John just stands in the middle of the hotel room, heaving in ragged breaths, his hands on his waist. And for a long time, neither of you speak at all.

“Do you want me to stay?” John says finally.

“You can’t,” you reply, thinking of Veronica and the children.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No. I’m fine. I want to be alone.”

He comes to you, lifts your chin with one careful hand, touches his forehead to yours before he leaves. “You are never going to be alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You hear the key clatter in the lock, and your hotel room door creaks open. You’re laying on the floor after Queen’s second show in Montreal, staring blankly up at the ceiling, counting the black dots in the tiles like stars, imagining constellations of monsters and heroes and doomed love.

John appears above you, his brow furrowed. He shuttled all of Roger’s things to Freddie’s room after you packed them up this morning, then he took Roger’s key. “What are you doing?”

“Fantasizing about my own death.”

He checks his watch. “Will you be done in twelve minutes?”

“What happens in twelve minutes?”

“We have to leave for the afterparty on a yacht.”

You groan, sitting upright, rubbing your sore and sleepless eyes with the heels of your hands. “I can’t do it, John. I don’t have it in me tonight. I can’t mingle with all of those obnoxious music industry people. ‘Yes, hi, hello, yes it’s true, I am the sad barren soon-to-be-ex-wife, oh what a charming nineteen-year-old model mistress you have on your arm there, I too was once young and desirable and disastrously stupid.’”

He smiles. “You’re still somewhat desirable.”

“Thanks.” You reach up, take his hands, let him help you to your feet.

“You realize if you don’t go I’m going to have to hide in the corner and compulsively eat miniature quiches all by myself.”

“Your enchanting wife isn’t attending?”

“She wanted to stay with the children. Also, she hates me.”

You chuckle. “She doesn’t hate you. She passionately does not hate you, which is the problem.”

“So you’ll come with me.”

You mull this over. “Can I get so drunk I forget I exist?”

“Sure. If you promise to stay near me and away from the water.”

“Yes, I suppose that you, as a convicted felon, would be high on the list of suspects if I was to go overboard.”

“Losing you would be the worst thing that ever happened to me. Who would I call to post my bail?”

You laugh as you beam up at him, knot your fingertips through his hair, see your silhouette reflected in his greyish eyes that today remind you of storm clouds, of torrential autumn rain, of thunder. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go to your torturous yacht party.”

“Aww, what a tragedy, being forced to enjoy all the trappings of stardom” John teases, and then you can see the regret wrinkle across his face; because people don’t joke about things like tragedies around you anymore.

“It’s a hard life,” you agree. “But it feels a little easier when you’re around.”

You slip into a dark blue dress and heels and your bomber jacket that doesn’t match at all. John meets you in the hallway in a black suit. You share a limo with Brian and Chrissie, who chatter nervously about anything they can think of that doesn’t involve Roger or marriage or children or love. Bri points out constellations through the open moonroof as frigid Canadian air pours in and rattles your dangling diamond earrings, whips through your hair. John smooths the runaway strands, rests his arm across the back of your seat, smiles in a tranquil sort of way and actually appears to pay attention as Brian narrates the stories of the stars and their celestial families: Pegasus, Aquarius, Pisces, tiny Triangulum, the lightning strike zigzag of Lacerta, Perseus.

“You look gorgeous,” Chrissie tells you, and she seems to mean it.

“Thank you,” you reply politely. “If only I was also French and fertile.”

The yacht is docked on the bank of the Saint Lawrence River, an island of roaring laughter and music and twinkling strands of lights in an ocean of night. John leads you onboard, waves at the photographers who douse you in flashbulb luminescence, stands with you by the railing at the stern of the vessel as it pulls out into the river. Periodically some palpably accomplished stranger will appear, shake John’s hand, start asking him about You’re My Best Friend or Another One Bites The Dust or Under Pressure; but mostly the two of you are left alone. You drain flute after flute of pink champagne as John nurses his Manhattans, debating the merits of the various appetizers; you—ever the proud Bostonian—are partial to the bite-sized lobster rolls, while John prefers the Swedish meatballs speared on puzzlingly tropical toothpick umbrellas.

Roger is on the yacht too of course, and every once in a while you catch a glimpse of his blond hair or his blush-colored polka dot suit, hear his voice carried on the cold November wind; and you ignore this as much as you can. Twice he starts migrating towards you, and you and John pretend not to notice, dart through the crowds to the other side of the boat, your hand clasped in John’s as he weaves relatively anonymously through ballgowns and suits and reporters’ microphones. And he peeks back at you, grinning, and says: “I bet you’re thrilled no one knows who I am tonight.”

Chrissie steals you away briefly to keep her company when Brian gets snared into an excruciatingly dull interview about Queen’s next album; and when Brian comes to collect her, John greets you with a fresh glass of champagne in one hand and his fourth Manhattan in the other.

“You better make sure you don’t go overboard, Mr. Deacon,” you say, taking the champagne flute and resting your forearms on the yacht’s railing as waves break against the hull. Freshwater mist peppers your cheeks, your collarbones, the backs of your hands. Through the speakers pluck the opening notes of Hotel California. “Oh god. This song.”

“Fond memories?” John asks with a smirk. “That whole night is a blur to me.”

“It makes me think of sharks for some reason. And the Olympics.”

“It makes me feel...” He considers this. “Overwhelmed with self-loathing.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re the least loathable person I’ve ever met.” You sip your champagne, gaze out into the moonlit currents that run from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean, to the shores of every place you’ve ever called your own. “How long did Dante live in exile from Florence?”

“Twenty years.”

You whistle. “That’s a long time to be away from home.” The fingers of your left hand clutch the railing, which is gold and sturdy and stingingly cold. “I feel a little like him sometimes. Except as you get older, home starts to feel less like places and more like people.” You twist off your ruby ring, glance down at it fleetingly, and toss it out into the glistening black waters of the Saint Lawrence River.

John looks over at you. “It’s really over, isn’t it?”

You nod slowly, mournfully. “Yeah. It’s really over.”

“And how are we feeling about that?”

“Relieved. Petrified. Exhausted. Mostly I’m just sad.”

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “For everything.”

“Why? None of it was your fault.” You sigh, shake your head, peer out into the river, into the night sky, into the stars. “Maybe this is a good thing, you know? A blessing in disguise or whatever. I can move on knowing I did everything I could to salvage the marriage. I can be free. No more waiting up at night for someone who isn’t coming home. No more searching through pockets and suitcases for white powder or used needles. No more News Of The World headlines.”

John is still staring at you.

“What?” you ask, smiling warily.

He downs the rest of his Manhattan, twirls the glass as the ice cubes clink against each other. Finally, he says: “I could have given you a very different kind of life.”

Your lips, slick with gloss and tingling with sharp carbonation from the champagne, part to ask John what he means; but then you know. Your voice is a quivering, astonished whisper. “It was about me. You’re My Best Friend.”

“Yeah, it was. And most of the others were too.”

It was about me. All those years ago, that song was about me. And it still is.

“John...”

“I watched you fall in love with Roger, watched him fall in love with you. Watched this agonizing fucking dance that you do...he can’t give you what you want, you can’t be happy with less...and I just kept waiting to wake up one day and not want you anymore. And it never happened.” He laughs, briefly, bitterly. “I mean, for christ’s sake, I refused to propose to the mother of my child until I was sure you’d stay with Roger because I thought...I thought...you know, maybe. Maybe one day you’d change your mind. And I wanted to be there if you did.”

You gaze at him, soaking him in, unambiguously aware that there is no part of you that is afraid, no part of you that is shuddering or surrendering or apprehensive; there is no instinctive chorus begging you not to fall in love with him. There’s no sensation of falling at all. It feels like you’re somewhere you’ve never left.

“I know that next to someone like Roger Taylor I don’t look like much,” John confesses. “That I don’t feel like much. That I don’t light anything up the way he does. And if you can’t imagine a future with someone who isn’t him, someone who isn’t like him...then I completely accept that. But you’re always going to feel like home to me.”

You’re My Best Friend. You And I. Spread Your Wings. In Only Seven Days. Need Your Loving Tonight.

They were all about me. They were always about me.

“John...”

You don’t know what to say. You know exactly what to say.

From the crowd, a man dressed in a blue pinstripe suit and holding a Cuban cigar bellows for John. He whirls, offers a shy wave, trots over to say hello. But as they discuss concerts and albums and tours, John’s eyes meet yours through the sea of strangers and cigarette smoke, through the shifting shadows cast by flickering incandescence and moonshine.

And you watch him as the constellations and all their stars rage above, the same stars that in the time of Dante sailors read to point them home.

[lys-iwm]

Fire Emblem Three houses Mafia!Au that no one asked for but you’re getting it anyways

For a game that hasn’t even released yet, we’re gonna be throwing them into a semi-modern mafia au where the Church of Seiros is an assassination/spy training organization with the cover of being an actual church for the goddess Seiros. The three countries of Fodlan (now the city in which this takes place) are the biggest most baddest mafia organizations that rule the underground of this city. 

This is long... so bear with me. (Also if you have questions feel free to send in an ask because I am currently in three houses hell)

Adrestian Empire/Black Eagles 

The biggest of the three mafia houses. 

They’re business revolves around the distribution of firearms/weapons and renting out assassins and bodyguards. 

They control half of the southern half of the city where the beach (this is a coastal city just go with it) is their main base of operation - or at least the large skyscrapers near it. 

Their cover is that of an actual, legal business of ruthless lawyers who specialize in criminal cases and getting mafia members out of jail. 

They have connections to the police of Fodlan and have some leeway to pull certain strings to do some maybe, illegal transactions. 

Within the mafia organization, corruption runs wild and the current boss/don has only gotten there due to fighting and asserting their dominance (they t-posed on all of ‘em)

Edelgard is next in line but she has to constantly keep her place as there are many high ranking members who have eyes on the position 

In the school phase, she studies law and business while at the Monastery. Along with mixed martial arts and knives. She’s adept with easy use guns. 

Hubert stands as one of her advisors as their family helped Edelgard’s secure their spot as the leader. 

He studies law alongside Edelgard and often gets deployed as the main lawyer for more serious cases to get mafia members out. 

At the academy, he studies well with projectiles of all kinds - mid ranged guns specifically as well as poisons in depth. 

Ferdinand’s family was one of the ones who - during the previous leader’s death, tried to gain the seat - competing alongside Edelgard’s. It was a bloody fight and many of the higher ranking members who competed were killed. Ferdinand’s family is the only one left from the previous inner circle.

He holds a slight grudge against Edelgard’s family, as her father ended his father’s life. As well as becoming the head of the mafia. 

He studies fighting and blades ( such as swords and long knives). He does well in finding random everyday objects to use as weapons. He studies business and will continue his family’s cover business as marketing for big companies and politicians. 

Bernadetta’s family is one of the newer families within Edelgard’s inner circle. She acts as one of the Black Eagle’s best assassins and hackers. Being among their top snipers. 

It was only her parent’s generation who got caught up with the mafia as before then, they owned an old restaurant that her grandparents still work at (they don’t know that their children are mafia members - bless them). 

This restaurant is a popular hub for people of all walks of life- especially mafia members who guard it carefully. As they often hold meetings in the private rooms. 

Bernie, studies general computer science and does well with sniper-type weapons and hacking. 

Caspar comes from a long line of bodyguards although, he is undoubtedly the most fiery of them all, as he’s ready to throw down at the drop of a hat. 

His family is also new to the inner circle but have been apart of the mafia for generations, heading their bodyguard training and renting section. 

He studies sports medicine/training and excels at close combat fighting with and without weapons. 

Lindhardt is their poisons expert along with sneaky assassinations. 

He’s often asleep but it gives him ample time to pour some foul liquid into his target’s food and such. 

He does rely on Caspar to deal with brawls as he is not much of a frontline fighter.

Lindhardt studies biology and Chemistry along with various poison and assassination techniques. 

Dorothea - a new blood family within the group. They were given a chance by Edelgard to prove their worth. 

Dorothea herself covers as a well known actress/singer and often uses that to her advantage as an unconventional assassin. Often using whatever it takes to end someone’s life, whether it be by seduction and a gun or a friendly night out and some poison. 

She’s a quick study at the academy - dealing in assassination and poisons with a few bits of close combat (often using dance moves to deal damage). She takes musical theatre courses and acting. 

Petra isn’t your average mafia member. Sent by her family to repay their debts, she serves as Edelgard’s assistant and is kept under close watch. 

She does well in assassination from difficult positions (like through an open bus window or from a moving plane). As well as close combat with a knife. 

She studies law and criminology and at the academy - guns and fighting.   

Faerghus/ The Blue Lions

An old power alongside the Empire, they have a more traditional style - modeled after the Japanese Yakuza, they take honor and pride into everything they do. 

They control the North-West side of Fodlan and deal mainly in loans and a bit of drugs (Not super hard drugs, mainly weed and a few of their own making)

Their cover is that of a regular dojo/athletic training centre organization. Prized for having many of their athletes win medals at the Olympics. 

Dimitri’s family having started the business and kept the mafia running alongside their close business partners and allies - Felix’s family. 

Set to inherit the family business, Dimitri studies business and sports medicine/psychology.

He excels with mid-long range fighting with swords and guns. He’s a prodigy at martial arts - having studied it since he was young. 

 Felix’s family is an old name in the mafia. They have a long history of being rivals turned partners with Dimitri’s family. 

They also own multiple training areas and sports venues around the city. 

Felix himself is forced to study business but actively participates in sports training on multiple varsity level teams. At the academy he studies close combat with martial arts and shooting with various guns. 

Dedue’s family is relatively new. Acting as Dimitri’s bodyguard, his family is just recently apart of the inner circle. In charge of monitoring the interpersonal relationships between the mafia’s members and what not. 

He studies History and Plant-based chemistry along with fighting at both close and long range and poisons - he takes his job very seriously. 

Annette’s family isn’t a stranger to the mafia. Turning to join illegal organizations in order to pursue their scientific discoveries without having pressure from the police. 

Annette herself is a genius inventor who comes up with wacky concoctions to help her allies gain strengths while also new ways to kill their enemies. 

She studies chemistry and engineering along with poison assassination and other various assassination skills. 

Sylvain’s family has had it rough within the mafia ever since his brother up and deserted them to join the police. 

His family has been in and out of the inner circle and have been busy trying to gain favour again, with Sylvain set to inherit the family business of bars around the city. 

Sylvain studies business and chemistry( taking a specific liking to alcohol-based mixtures) and does well in close combat and poisons. He’s very handy in a bar fight - he probably started them all with Felix

Ashe, is new to the mafia, only entering once Lonato took him in from the streets. 

Lonato is an aging advisor to Dimitri’s family and has sent Ashe to take his place. 

Ashe is the Blue Lion’s best assassin with various projectiles and knives. He’s trying his best to learn how to be a good advisor but he’s still pretty new. 

He studies - or tries to study physics and law as well as long-ranged assassination techniques and spy skills at the academy. 

Ingrid along with Sylvain’s family has also had a tough year. Sent to work for the Blue Lions after her family’s business ended in bankruptcy, she works hard to become a good bodyguard.

She aspires to be the head of the security sector to keep outside groups from taking their turf. Although she was forced to join, she came to enjoy the camaraderie between the families as she grew close to Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain. 

She studies law. At the academy she deals with close combat fighting. 

Mercedes’s family, originally paired with the Black Eagles, defected to the Blue Lions as the bloodbath over leadership began. 

They own many clothing shops around the city, with Mercede’s mother being a well known fashion designer. 

Mercede’s herself is one of their hackers and does well as an informant. They don’t often let her walk without some sort of protection due to the Black Eagles knowing that one of their own inner circle switched sides. 

She studies fashion and spy techniques as well as a little assassination at the academy. 

The Leicester Alliance/ Golden Deer

The newest of the three main mafia groups. Comprised of various smaller groups and defected families of the other two. 

Originally unorganized and corrupt, the Reigan family rose above them all and created a sense of unity - although it is still an unstable power. 

This group deals mainly in the entertainment industry as their cover with many groups signed under them and game centers opening in their name. 

They really deal in information and hacking as their main income.

They’re in the North-east sector of Fodlan. 

Claude’s family, as the main leaders of the group, have to constantly be wary of assassination attempts from their other higher ranking members. As they have to set an example, if any of the families get caught trying to murder one of their own, they will be “publicly” executed, either social suicide or physical death. 

Claude studies business and acting as well as assassination/spy skills and long-ranged fighting. He’s not bad in a close combat fight, though. 

Leonie is a relatively new member who is often sent out on interrogation missions to try and earn her keep. 

She is one of their best fighters as she can hit hard and take a beating herself.

She studies veterinary subjects and does well in close combat fighting. 

Raphael is a kid who got taken in by one of the mafia members as the Golden Deer often like to give orphans and street roamers a chance. 

He stands out as a great bodyguard and security person. He often accompanies Claude whenever he goes out. 

He studies things like Metal working and close combat fighting. 

Ignatz is probably their best hacker and computer wiz. Coming from a family of software development, he got sent to the mafia to help them pay off some debt. 

He is apart of Claude’s inner circle based on his skills alone. 

He studies Computer sciences and game development as well as other spy activities and guns. 

Lorenz is one of Claude’s advisors as his family also helped create some order within the group. Although his family does push him to overtake Claude at some point. 

He is one of their best informants, being in charge of anything related to the other mafia groups as well as any leaks they may have within their own. 

He studies law and business as well as various assassination techniques and long-ranged fighting. 

Hilda is also an older member. Her family only just bringing her into the mafia business. They manage a few underground gambling sites and pass along information to the mafia. 

She herself isn’t the best at keeping secrets so she’s often sent with a partner to act as the “good cop” to their “bad cop” and gain info that way. 

She studies fashion and close combat fighting along with assassination knife skills. 

Lysithea’s family is one of the most respected families. As they’re known for being informants and have a large network of spies. 

She is often sent out on undercover missions to retrieve pieces of information/evidence. 

She studies assassination, long- range sniping and hacking. With a cover of Techincal theatre (mainly as a stage manager). 

Marianne is their acting doctor. Brought into this work by her adoptive father, she is one of their best field medics and researchers. 

She often is charged with making sure items are safe for use - as she’s adept at detecting poisons and other traps. 

She studies plants and animals, with specialties in assassination (poisons) and guns. 

The Church of Seiros

The most prestigious schools in Fodlan. They train students for everyday University credits and degrees. Along with a compulsory physical education of learning how to wield a weapon (for the “Advanced class”) and regular sports for the non-illegal folk. 

The full-time boarding school is located at the heart of the city, atop a large, forested mountain. 

They take in orphans from the street to train as assassins, which they can then lend to the competing mafia groups. 

They also have underground laboratories for experiments and such.

Among the mafias they’re neutral territory as they train students from each group. 

Because they’re a highly respected church, they don’t get many regular checks by the school board or other public enforcers. 

Rhea was the archbishop who began training orphans as assassins. 

The Knights of Seiros is the church’s most highly ranked assassins who do Rhea’s bidding.

[forcefuried]

OVERVIEW.

just a few quick headcanons before i begin--i hc faunus have more than one animal trait since the reason why they don’t have more than one is literally because the rooster teeth team didn’t want to/couldn’t animate full-fledged furries anthropomorphic animals and those restrictions don’t have to exist in RP. also, i hc that faunus can shapeshift into their animal forms, and retain some behaviors/characteristics of their animal forms…because why the fuck not >:3

anakin is an orphaned eagle faunus who started his life in atlas. he was taken from his parents while he was still an egg, so he never knew them and never even managed to find them before they died. while it is illegal in all the known countries of remnant to keep a faunus as a pet, many of the elites of those countries get away with it anyway and do it because they think it’s cool/exotic--and that’s what happened to poor ani.  anakin was owned by a high-ranking atlesian officer named krokus blume who trained him in falconry (why do falconry with a falcon when you can do it with an eagle) and mechanics (why hire a grown-ass human when you have a faunus boy genius that you can sucker into working for free). he was shown off and treated like a trophy to all of that assjacket’s friends, including jacques schnee, until one day at age 9, anakin flipped out on his master by taking out one of his eyes and then shapeshifting into half-human form during a public falconry demonstration--revealing to all of atlas that he was being held illegally. this was in response to a previous altercation in which krokus fucking cut off his wings for “disappointing him” in a falconry display and forced him to build himself new ones that “worked better.”

afterward he was placed into foster care. foster care in remnant is as nasty as it is in the real world, often littered with abusive parents or parents who only take on the kids for the money--and what’s more, when it comes to faunus kids, systems often refuse to place them with faunus parents. nobody wanted to adopt anakin because he was a physically disabled faunus who had begun to show signs of ADHD and bipolar disorder, and who had the dubious reputation of having slashed out the eye of a high-ranking military official--he was not given any penalty due to having been enslaved, but many people thought he should have been. so he was shunted around several human households who took him on for the money at best.

he went to school to train as a hunter, where he quickly became top of the class in terms of battle performance--but bottom of the class in terms of written work, and not to mention, he had a lot of behavioral problems stemming from his tough home situation. he eventually dropped out by pulling a prank on the level of fred and george leaving hogwarts, ran away from the school and atlas and moved to vacuo because it’s a lot more chaotic, unpredictable + adventurous which he’d love. he eventually became a vigilante.

i’m not sure where to have him go from here but he’s around the same age as the main cast, maybe 2 - 3 years older. he probably never attended shade academy because he never got treatment for his ADHD and for that reason gave up on school entirely. he would have learned how to fight and be a hunter from various mentors, possibly in criminal organizations, but he wouldn’t want to tie himself down to any of them because due to his upbringing he hates the idea of having any sort of master. anakin is a morally grey hero in this verse like he is in basically all of his verses, but i don’t think i’ll ever have him go full-on evil because this boi needs a verse where he doesn’t go vader lmao.

WEAPON, SEMBLANCE, STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

his semblance is called flow, and it allows him to create effects in the world based on his emotions. emotions such as anger, hatred, fear, and an adrenaline rush while fighting will harm and destroy, whereas emotions such as happiness and love will help and heal. he is much better at the former than the latter, to the point that he isn’t even aware that he can heal people with positive emotions because he’s an angry bitter bastard who deals primarily in destruction. the weaknesses of this ability are the following:

the ability can sometimes send his feelings out of control to the point that he passes out. sometimes what really sucks is that he just gets super emotional and faints before he can actually do anything because his power level increases too fast for him to handle.

chemicals. if he’s captured and drugged he is basically useless, because as long as the chemicals are in effect, he won’t have emotions strong enough to get himself out of the mess.

he can summon his power by trying to make himself angry or cheer himself up, but feeling the emotion he needs while prompted by external factors produces far better results.

when he does learn how to repair/heal with positive emotions, he will still have significant trouble with it due to his default state being an angry bastard, and this will not change unless he has significant personal growth. 

not a weakness but just wanted to add: i called it “flow” as a reference to palpatine’s quote, “let the hate flow through you.” >:3

his weapon is a lightsaber, or as it is known in this verse, a kyber blade. these weapons are either swords or knives that have blades made of the aura contained in rare kyber crystals, energy that can melt bullets, slice through almost anything like sw canon lightsabers, and retract its blade to fire energy at others like a blaster. they are the favored weapons of the atlesian upper class--but anakin got his own by stealing from krokus.

he sabotaged his master’s sword, and when krokus demanded he fix it, he bullshat some explanation that it was broken beyond repair. krokus, who didn’t know a damn thing about mechanics, threw it away, after which anakin retrieved it and made it his own. he got one of his hands chopped off for failing to repair the blade. but not only did he find it worth it even then, he lost that entire forearm in his teens anyway, so he honestly doesn’t care.

due to their cybernetics, kyber blades are mildly sentient, like wands in harry potter. they have preferences for certain masters, they always work best in the hands of their preferred people, and to those they especially dislike, they won’t work unless forced/reprogrammed. when anakin contrived the plot to steal krokus’ sword and succeeded, he won its allegiance--which is how he managed to keep it, seeing as it’s frowned upon in atlesian culture to disrespect a blade’s wishes.

most kyber blades are green, blue or light blue since those are the most common types of crystal, followed by purple, white and yellow as those are the other sw light side saber colors. red is actually more common of a color than purple, white and yellow, but nobody uses it due to superstition: that they are bad luck, that they corrupt their owners, that they are hard to get along with and the blades they’re in become disloyal, or even that a red kyber crystal only responds to those who are inherently evil/take pleasure in harming others. however, when anakin got krokus’ blue-crystaled saber, he eventually found a red crystal to replace it with because 1) it worked better with his semblance and 2) he just wanted to be edgy as fuck.

just as in mainverse he is a quadruple amputee, as well as having artificial wings in both humanoid and eagle form. the artificial limbs which he built himself give him more physical strength, but they are also weak to electrical attacks, especially the neural interface--if you shock him real good, he won’t be able to move at all.

he is an amazing flier while he is in eagle form and knows a bit about piloting ships, but he’s much better flying on his own than flying ships, as it’s what he grew up with doing falconry and fancy flying tricks, and he finds it more natural. 

oh and another thing: as a child he was proven a genius in terms of IQ and he is great with his hands, but due to giving up on formal education at age 13 and due to never having been given proper resources to handle his disabilities, his literacy as well as his understanding of anything he doesn’t hyperfixate on is still stuck at a ~5th grade level. he knows a lot of mechanical science and vocabulary because he has been given hands-on experience with it, but don’t ask him to read a scientific journal on the matter because he’d get lost on the first page. he is aware that there is so much more he could learn if he got his reading up to college level, and he wants to. but he hasn’t sought help for it yet because he has internalized the notion that his ADHD will prevent him from achieving this, and he’s too proud, stubborn and afraid of judgment to admit it to anyone.

due to being an eagle faunus, he is also extremely farsighted. he can spot something as small as a rabbit from a mile away, but he needs special glasses to be able to carry out daily human tasks such as reading the text on his scroll.

last thing i want to list: it is important for the development of faunus that during ages 0 - 10 they spend a relatively equal amount of time shifting between humanoid and animal form, lest they have trouble shifting between one or the other. due to being someone’s pet, anakin spent too much time in eagle form during this critical phase of development and so he will ALWAYS have trouble staying humanoid. while he is an eagle he can’t use his weapon, and he can’t be understood by anyone who isn’t a faunus or a mind reader.