#or just be confused and hed go “im... knuckles?”

[lymooniee]

The Metamy ship to me is a queerplatonic relationship between a lesbian and someone who's non-binary. Thank you very much. Nothing can change my mind about my hc

[ants-personal]

Imagining a time in which benson and randy where on the closing shift together. Everything went as smoothly as it could during dinner course chris and jess would leave as soon as the manger was out of the lot "I can count on you to clean the kitchen for me right Bradley ;) make me loook good" leaving randy and benson to lock up and clean up.

Benson just doing hes usual slow half ass job cleaning the lobby while randy would take it upon himself to count the inventory. Hes never been assigned it and he really had to teach himself both mangers not caring to but he finds it sorta relaxing sucks now he has to clean thw entire kitchen drive thru and hell late going home.

He already called his mother to let her know and shes not happy about it but he can deal with it later. Getting lost counting all the dry goods in the back. He assumes hes alone in the building besons not rude enough not to say bye but if he finished he probably wouldnt go out of his way to see randy in the back to say bye. And he wouldnt blame him for just leaving.

He would try and grab something from the top shelve but its just to high so hed have to get the stool. Turning to ace his clip board down jumping and stumbling back a bit with a squeak seeing benson leaning in the doorway one arm crossed while he rest his fingers over his chin.

Both are silent for a moment randy getting his heartrate back down taking a deep breath as benson stares before readjusting himself to crosing his arms

"Sorry, bradley didnt mean to scare ya."

"No..no im- its fine. I um.. just thought you already is all."

"I just finished the lobby."

"Okay.. thanks." Randy nods slightly with a quick smile. Bensons eyes flicker like he searching randys face for.. something aniexty spiking he clenchs and unclench his fists " So ill see you monday."

Benson nods slowly watching him with his eyes as he walks across the room to grab the step stool. He purposly avoids eye contact sparing quick glances. Hes never been afraid of benson sure hes intimating with the whole quiet stand offish personality, but hes never given a reason to actually fear him.

"You really gonna clean up after chris and the others?" Benson sighs taking a step towards randy as he climbs up to grab a box half filled with cups. Arms still crossed as he looks up from under his hats visor.

" Um.. I- uh i guess yeah but..but i dont mind" He stumbles off the stool box in hand turning to benson with a shrug.

Bensons takes a deep breath and sighs arm falling to his side as he runs his forehead under his hat. Randy sets the box down and picks up his clipboard he chews his lip as he looks at the sleeves of cups about to open his mouth to say anything something to end this conversation.

"Okay" Benson breaths out readjusting his hat before turning to leave.

Randy lifts his head to watch hin go rolling the pencil betwen his fingers. Hes not sure why his nerves are firing away fighting benson hadnt done anything maybe he sounded slightly irritated but he always did working unless he was saying bye.

He hadnt said bye.

Randy quickly throws the box back on the shelve. Scrambling to grab his clipboard and rushing out of the back as quickly and queistly as he could. He scans the lobby and it looks well as best as it could but turning towards the window.

There still parked next to his car is the yellow buick. But no sign of benson inside or near it. Randys grip tightens on his board knuckles turning white as he tries to shilwd himself from what hes not sure with its filmsy wood.

Suddenly loud rock music starts blasting from the back. Randy turning slowly towards the enterance nerves calming as confusion washes over him. He licks his lips before moving towards the entrance glancing around the corner eyes widening at the sight.

Its benson hes turned hisbhat backwards cigarette resting between his lips as he bops his head to music throwing dishes the sink with little regard and turning on the tap.

Randy fullt stands in the doorway now he isnt even aware of the small smile on his face. Hes never seen benson so .. lively its nice. Warmth spreads throughtout his body snd he shakes his head hes not sure what that was but hell deal with it .. later as well.

Fully stepping into the kitchen area benson noticing him with a nod and raise of his eyes brows. Moving clean dished at least to a bin hes outs on the counter. Taking a deep drag of his cigarette removing it from his mouth.

"Finish counting?" He barely says liuder then the music with slight tilt of his head.

Randy blinks a few times he was so engrossed in watching he wasnt ready to part lf another conversation.

" I-uh yeah.. well no actually. I have to do the freezer and um fridge." He points with the pencil behind benson where the side room breaks off to the doors. " But i just ... i can do all this. Ahem- I dont want to keep you or anything." Hes not even sure if benson heard him over the music hes not exactly shouting.

He swears he can see benson at least grim behind his hand as he brings his cigarette back up for a moment but its gone when he stubs it on the counter and tosses it in the bin. Looking back up with a shake of his head

"Just hurry up so we both can go home Brad" Turning back to the sink and spraying whatever dishes are left. Randy nods even if benson cant see him and quickly rushes to the fridge closing the door behind him leaning against it. All while hearing the muffled music and banging he could only hope is part of the cleaning.

[hyunjinswifelol]

" Do you hate me?". Jwy.

warnings- fluff, crying.. obviously lol, agnst, my terrible typing skills, and i think thats it.

You came home, crying, and shaking. You opened the door to your apartment, took your shoes off, and sat down on the floor. You were sobbing. Hands over your face, and curled up in a ball. You were so scared. Not because somethimg bad happend, you didnt get followed home, or that kind of stuff. You feel like youre being a pickme girl towards your best friend, wonyoung. Shes barely been texting you, nor has she been wanting to have a sleepover anymore. She always says she doesnt want to last minute. She never says goodnight to you anymore, nor does she say i love you. That was the first thing. She started nit saying after saying goodnight on call, or text. Then she stopped saying goodnight. Then she stopped talking to you less and less. She eventually stopped calling you. She stopped wanting to have sleepovers. It felt like she was hating you less and less. In the past, you both knew a pick me girl, and wonyoung hated her. Now, you feel like youre becoming that girl. Youre terrified of becoming her. Wonyoumg hates her, so if you act like that girlmore and more, wonyoungs gonna hate you more and more. God. Youre so scared. You imediatly stopped crying when you heard a knock at your door. You got up, wiped your face, and put on a smile. You opened the door, and your jaw dropped. " won..young?.." you whispered, tears forming in your eyes again. " hi y/n, i was wondering if youre okay? You havent been answering my text. I told you to text me as soon as you got home. That was an hour ago.. Are you okay?" Wonyoung asked you, a worried look on her face. You smiled. " yea! Im conpletly fine, nothing to worry about!!" You said, smiling, but your voice cracking. She just nodded her head and smiled. You knew she was about to go. Shr was gonna walk out tjat door, and that would be the last time you see her ever again. you were wrong. She came in, and closed the door. Then she went to sit on your coych. you followed her, confused. she hates you. No she doesnt- yea she does. you qsked with your hands, and eyes to sit next to her. You never asked to sit next to her, but now, you feel the need to ask. Not cause you might not wanna be by her, but because you feel like she doesnt want you to be sitting next to her. You took a deep breath, and sat as far away as possible. Ofcourse, not very far away, considering your couch is very small. Your hearts racing, and your hands are figiting with each other. Your breath is short and loud, and you can hardly breath. Wonyoung noticed that. she moved closwr to you, and you froze, looking up at her with glossy eyes. You stopped breathing. She took your hands, and started swiping your knuckles with her thumb. You imediatly broke down. " y/n.. love why are you crying?" She asked, and pulled you in your arms. You started sobbing. " please dont hate me" you said repeatedly. All she could do was stay silent, and play with your hair, goving you the time you need to calm down. You qere still sobbing though, and her voice wasnt enough to calm you down, nit like other times. " im so scared wony" you finally said, after crying and sobbing. " why love? Im right here." she said holding your head in plce against her chest. " im scared.. im being like.. you know. Her. " honey.. no. Youre not being anything like her. Youll never be like jer, i swear you wont." she said sternly. You just nodded, and sat in her arms for a few minutes. " hun.. lets go to hed, and have a sleepover, okay?" She said, and stood up, and grabbed your hand, leading you to your bed. You imediatly threw yourself on the side of the bed you always sleep on during sleepivers, and she got in bed too. You rolled over and faced her, then smiled. She opened her arms, and you imediatly went in them. " Do you hate me?" You said, very much out of the blue. " no. Quite the opposite honey, i love you." She said, staring straightdin your eyes. " i love you too wony" you said, and smiled. She kissed your forehead, and you drifted off to sleep. Eventually, she fell asleep too.

-----------------------------

This is slightly based off of whats going om with me and my best friend, leelee. But i wanted to write about it with wonyoung instead:] i hope you have the most lovely day or night, goodbye loves<3

[gojosatorailme]

How Lookism characters would eat you out

- Daniel, vasco, zack, gun, goo, Dg

Daniel Park

He’s a virgin. Cant expect much homie

I’d expect him to be a quick learner so he’d look at you throughout it, very experimental with it

Soft kitten licks soft kitten licks soft kitten licks.

Oh? You like it here instead? Okay! He’ll go crazy 💯

Id see him as quite shy and nervous as he wouldn’t know what he’s doing though he’d get more comfortable and confident with reassuring words!

As he gets more used to it you’ll be in tears

Soft and sensual licks, his face buried inside you flicking his tongue the way he knows drives you crazy

UI Daniel on the other hand… a menace. Absolute menace.

Forget walking bby you’ll forget how to think all together

Goodluck soldier

Vasco

I LOVE VASCO

WHYRE HIS BONKERS SO FUCKING HUGE????

He’s so cute I feel like he’d be so dumb and lick the left flap

Like I KNOW he’d do smt wrong by accident bc the poor guys just so confused

Somehow has a charm to him like somehow

Maybe it’s bc his milkers are so large you get delusional or maybe it’s bc his abs are all sweaty and he looks hot but theres SOME CHARM THERE

Vascos so cute

Would put your release before his like it’s a priority he’d put the burn knuckles on the line for it

Wants to make you feel good so teach him the way and he’d do wonders

Zack Lee

Stop joking honey hes a taken man

Keep scrolling home wrecker 🤬🤬

joking he’s also in the virgin gang ^^

Whole worrywart

He’d ask if he’s doing this right, if you feel good, or literally anything

I see him as a body worshipper or like he’d be into praise

Pls tell him he’s doing a good job

Very sweet I love zack

Still a taken man tho keep scrolling boo 😒

Gun

Would he even eat you out or would he get straight to pounding your brains out let’s think for a second

Have a strong feeling he’d be so aggressive

Strong and power licks. Like not even kidding

Have you seen his body maybe he does tongue workouts too u never know??

You want him to go slower? He’ll go faster. You want him to go faster? He’ll go slower. You want him eat you out at all? He’ll dip.

He’s such a menace for what

yk how he takes glasses off during fights? He does it while eating u out and I find it so oddly hilarious

Imagine he outs the glasses on and somehow gets turned on by it GOODBYE

Slaps ur genital area?? He’s mean. He’s just mean.

This is supposed to be like nsfw but it’s a parody atp I feel like gun was such a leash kid it’s so funny HE PROBS BIT A TEACHER IM FALLING IT IDK

He’ll go feral on u 💯 dick in or tongue in idc he’s a beast

He’d degrade u Roo like calling u a little slut for being turned on by how mean he’s being with u

Goo

HES JUST LIKE GUN BUT MORE GOOFY??

WOULD HE EVEN EAT U OUT FOR FREE?

Better get the bag before u think abt getting his tongue

u silly thing

He’d laugh idk and the vibrations would make your eyes roll back and ur all shivering

Would lick the left flap. But on purpose.

Teases u on purpose hes just so mean

he would listen to u either like no going fast hed go slow no going slow her go fast HES JUST LIKE GUN MF

Dg/James Lee

……….

Theres a lot to say but a lot not to say.

Eye contact. Mega eye contact.

Him as James Lee? A menace. I mean it’s already Canon that he’s a menace so why do u think he won’t be one in the bedroom?

ur so silly!

He’s James Lee the living legend of the first gen that’s know to be the best at literally every fucking thing HE WON POETRY LIKE MAD RESPECT IM SO BAD AT POETRY

If he’s good at everything he’s probably a god in the bedroom

ITS ALSO CANON HE HAS A BIG DICK

Maybe I’m biased and I love James but. Yeah.

You’ll be screaming, crying, fucked out, and all but keep going u got this!

him as DG however…

The same. Literally the same.

Both would be such a tease.

Also part of the mean group those little fuckers

He’s so unexpected to like could he giving u small kitten licks one second and the next his tongue is faster than flash like in being so fr

To conclude, he’s a god in the bedroom and I’d like to experience it first han-

The sex legend

[head---ache]

HI SAME ANON CUZ. THOUGHTS GO DRR but! yk that got me thinking like. WE DO GIVE SM ATTENTION TO DETERMINED and look good reason hes sonadow in a nutshell /J

howver im thinking of more ways the other sonics could have breakdowns, and do correct me if any of this is like not in character bc i love to ehar abt ur au!

ok first kindness – i think he would like have a goal for him to go to everybody weekly to ask if they need anything for him to help with (usually daily actually) and when he doesnt reach that "goal" he might think of himself as like less of a good friend bc he isnt helping enough which could SO turn into overworking and just!! BREAKDANCE OR BREAKDOWN WOO

chill i think would just do not as much as the others, opting o always lay down and just be calm n. chill! and maybe cux of that sometimes he thinks that he isnt as useful as the others sometimes but i jus think hes probably the least most mentally ill cuz hes like "no time for sadness when you swagness" (thats probly his motto)

energetic would deffo think hes too annoying to all of them but like!! he has too much energy!! he has to burn it off soMEHOW so theyre just like "no another time not now" and its like hes just!! he probably starts getting kidna sad but like he has other friends to play with, right?

determine is a bomb abt to EXPLODE and like!! he has pure anxiety, he always needs to know shadows and also his friends locations and they have to tell him or else he just starts panicking and cant function until he sees them again. also with how he blames himself for everything, probably has a tendency to apologize all the time so theyre confused cuz hed be with vanilla, cream, n amy and hed accidentally knock somethin over and go "im so sorry I shouldn't have done that why did i do that i should leave" and shadow probably has to calm him down the most

competitive is 2000% existing because he says he "needs to be better than everybody else" when its just "i want to prove to myself im good enough" when he cant, he doesnt know if he is bc like!! only shadow can race against him and they always tie and he probably ends up pushing himself So Hard that shadow has to just make a competition out of getting rest or else competition dead straight won't sleep until hes perfected this, gotten better at that, made sure he didnt lose any skill on something, or etc bc he still wants to prove to not just himzelf but to everybody hes good enough so they can confide in him!!

ok thats all (IDK IF I FORGOT OTHERS IM JUST. THINKING ALSO WATCHING TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES SO IM LIKE. GRATUITOUS COOL VIOLENCE OR WRITING. HECK YKNOW)

ANKAZOANZIQDNSOFNSKX YES!!! THESE ARE MY BOYS!!!! NO CORRECTION TO BE MADE THESE ARE T H E M !!!!!

Also, I usually draw them with the same other characters a lot, like I usually draw Competitive with Knuckles, and Knuckles at first just goes along, fights Competitive and everyone happy, but then it's like weeell he kind of has a very important emerald to look after, and everytime Competitive looses he wants a rematch and it just gets tiring. But like, Competitive feels the need to prove that he is strong and capable! So they get stuck on his loop.

Then there's Energetic and Amy, he kind of just shows up, looking to burn some energy, and at first she just lets him, but she isn't really pleased with having him running around in her house, he starts bumping into things and breaking some other, and even if he is sorry he just can't stop moving! Amy then starts trying to get him to stop, or to just get him out of the house but she also feels a little guilty because she knows he doesn't do it on purpose.

There's also Determined and Shadow, we all know Determined follows him around and tries to protect him all the time, but it starts to intervene with Shadow's life as well. Rouge is kind of annoyed by it, and it causes trouble at GUN, and Shadow's an introvert, so being followed around isn't really his favorite thing. I just imagine Shadow just walking while Determined is not only behind him, but looking around, suddenly making Shadow stop if he hears anything weird, or sees anyone suspicious, but it's actually nothing. Shadow would try to get him to leave him alone, but Determined always has the 'what if's.

Finally there's Chill, Kind and Tails. Tails is very busy, trying to find a solution for this five Sonics thing, but it's a little hard with two out of five always distracting him. I imagine Kind offering to help, at first Tails let him, but something goes wrong and he's like 'haha never again' and then Kind is just left to stand behind Tails, waiting to be given a task, while Chill isn't actually helping at all, he's using all the space just laying around, if Tails ever needs him he's okay with helping??? But he doesn't really put all his effort in, so in the end it's as if he did nothing. It's not that he doesn't want to help, but like, why ask him? Kind is already there and eager to help.

I also like to think about interactions between the Sonics! Because some of them are kind of opposites, like Kind and Competitive, or Chill and Energetic (or Chill and Determined), so it's fun to imagine things like Competitive going around showing everyone how strong and fast he is, and Kind's just like 'well you're not being very nice' and Competitive doesn't really know how to react???? Or Determined being all worried over something, and desperately trying to fix it, and Chill just being like 'dude chill, you're exaggerating way too much' So that's interesting too, even more considering it's quite literally just Sonic talking to himself:)

[brelione]

Arson And Biscuits (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Warnings:Swearing,mentions of arson,mentions of rescuing Barron Trump

You had always had a deep love for fire.You had been stupid enough in fourth grade to place your hand on a gas stove because you thought you were a fire bender.JJ would always tease you when you guys were sitting around a fire.Hed wrap his legs around your waist and his arms around your shoulders so you couldnt move. “We dont need you having a fire bending incident again.”Hed grin and kiss your cheek.You were always talking about how if it was ever scientifically possible you would hold a scientist at gun point to give you pyrokinesis.You would talk about how jealous you were of Leo Valdez and at pretty much every inconvenience you’d threaten to set something on fire.You got into silly arguments with Kie that sometimes ended in you exclaiming you would set her pants on fire.JJ never let you have a lighter,he would light your cigarettes for you and would joke about your baking.

You baked a lot.Most of the time you’d bake biscuits from a mix and keep a paper bag of them in your backpack. “You ever just think about setting the white house on fire and saving Barron?”You asked no one in particular one day while you were out on the boat.JJ laughed. “Yeah,totally.”He replied,rolling onto his side and resting his head on your stomach.He loved the feelings of your fingers running through his hair and your nails grazing his scalp. “(Y/N),the white house is made of stone.You couldnt set it on fire if you tried.”Pope grinned.You sighed dramatically. “You can set anything on fire if you try hard enough.If I like...filled it with twigs and leaves I could probably burn it.”You shrugged.Kiara giggled. “I am so for that,lets take down these fascist assholes.”She grinned.You sat up,clapping your hands. “Lets do it,bitch.”You smiled.John B. shrugged. “I mean,we would be heroes.If we went to prison we’d get bailed out.”He sipped a beer.You nodded. “We should do it!”You exclaimed.

Pope raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious right now?I cant tell if youre joking or not.”He frowned.You rolled your eyes. “Yes,Pope,we’re going to one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the country to set it on fire.”You pouted.He glanced between you and Kie. “I still dont know if youre serious.”You reached over and flicked him on the head. “Should I manifest the White House burning?”You asked.JJ grinned. “You’re gonna practice witch craft,baby girl?”He chuckled.You grinned. “I mean,technically,its not witch craft.It just manifesting.”You kissing his knuckles. “Jesus,guys,get a room!”John.B exclaimed,fake vomiting.You flipped him off before kissing JJ on the lips.When you got back to the Chateau you went right into the kitchen to grab the biscuit mix and pour it into a bowl.Kiara and Pope left to go back to their houses and John B decided to go to bed.JJ came up behind you as you were pouring the mix into a cupcake pan.

He placed wet kisses down your neck,wrapping his arms around your waist. “When will you be ready to go to bed?”He asked.You sighed. “Ive got a headache,baby.I cant tonight.”You mumbled.He nodded. “You want some aspirin?”He asked.You nodded,slipping the pan into the oven.He came back with a white pill in his hand,getting you a bottle of water. “How much did you drink tonight?”He asked.You shrugged. “Only a beer and a half.”You replied.He nodded,placing a kiss on your lips and handing you the pill.You took it,leaning your head against the wall. “You wanna go to bed and i’ll take the biscuits out?”He offered.You grinned. “I dont need you burning down the house.”You whispered.He chuckled,leaning up to kiss you again. “Well,im not the wannabe arsonist here.”He smiled.

You rolled your eyes. “Not for long.”You replied.He hummed in confusion. “Rafe Cameron.We should set his house on fire.”You smirked.He kissed the tip of your nose. “As fun as that would be,im already in trouble for shoplifting.”He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. “Can we burn the biscuit box?”You asked.He huffed. “Baby,why are you so obsessed with setting things on fire?”He asked.You shrugged. “Fire is pretty.Can we please set the box on fire,though?”You asked.He nodded,getting off of you.You were practically jumping up and down with excitement,taking the bag of mix out and setting it down on the stove top.You placed the box into the fire pit that was full of burned wood and ashes. “If i give you my lighter and you set me on fire im gonna be so mad.”He grinned down at you.You frowned.

 “I would never set you on fire.Maybe John B.,but never you.”You giggled.He rolled his eyes,handing you his lighter.You flicked it,setting the corner of the box on fire.It didnt catch immediately so you set the other corner aflame as well. “Give it back.”He smiled,watching as you went to put it in your pocket.You handed the silver object to him. “Good girl.”He smiled.You watched as the box burned,the light reflecting in your eyes. “Are you happy now?”He asked once it had become just another pile of ashes.You grinned. “Yep,I pretended like it was the white house.”You smiled up at him.He kissed you lightly,staying close. “Hey,J.”You mumbled.He hummed. “I set your homework on fire after you called Captain America ugly.”You mumbled.He gasped. 

“(Y/N)!That was the one time I actually did my homework!”He exclaimed.You smiled. “Baby,it was three years ago.And we both know you cant stay mad at me.”You kissed him again.He nodded. “Yeah,yeah I know.”He kissed your forehead before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to bed.He threw a blanket over you.He took the biscuits out of the oven,placing the pan on the counter.You’d thank him tomorrow morning.

[angrylizardjacket]

and then there was light [3] {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: Prompt: angst Roger and y/n because he’s jealous after a party

A/N: 5981 words!! What?! Like, it’s not explicit, but I might have given the reader a slight praise kink. Some sexual content. There is mentions of cheating, just to let you know if that makes you uncomfortable. There might be a problem with pacing but like... suspend your disbelief. Also.... you’ve got a big storm coming.

[part 1] [part 2]

Your grip is white-knuckled on the armrest as you felt the plane rumble beneath you; anxiety is clutching at your chest as the world falls away beneath the wings of the machine and you’re rising into the sky. Roger isn’t outright laughing from where he’s sitting next to you, but it looks like he wants to. Thankfully, for his sake, he contains himself, resting a hand on your thigh, rubbing it in a gentle, comforting rhythm.

“You’ll be fine, love, these things hardly ever crash, and if this one does, it’ll make the news, probably.” He shrugged, and you glared at him, trying to push down the anxiety curling in your stomach.

“You’re the single least reassuring person I’ve ever met.” You snapped, but he just grinned wider, his hand moving higher on your thigh, your legs part just a little, out of instinct, and you’re too anxious about the flight to even blush at it.

“I could distract you instead.” He offers, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. Something eases in your chest and you relax your grip on the armrest to put your hand on his. “Love?” He asks, watching how you’re leaning your head back against the headrest, eyes closed, like you were trying to go to your happy place, wishing you weren’t trapped inside this plane. His hand twitches to move away when he doesn’t get a response, but then your own hand is guiding his a little further up, and you’re wearing a little, playful smile, though it’s strained. Roger has to bite back a laugh.

“Could you please wait until the seat belt sign is off?” John’s voice interrupts both of you, pressing his face into the space between your headrests where he’s sitting behind you, sounding characteristically exasperated.

“Or wait until we land, like any decent human being.” You can hear Brian’s sigh from where he’s sitting beside John, his words followed by a world-weary sigh.

“You were both cuter when you thought we didn’t know.” Freddie says, matter-of-factly, and Paul hums in agreement, the two of them sitting in the two seats in front of you.

“So were you.” Roger snaps back, leaning back into his chair, sullen at the sudden onslaught of bullying from his band-mates. “And get your bloody face away from mine.” He smacks John’s forehead with his free hand, which has the man retreating, but you’re silently thankful. Despite this, you’re also flushing with embarrassment, which is only quelled when Roger flips his hand over on your thigh to lace his fingers with yours, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

It’s weird, to be in public, well, sort of public, and to be allowed to actually be with Roger. You’ve always been so hyper aware of his image, careful to keep your distance where prying eyes might be lurking, the last-performance kiss notwithstanding, but here, in the relative safety of first class - and god, that was a mind-boggling realisation - he’d wrapped his arm around you. Once the seat-belt sign has been turned off and the in-flight movie has started, he pulls you into his lap on the luxuriously spacious seat. Everyone on the flight has headphones to listen along to the movie, and the plane is almost silent as everyone looks to the overhead screens. It starts innocently enough, except sitting on Roger isn’t exactly comfortable; he’s got one hand resting on your thigh, innocent enough, and the other on the armrest, but you find yourself shifting every few minutes trying to get comfortable, but it isn’t really working.

“Are you right there?” Roger moves your headphones off of one of your ears, speaking low and quiet, only to you. When you look at him, he’s not even looking you in the eyes, he’s looking at your lips, and you feel your chest tighten, though in a very different way to the plane taking off earlier.

“What?” And you shift again, trying in vain to get more comfortable before you feel him hard and pressing against your ass through his pants, and it dawns on you. After a moment, you lock eyes with him, finally, and wiggle again, deliberate, suppressing a smile. He leans in to kiss you, rough, insistent, his hand on your thigh moving dangerously higher.

“Let’s not ruin everyone’s movie,” he breathes as he pulls back, his hand moving to give your ass a light tap, and you take the hint, taking off your headphones and making a beeline for the bathroom. You find yourself waiting for almost five minutes in the stall before there’s a knock at the door and Roger’s whispering your name. You haven’t even fully locked the door before he’s pulling off your shirt, murmuring about how you both had to be quiet, though he was grinning in that way that made you melt, and made you want to be anything but quiet.

When you head back to your seats none of the others comment on it, though they do seem pretty enraptured with the movie. Your anxiety at flying had dissolved; you’re feeling all warm and syrupy in the afterglow, and Roger clicks down the armrest that separates your two seats, and shifts so that you he can still wrap his arm around you, but you’re sitting next to him, your legs stretched out and arching over his. He puts his own headphones back on, smile supremely satisfied, and you give yourself a little, mental pat on the back, but don’t bother with your own headphones, resting your head on his shoulder and falling asleep, feeling secure and safe with his arm around you.

When you land, you find yourself whisked almost directly to the new tour bus, and you suddenly find yourself filled with a new uncertainty. The space, at least compared to what you were used to, was lavish, not a single road case in sight.

“You guys live like this?” You crowed, eyes wide as you raced through the spacious vehicle, plopping yourself down on the cushioned bench beneath the back window while the rest of the band, and the crew travelling in this bus started getting settled in.

“Well yeah, was the other bus really that different?” Roger asks, joining you, sprawling himself out across the seat. The sheer absurdity of his question takes a moment to sink in, but after that you’re laughing, loud and a little bit uncontrollable, mind alight with memories of hot, bump afternoons riding along at the back of the equipment bus, sat atop a road case, holding a light and gels and trying not to touch the drum kit where it was stacked up beside you.

“God, I would have killed for a cushion.” You breathe, wistful, relaxing further, if it were possible, into the seats. After a beat, you look around at where everyone’s gone quiet; Freddie and John were setting up a board game and Brian was lounging on one of the sofas running along the inside of the bus; you’re pretty sure Roger’s the only one who hears you anyways. “I much prefer it to flying though,” you admit, shifting until you can rest your head on Roger’s shoulder.

“Really?” He asked, voice quiet enough that only you could hear it. “I thought it was a pretty decent flight.” And he reaches up to pinch at your side playfully when the bus starts up. The two of you dissolve into play-fighting, which the others don’t pay much attention to, entertaining themselves as the trip to the first destination began.

“You’re- you- they call you Spotlight, don’t they?” The voice that greets you before for the first crew meeting is bright, eager, faintly accented, and when you turn, you see it belongs to a sweet looking boy with big, brown eyes, clutching at a clipboard. Laughing a little awkwardly, you nod, and his whole face brightens at the confirmation. “I’m Robbie; I’m stage managing, and they’ve got me operating the lights.” He sounds so damn excited, it’s a little endearing, and after a beat, he’s peppering you with questions about the American leg of the tour, which you answer with ease.

You’d been worried, not that you’d ever admit it, integrating into a whole new crew; the American tour was staffed with people you’d been working with for years, and here, everything and everyone was new to you. Seeing Robbie smile, so kind and welcoming, it felt like you could breathe.

“How the crew?” Roger asks, and he’s stuck with fond deja vu, sitting behind his drums, watching you cut a whole new set of gels. You’re humming something he can’t quite pick, but you seem happy enough.

“Yeah good,” you concede, only half paying attention as you work, “they’re nice, very welcoming.” You tell him, and he makes his way to you, sitting beside you on the drum risers, picking up some scraps of the gel. After a moment, your hands still, and you watch his, smiling with confusion, before looking at him. “What-” but he’s looking back at you, and he leans in to kiss you once you look up. Putting the gel and the scissors down, you take his face in his hands, giving him an endearing smile.

“I’m working.” You said softly, but he just grinned, leaning in to kiss you again. It’s fun and easy to be with Roger at times like this, times when neither of you had to worry about what other people thought, or who saw you together; you were happy and so was he, and that’s what mattered.

It gets a bit harder, you realise, when in Glasgow you’re leaving the hotel with the band and a few paparazzi come after you; at first they’re shouting at the band but then they spot you where you’re by Roger’s side, trying to keep your face hidden. You see your picture in some gossip rag the next day when Robbie gives it to you with a long suffering and apologetic look. 

“The boss wants you to be more careful about being seen.” He’s rolling his eyes at the boss’s words, however, when you ask him what he means, you learn that you’d been photographed with them in America, and people were starting to speculate that you might be part of the tour group. The Boss thinks it reflects poorly. The rest of the band is in the photo, but you’re the one being accused of being a world-travelling gold digger in the article.

When you tell Roger, or more specifically show him the article and make an offhand comment about not really being seen with the band in public anymore, he throws the magazine across the hotel room, scowling.

“They’re printing lies, Spotlight, what do you care?” He asks. You’re gentle when you step towards him, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“I care about my career and my reputation, Roger, you understand, right?” Voice soft, you don’t move until he looks at you, expression a little hurt. “I know I’m not a gold digger, but if I want to get anywhere in life, I need other people to believe that too.” You explained, and he didn’t exactly seem happy about it.

“You’re fantastic at your job, babe, isn’t that enough?” He asked, and you felt yourself flush, suppressing a grin at the praise.

“I wish it was.” You told him, voice a little forlorn, and he leaned in to kiss you, a silent agreement to your request. After a moment you pulled back, actually letting yourself grin. “You think I’m good at my job?” You asked, giggling, and Roger’s expression brightened as he huffed out a laugh.

“You know I do.” And it’s the most gentle you think you’ve ever heard him, the sweet sincerity shifts as his hands come up to rest on your hips. He knows all too well the effect he has on you when he compliments your work. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He asks, a single eyebrow raised, teasing edge to his tone.

“I mean, if you told me too much I think we both know I’d never get anything done.” And your fingers are nimbly undoing his fly. With a cheeky grin, he kisses you again, rougher, biting at your bottom lip before you pull away.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He muses, watching the way you wet your lips, smiling at him. “You’re very good at other things too, love.” 

“I know.” You watch him through your lashes, biting your lip to keep from laughing as his whole face lights up and he’s snorting out a laugh at your response, and you fall to your knees, already pulling down the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t like that you insist on leaving the hotel at different times, becomes a little clingy in the mornings when you go to get up, but he always manages to tug you back down to him, and you get lost in the way he smiles in the early morning sunlight, the feel of his lips on yours, the way he laughs softly against your skin. 

Despite this, he keeps his distance around other people. The band he doesn’t worry about, but he stays up by his drums during lunch, and sometimes during the after parties you attend, he’ll disappear for a few hours at a time, and you find him at the bar, reasonably hammered, surrounded by fans fawning over him. He always goes home with you though, so you try not to feel too jealous.

“Hey, Light? I’m getting lunch, do you want anything?” Things start going downhill the day Robbie pops his head in during your lunch break; you’re at the top of a ladder, fiddling with the angle of a parcan, and Roger’s at his drums.

“No thanks.” You call back, chipper, shooting the ASM a smile, and when he leaves, Roger frowns at you.

“Did he give your nickname a nickname?” He punctuates it with a laugh, but it sounds more angry than anything else.

“That’s Robbie,” your explanation does not seem to placate him. You’d been spending a lot of time with Robbie, the two of you bonding over both having worked on Bowie’s last tour. “He’s German.” You add, as if the fun fact might warm Roger to him.

“I know how to pick accents.” He snapped back at you, and you actually stopped your work to look at him, a little shocked and defensive at his tone. He’s not looking at you, he’s gone back to watching the door.

“He’s the ASM, Rog, chill out, we work together.” You tell him. He doesn’t respond, and all you can do is go back to your work, a squirming discomfort making itself known in your chest.

He disappears after the show that night, not coming to find you after bump out like he usually would, and you try to assume the best; that he’s too high from adrenaline and the endorphins of such a good show that he’d wanted to ride the hype the rest of the band. It wasn’t deliberate, you told yourself.

“You going to the after party?” Robbie asks carefully, hands in his pockets, still wearing his own theatre blacks. You realise you must look a little lost, and when you decide that you are, you tell him, and he offers to walk with him. He’s sweet, excitedly gushing about how he can’t wait for the Munich show so he could see his girlfriend, and you find yourself enthusing about how exciting it is to be travelling around Europe. Once you step foot in the pub, the two of you part ways, Robbie heading for the bar, and you seeking your own boyfriend.

His whole face lights up when he sees you, and the anxiety that had been building in your chest dissipates when he wraps his arms around you, spinning you around.

“I’m sorry, I got caught up.” He told you, but he doesn’t kiss you, just pulls you down to the sofa with him where Freddie’s in the middle of an animated discussion with Brian.

It happens again at the next stop, he leaves you behind and you make your way to the after party talking with Robbie. He’s kind, sweet, looking forward to marrying his high school sweetheart. If you’re being honest, it’s nice to have someone to talk to who understands your side of touring, being another interchangeable face to the talent you’re helping, someone down to earth and . He gushes about how jealous he is of your friendship with the band, starry eyed in the cool night air.

Again, when you arrive at the venue, Roger’s already there, and he doesn’t get up this time, just beckons you to him with a bright smile. It doesn’t ease your discomfort like you hoped his smile would.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask gently one night; the two of you were walking in relative silence, side by side, not touching for fear of paparazzi, you try to justify.

“No, why?” He asked, and you look at him, eyes narrowed as you examine him, and his smile is a little far away when he looks back at you. After a long moment of silence, he takes your hand, pulling you both to a stop, facing each other. He wraps his arms around you, still giving you that far away smile, and he kisses you. “I’m sorry I keep leaving you behind, love.” 

“So you’re not mad at me?” You confirm, stepping back and taking his hand, continuing to walk.

“Of course not; should I be?” And the way he says it, so perfectly fucking harmless, has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“No!” You defend, and he’s laughing easily in the moonlight. 

It keeps happening, sporadically, and it always seems to coincide with whenever he sees you and Robbie together, or Robbie comes in to offer to get you lunch, and you know what’s happening before you dare to admit it.

On some of the nights where you opt to go straight back to the hotel, you’re woken by him flopping into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him, warm and protective, at odds with the discomfort in your chest.

“Missed you.” He yawns, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, and one time, of faint, fruity perfume that you don’t recognise. When you ask him, he says that someone spilled a cocktail on him, and you realise you can’t even tell if he’s lying or not. 

“You jealous?” And you can hear the sleepy smirk in his words, and your own tired mind is unguarded, unfiltered.

“A little.” You whisper into the silence of the hotel room. He doesn’t answer you, but his grip on you tightens, and he hums, the meaning of which you can’t decipher. It takes you a long while to get to sleep after that.

It comes to a head a few weeks later, however, the night they perform in Paris.

“I miss her so much.” Robbie bemoaned you as the two of you walked together, his arm tucked into yours as he waxed poetic about his now-fiance. “She sent me a care package and I swear I almost cried in front of the sound operator.” 

“Why?” You laughed, and Robbie groaned.

“I opened it in the bio box because I picked it up from the front desk on my way here, like right after checking in.” By the time you get to the after party, the music is already blaring, and like always, you split up to go your respective ways. Roger greets you warmly, making room for you on the sofa he was sprawled on, wrapping an arm around you as he continued his conversation with a starry-eyed groupie, who didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You make conversation with John, who’s hovering near the arm of the sofa, bopping along to the music, looking a little bit longingly at the dance floor.

Roger goes to get a drink a little while later, smiling and asking if you’d like anything, and as soon as he’s gone, Robbie, now quite plastered, pours himself into the empty seat.

“I called her- Spotlight, I miss her so much - and she told me she loves me and she can’t wait until I get home; should I walk back to Germany? I wanna see her.” He asked, words blurring together a little from his accent and his inebriated state, and he rests his head on your shoulder.

“This is Robbie; he misses his fiance.” You explain to a confused looking Freddie, who’s expression melts into one of adoration, and he ‘aww’s at that. Robbie is starry-eyed for a long moment, before he turns to you.

“Should I walk to Munich? I miss her.” He reiterates, and you burst out laughing, petting his head fondly.

“No, don’t walk to Munich, you should go home, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.” You tell him, and he groans, clearly not having received the answer he wanted. Instead, you get to your feet and offer him your hand. “I’ll walk you back, we’re staying at the same hotel.”

You find Roger at the bar with one of your arms around Robbie’s shoulders where he’s pretty much legless, the lightweight. There’s a muscle jumping in Roger’s jaw when he sees you, and you hesitate, giving him a confused look.

“Hey, I’m just going to take Robbie back to his room, okay? I’m probably going to bed after.” You tell him. He doesn’t smile, just offers you the drink he got you and blinks slowly when you wave it away. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You ask gently, hoping to get a response from him, but he’s just giving Robbie a sour, calculating look. Robbie is transfixed by the lights behind the bar and does not notice.

When you finally get Robbie into bed, much later than you would have thought since he insisted on stopping at everything that caught his interest, and taking five minutes of standing still and explaining how beautiful his fiance’s eyes were, he’s still wearing his shoes. Once under the covers, he grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, suddenly serious.

“You’re good. You’re a good sort, Spotlight.” He tells you, his accent coming in just a little thicker with his sincerity, and he pets your hands, before abruptly turning away from you and pulling the blankets up to his nose, clearly tapping out for the night.

The room you shared with Roger was just a few floors up, and you’re in the elevator when you realise you’d left your keys in your room. You usually did, you always went back with Roger, so you usually didn’t need them. When you approach the door, you think you hear murmuring from the other side, but it could have been from across the hall, you don’t think about it too much as you knock. There’s a giggled ‘shhh’ from the other side of the door that’s less easy to play off, but you’re tired enough to think it’s just mostly-asleep Roger. You knock again, but no-one replies. It’s too late to knock too much, and you know he’s a deep sleeper, so with a heavy, tired heart, you make your way down the hall.

“What do you want?” Paul’s frowning at you when he opens the door, wearing his blue pyjamas, squinting at you.

“Keys to the bus please, I need somewhere to sleep, Roger’s not answering.” You tell him, and punctuate it with a yawn. After a beat more of watching you, as if assessing your motives, he disappears back into his room and reappears with the keys.

“Don’t lose them.” He warned, before closing the door on you.

The sofa in the bus is long enough that you can spread out, and you find someone’s fur coat to use as a blanket. It’s comfortable enough, a little cold, and it’s only when you hear a banging on the door and feel the sunlight on your face the next morning that you get up.

Opening the door, you see Roger standing there, looking up at you, waiting for entrance. Moving back to your makeshift bed, you take a seat, giving him a confused smile.

“I... didn’t think you’d actually be here.” He already sounds like he’s in a mood, bitter, but a little bit hesitant.

“Of course I stayed here, I knocked but you didn’t answer- what was up with that?” You asked, punctuating it with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He watched for a moment before he slid his sunglasses down his nose to glare at you over them.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice a little hoarse and scratchy, moving from hesitant to just quietly angry, the venom in his words hurting like a physical slap, and you sat up straighter.

“I’m-” And you’re searching for the words, but none come to mind.

“Why are you still on this bus?” He explains in a hiss. After a beat, he slides his glasses back up his nose, and turns to look away from you, a clear dismissal.

You’re at a loss as to how to explain that you’re here because... well, you’re always here, it’s where you were now. He’s the one who’d brought you here. 

“What do you mean? You’re the one who wanted me here.” Standing your ground, you don’t dare let your voice betray how confused and hurt you were feeling. 

“Yeah, well now I don’t.” He snapped. His words hit you squarely in the chest, and he leaves you in your shocked, dazed silence, moving to the back of the bus. “Fuck off back to the equipment bus, since you prefer it so much better.” He snarled, and that’s what unfroze you. 

“Christ, I don’t get paid enough to deal with whatever this is and ride in that bus, so that’s a resounding ‘no thanks’. And more importantly; what the fuck has gotten into you?” Emotion comes crashing back into you, rage tearing through you like a tidal wave, and you turn on him, jaw clenched.

“’Whatever this is’” he snorted, low and bitter, “yeah, but you get paid enough to fuck that little, brown-haired cockhead?” He asked, and your eyes went wide.

“Who? Robbie?” You asked, voice dangerously calm. “You think I’m fucking Robbie? Our assistant stage manager? Who just proposed to his girlfriend at our stop in Munich? That brown-haired cockhead?” You snarled, advancing on Roger like a predator cornering her prey, bitter tension gathering across your skin.

“Was he the one crying on your shoulder last night at the after party?” Roger raised an eyebrow, but the sting had left his words. Narrowing your eyes, you confirm with a single, venomous ‘yes’. “Oh.”

“Is that why you locked me out last night? You thought I was-”

“I was angry, okay?” He cut you off, sitting down at the back of the bus, and though his tone is angry, his demeanour, the way he’s avoiding your gaze and fiddling, it’s... almost guilty. In that moment, it was as if you’d been splashed with cold water, an icy realisation slithering down your spine.

“What does that mean?” Voice level, you try not to jump to conclusions, but your heart is already sinking. He doesn’t answer. When he turns away, you see a hickey on his collar that wasn’t there yesterday. “Roger, what did you do?” You asked, and the hurt was already bleeding through into your words.

“I was... I was so fucking angry.” It’s not a real answer, it’s not even a real excuse. The way he says it, jaw clenched, heart in his throat, he’s all but bleeding guilt, too proud to ask for forgiveness.

“Bullshit.” Your can feel tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill, but your hands are shaking with anger, hurt, betrayal, and you don’t even care. “You’ve been weird for weeks, you were just looking for the first out you could get.” 

“Y/N.” He stands, reaches out to grab your shoulder, but you step back, out of his reach.

“No.” Your voice is firm, but your lip is quivering. “I don’t want you to ever touch me again,” wrapping your arms across your chest, looking at his outstretched hand with disdain through your tears. “Being angry isn’t an excuse. Jumping to conclusions isn’t an excuse. I get that it must be fun fucking around with the girl who makes you work for it by your standards, but,” shaking your head, you sniffle, holding yourself a little tighter with one hand, you wipe away your tears with the other, “the moment you have to work, have to put in a little bit of fucking trust? You couldn’t even do that.”

“Spotlight, please-”

“I’m in fucking Europe for you, Roger! What in your fucking, dumbass mind thinks that I’m someone who travels halfway across the world with someone just to cheat on them?” You’re yelling now, grateful to be alone and worrying that others would join you at any minute. You didn’t want them seeing you like this.

“For me? You’re here for work! I’m opening doors for you in the industry that you’d never have opened yourself!” And he knows even as he’s saying it that it’s the wrong thing to say, but he’s too furious at himself, lashing out at the only person he could. He watches as your expression turns shocked, before shattering, and you start bawling your eyes out, holding your face in your hands. Regret floods through him, but as he steps forwards to comfort you, you yell for him to fuck off.

“I can’t- I can’t leave can I? If I leave the tour, they’ll think the tabloid are right, that I’m some dumb groupie.” And you turn, distraught, and curl up on the sofa along the inside of the bus, still bawling, loud and ugly, great heaving sobs wracking your body as you realise the full extent of what had happened, and what it would mean for you. “You’ve ruined my fucking career.”

“That’s a bit of an overstatement.” He can’t even bring himself to apologise, sitting back against the window of the bus, watching as you curl yourself into a ball, the only sound filling the silence being your sobbing. It hurts, his heart is fucking aching, but he couldn’t admit it. When you raised your head to look at him, your eyes red rimmed and lip trembling, he feels only a white hot guilt fill him from the inside out.

“You don’t get it, this industry is about who you know, and if all I am is some girl who Roger Taylor fucked, flew across the world, and got bored with, it doesn’t matter how good at my job I am, I’ll just be another groupie with aspirations.” And you bury your face in your hands again.

“We could... pretend like nothing happened, until the end of the tour.” He offers, quietly, the weakest hail mary pass you’d ever heard, and you roll your eyes at him.

“I’d rather have my dignity, thanks.” You spat, taking in a deep shaking breath as you finally sat up, wiping fruitlessly at your eyes as tears continued to flow, though you tried to pull yourself together.

“You’re not under contract, you can leave if you want.” And it might literally be last on the list of things you’d wanted to hear at that moment.

“I get it, Roger, you don’t want me around.” You snap, standing. “You are who you are; I was stupid to think you were better than that.” You sniffled. When you turn and leave, he’s silent, replaying your words over and over again in his head until he’s absolutely livid at what he’s done. 

When the rest of the band returns almost a full half an hour later, he’s trashed the entirety of the bus, even going to far as to rip up the cushioning on the bench beneath the back window. 

“So you’ve heard the news I take it.” Brian looks at the scene before them, voice and demeanour both surprisingly nonchalant, and Roger, breathing heavily amid the carnage, gives him a sharp look. “Spotlight’s heading home, something’s come up with her family.” He explains. Behind him, John’s already started picking up a fractured mug, and Freddie is just frowning at Roger.

“Yeah?” Is all Roger says, snatching up the cushions from where he’d thrown them, and flopping himself onto the back bench, facing away from them all. 

“She’s just talking to the production manager if you’d like to say goodbye.” Freddie offers, carefully neutral, and Roger suspects he knows something’s up with the story.

“She doesn’t want to see me.” He huffed sulkily, and the others lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. They can tell it’s a touchy subject but they don’t pry. They don’t hear from you, don’t even know how to contact you if they had been able to, instead they watch Roger pick up different girls night after night, trash hotel rooms, and grow shorter when interacting with the crew, especially the assistant stage manager.

“I am who I am.” Is all he says, lips around a cigarette where he’s chain smoking in the empty theatre at lunch when Freddie finds him and finally asks what’s wrong. Freddie wants to ask what happened, wants to ask why you really left, but he knows Roger well enough to figure most of it out. Roger’s a ticking time bomb nowadays, so he doesn’t pry. 

The band doesn’t talk about you, not when paparazzi and reports yell out asking where you are, not to the crew, they barely talk about you to each other, and they never talk about you around Roger. 

The bus is quieter now.

Roger’s louder now. 

There’s an ache in his chest that won’t go away, that he’s filling with meaningless sex and too much booze because he can’t stand waking up alone, and he still thinks about what you said, and the way you had smiled at him before it all went to shit. He remembers how you’d risked your life for a light beneath his drums, and sometimes at breakfast he finds himself thinking about how you’d thrown a plate of food in his face before you were even real friends, and he wants to yell, to scream, because how could he be so fucking stupid? You’d seen him for who he was, and chose to be with him despite it, you thought he could be better than his reputation, but he’d just managed to prove he wasn’t. 

It hits him when he’s got his hands on some girl whose name he doesn’t know that all he can think about is you, and he hates himself when he leans into the fantasy, not that the other girl notices. He’d rather fuck around than admit he’d developed feelings for you, and so he does, and pretends like he doesn’t miss your sleepy, morning grin, or the casual way the two of you would chat as you were rigging the spotlights for the band.

The day he finds out they’ve replaced you, the kid they’ve got is at the top of the ladder during lunch when he walks in, and he’s hit with such a sense of deja vu that he stops in his tracks.

“I was told this is the best time for me to get work done.” Her voice, thank god she sounds nothing like you, is hesitant, with none of the calm confidence you exuded at the top of the ladder.

“It’s none of my fucking business.” Roger snaps, and turns on his heel and leaves, pretending like it hadn’t felt like he’d just seen a ghost. He gets another drink.

[night-springs]

MARY idk if uve talked abt this before but what was violets relationship w/ julius like?? im super curious

KDSFHSDKF MICAH im so excited to talk abt this oh my god tysm….. also im so fucking sorry this took so long, i had way too much to say about it… ok so for context, violets canon playthrough order is vice kings > carnales > rollerz

…also, since its super obvious when reading this, i always wanted julius’ seemingly blatant distaste for johnny to have come into play in some form at like… any point in the series really. but since volition never went anywhere with it im taking it into my own lil gremlin hands

(background to this interpretation of julius)

in a word it was.. complicated. they were never close. when they met, julius was just looking for more recruits, the saints needed all the help they could get, but he thought he saw something in that skinny, terrified kid when him and troy saved her from being caught in the middle of a turf war. plus the kid owed him a life debt, and that aint a bad thing to have in his position. but, to violet… sure his speech about taking back the city to “save lives” was nice and all, but its not why she joined. she was homeless, starving, had nowhere to go and no options. she didnt even really have to think about the offer, becoming a saint just made sense. it was a step towards something, even if she didnt know exactly what it was, and so violet showed up in the churchyard the very next morning

from julius’ pov, violet took to fighting like a fish to water. capable, willing to do whatever it took, never talked back or questioned orders, and owed him their loyalty? to be honest she was basically the perfect little soldier. he thought this kid had a serious chance of being one of their key members… and he wasnt wrong. but in truth violet was terrified. when troy took her to buy a gun and had her kill someone for the first time with it, she managed to keep it together until she dropped him off and he was just out of sight. then she vomited all over the passengers seat of the car. the constant terror made it hard for her to sleep at night. a broken nose, bloody bandages over cuts from close calls with stray bullets, too many bruises to count and it didnt take long for her knuckles to become more scars than skin. for a while she was arguably more of a wreck than she was before she joined up

but at the same time, joining up improved things for violet. before this shed been sleeping in an alleyway, but now at night she could sleep in the church, and the other saints were friendly to her. then, when she got her first share of money? she went and bought herself a full meal and almost cried on the spot. soon, after pocketing as much cash as she could from dead rival gangsters wallets, she saved enough to get a loft right in saints row, and it was a shitty one, but she didnt fucking care. she loved that loft. from her point of view, julius was giving her the chance to save her own life. all she had to do in return was kill people for him. and she rationalized it to herself that way. if she had to kill other people to survive, then so be it

….and then violet began to realize how much of an adrenaline junkie she is, and holy fuck did she love to fight. if she had an opportunity to ditch the gun and just go in with a bat or even just her fists, she took it. the rush of risking her life became something she thought was fun. plus the respect she got as a saint? people were afraid of her, and she had anyone wearing purple on her side. the thrill, the power, the money, the loyalty… without her even really realizing it, running with gangs went from a means to an end to something that she enjoyed. but this change happens slowly, over the course of taking over stilwater. in truth, julius’ betrayal was what finally tipped her all the way

julius starts to hate her before they even finish off the vice kings. hed assigned her to helping out gat first, thinking even if dex was overseeing everything, their youngest lieutenant would need someone who could handle it if one of his crazy plans went south. but the trail of carnage and destruction violet and johnny left behind was the exact opposite of what julius wanted. he thought itd be over once the VKs were finished and he could assign violet to working with another (more stable) lieutenant, but after gat had taken that shotgun blast to the knee to help the kid escape and shed gone in alone to save him, the two were practically attached at the hip. the kid would follow gat around like a lost puppy, and the only person johnny spent more time with than violet was his girlfriend. then, once tanya was dead, he overhears a rumor that the supposedly mute kid could not only talk, but she would only speak to johnny or aisha. apparently gat had gone asking around if the kid had spoken to anyone else before him, and thats how everyone found out (gat was slightly offended when he found out violet spoke to aisha first, long before vi made that horrible hepatitis joke to him, and aisha had been keeping it a secret for her)

julius had never liked gat, he didnt care about ending the gang wars and was only there because he was bloodthirsty and lived for violence. and now he and the kid julius was becoming increasingly cautious of were feeding off of each others recklessness. not only were those two a volatile mix, but it seemed like julius was losing control of playa because of it… and that was bad news for him

johnnys sidelined, and banned from helping with any moves against the carnales and rollerz. julius told him it was because of his injury, which they both knew was a bullshit reason; hed been fucking up the vice kings just fine even with his messed up knee. gat did not take it well, and there was a shouting match that violet walked in on. vi was upset of course, her and gat were friends now and she liked running missions with him, but she wasnt going to argue. even if playa didnt understand julius’ decision, she didnt question him, but there was a lot of tension between johnny and julius after that, especially when it seemed like julius was actively trying to keep vi and johnny away from each other. anytime theyd hang out at the church, if julius saw them together you could feel the tension fill up the room, and more often than not hed just send violet out with some bullshit orders. the two quickly learned to hang out away from the church after that

by the time the carnales are history and theyre gunning for the rollerz, julius knows how badly he fucked up. thinking he could start a new gang, and control it? he was naive. theyd taken over almost all of stilwater, but at what cost? how much of the city had they destroyed along the way? and at the center of all that carnage was violet. the more of the city they take over because of her, the more disgusted she makes julius. he needed to stop the saints, stop her, but he has to do it carefully. if anyone realized it, or that he was trying to get playa killed, the gang would turn on him in an instant. the rest of the saints idolize playa, and they all know shes a big part of the reason for their success. if anything happened to julius, the gang would rally around violet, and he knows it

at first he was just sending her into risky situations because of the faith he had in her, but for a while now hed been sending her on straight up suicidal tasks on purpose, hoping someone would finally just take her out before she caused any more harm or became even more of a problem. but she just keeps coming back. doesnt matter if its just her against an entire stronghold of god knows how many seasoned gang members, shell walk out only a little worse for wear. julius starts to wonder just how terrifying this kid is, and all the while violet never even notices that julius is doing this, shes just doing what shes told. hes all praise whenever they speak, trying to keep her placated. troy notices the risks julius always seems to take with violet, but he just thinks julius is putting too much faith in the kid and driving her too hard. he starts trying to look after vi in his own ways to make up for it (thats how they become friends) but he never realizes julius’ true intentions until its far too late

vi and lin are flying solo now, with almost no help from the other lieutenants. julius makes it look like hes putting more faith in violet, no more kid gloves. of course vi and lin get in over their heads like that, and when lin gets killed and vi ends up in the hospital, julius wishes to god that she had just drowned in the river with lin

and then, soon after, its done. the vice kings, the carnales, the rollerz, theyre all a memory. the saints own the whole damn city, or whatevers left of it. and then julius gets arrested, and he finds out troy is a cop, and julius knows its all over…. but troy offers him a deal: get johnny and playa out, and he can walk. he gets the idea right there, to kill violet himself. theres no way shes going to stop, and julius knows it

violet knew driving over to the dock that she was walking into a trap, but if it was to get julius back, it didnt really matter. shed already murdered a major public figure and the chief of police trying to get him back, shooting her way out of another situation almost seemed pretty fuckin mild at that point. so it doesnt surprise her when hughes’ men surround her; no, what does surprise her is the sudden loud beeping, the confused look on hughes face, and something in her gut screaming at her to run. whether it was the wall of henchmen between her and the explosion, or the split second before the bomb went off that she used to rush forward and leap just over the railing that saved her life there, shes never sure. maybe it was both. either way, the burns scarring her back for the rest of her life show she didnt get off scot-free

five years later, and within 24 hours of waking up and breaking out of prison, shes already visited the police station and listened to the tapes. and once shes heard them, violet is seething. she did EVERYTHING for julius, became a murderer, risked her life, followed all his orders without question! and he took five years of her life away! tried to take all of it away! something in her just snaps, and she sets up the meeting with dex that same night

julius thought hed be meeting up with dex, but in truth he isnt surprised to see violet instead; hed been dreading the possibility of this day since he first learned that shed survived the explosion. but even so, even after what he did, it quickly becomes obvious that julius genuinely doesnt believe that violet will follow through with payback. and violet is livid, feels like somebody hollowed her insides out and theres nothing but anger under her skin anymore. despite everything he doesnt know her at all, still thinks shes this loyal little teenager who will do whatever shes told. a dog on a leash, because he never learned that she could be more than that, that she was more than that

and then, hearing him hold himself over her? violet knows who she is and whats she done, shes under no illusions about that. but hearing julius somehow think hes the good guy, that hes morally better than her after everything he did, everything he ordered her to do… it adds a whole new level of hatred. not to even mention how he tries to leverage saving her life over her again, after shed MORE than paid back that debt. thats the last straw, and she kills him. never regrets that choice for a single second for the rest of her life

after that, violets just… angry. shes like that for years. julius took everything good she ever had away from her, and every person she kills is another “fuck you” to his memory. gang member, cop, civilian, she doesnt care anymore. julius wanted to save the city from her? good. shell burn the whole fucking thing down just to spite him

she doesnt get over that for a long time

[angrylizardjacket]

of comfort and joy {Ben Hardy}

Anons asked: can you write Ben as a dad / imagine staying up late to wrap presents for yours and Ben’s kids (the original prompts have been lost i’m sorry, but this goes out to you guys)

A/N: 1562 words. So this is my second attempt at this. I lost both the prompts but they weren’t super complicated, and this fills both very nicely. 

Ben’s so careful as he slides the door shut to the kids’ bedroom, the hour just edging past eleven. He winces at the sound of the door latching closed, and he waits for a few moments, listening for the telltale sounds of laughter or the thump of little feet, but all was quiet on the other side of the door, and he let out a sigh of relief, coming to join you where you’d surrounded yourself with gifts that needed to be wrapped at the last minute.

“They’re asleep.” His voice was soft as he rested his head on your shoulder, sitting beside you on the floor with the sofa at your back, legs kicked out in front of him and resting on a stack of assorted labels and gift tags. 

“My hero; how’d you manage that?” You asked wryly, concentrating on where you’re writing ‘To Abby, From Santa’ on a soft package that contained a Harry Potter robe and wand for your eldest daughter; Ben had been reading them the series as a bedtime story for the past few weeks, and Abby, who was always in awe of her dad, was adamant that she was a Slytherin, just like him.

“Bribery.” Ben yawned, looping one of his arms through yours, tucking himself closer to you. “The boys were okay, I mean, they’re too young to really know what’s going on, but I had to tell Abs that Santa would only write her a letter if she goes to bed on time.” And you laughed softly at that, putting the finishing touches on the label before putting the present onto the pile of wrapped gifts sitting neatly beside you.

“So how many chapters did you end up reading?” You asked, letting yourself relax for the moment, leaning against him, your head resting against his. The light from the Christmas tree showered the whole room in a warm, multi-coloured light, shining off of ornaments and the screen of the TV which was muted, playing an old black and white Christmas movie. 

“Only two; we got up to the Death Day party and she was out.” He sounds so fond when he says it, warm and kind, and he yawns again, letting out a low hum of contentment. He relaxes further against you.

“Honey, there’s still so much wrapping to do, you can’t fall asleep yet.” You say, gently shaking him, and he groans, before he moves to actually turn his head and look at you.

“You’ve been working so hard to get all this ready, can we just relax for a little bit?” He asked, so wide and bright you can see the lights from the tree reflect off of them. 

“Just for a bit.” You could never say no to him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to him, and you rest your head on his shoulder, letting yourself relax in his arms. You turn up the volume on the TV enough to be able to hear the end of the movie, but not enough to wake the kids. The heater in the corner of the room has you feeling warm and blissful, even as you watch snow flutter down onto the town outside through the window behind the television. It’s hard to find in the holiday season, but you’re going to hold onto this moment of peace and love with everything you’ve got. 

When the movie ends, Ben gently untangles himself from you, standing, stretched, and turning the TV off.

“I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate, give us a boost to wrap the last of these presents before we head to bed, okay?” He says, and you reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it in wordless thanks. When he squeezes your hand back, smiling fondly, you can feel your heart flutter like it did when you’d first started dating all those years ago.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur over the lip of your mug, eyes falling closed as you bring the warm drink close to your chest, inhaling the aroma of chocolate that rose from it. Ben pets your knee softly, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, one hand on your knee and the other holding his own mug. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, haloed by the tree, expression so full of unbridled love and affection it’s almost overwhelming. 

“’cos I know how lucky I am to have you.” He says, and it’s moments like this that remind you why you married him in the first place. Gently, you take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles.

By the light of the Christmas tree, the two of you go about wrapping presents for your friends and family. The majority, of course, are for your kids; wrapping them at the last minute was easier than worrying that they’d tear into them before Christmas, or try and sneak a peak. Abby, the oldest, almost seven and forever a daddy’s girl, loved anything Ben did, also Frozen; Micha was four and has never met a robot he didn’t want to marry, though he didn’t understand what the word meant when he announced it on a daily basis while holding hands with a transformer action figure; Roan had just turned two and liked the colour red.

“Do you think Abs is old enough for a present hunt?” Ben asks where he’s sorting stocking stuffers. Looking up, you’re confused, and he looks a little shocked, “you’ve never had a present hunt?” When you shook your head, his mouth split into a nostalgic grin. “We had them when I was a kid; you hide a series of clues around the house and the kids follow the clues to find a hidden present.” His laugh was fond, which turned to a thoughtful hum as he reminisced, “I rode my bike all around the neighbourhood one year, dad really went all out.” 

“Maybe not around the neighbourhood.” You grinned, and his whole face lit up when he met your gaze. He’s up after that, so giddy he’s practically bouncing as he swans around the house with the sticky tape, writing and hiding clues as he went, ending up with Abby’s gift stashed in the back of the pots and pans cupboard next to the oven. When he comes back, he tapes one last clue to a bauble, hanging it at the back of the Christmas tree, proclaiming it to be the starting point. After that, he settles back in, filling the stockings that hung over the mantle, and helping you wrap the last of the presents.

When everything’s done, you feel the exhaustion settling into your bones, and you take a long moment to stretch. All the presents are wrapped, sitting neatly beneath the tree, and the heater’s been turned off, and all that’s left to do is put all the wrapping paper, tape, and labels that you’d commandeered for the occasion.

“You head on to bed, I’m just writing this letter for Abby.” He said, looking up from where he was leaning over a notebook, to see you waiting for him in the door. With a soft smile, you nod, and head to your bedroom, quickly getting changed into your pyjamas and sliding into bed. He follows not long after, but instead of getting changed, he sits onto the bed beside you, grinning and holding out a neatly wrapped box with your name on it.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He says gently, and you look from the box to where he’s smiling at you, nervous and excited. You’re lost for words, heart overwhelmed with love as you start to unwrap the present.

It’s a photo frame, silver, with metal vines decorating the outside, and space enough for two photos. The photo on the left is from when you first visited him on the set of X-Men Apocalypse, probably taken by a crew member. You’d never seen the photo before, but you know it’s the two of you; he’s got his arms around you, the two of you all but nose to nose and so blindingly happy. He’s in costume, wearing a leather jacket with his hair long, curled and teased, and you’re pushing a small strand behind his ear. The two of you are so wrapped up in each other, and he’s grinning at you like there’s literally nowhere in the world he’d rather be than in your arms.

The photo on the right is from your wedding day, in the same position as the other photo, his arm around you, you with a hand holding his cheek. It’s as if you’re not even aware of the photographer, blissful and elated and in love. 

“This was so long ago.” Voice soft and awed, you look up from the wedding photo to see him looking at you with that exact same smile you remember so clearly from when the two photos were taken; the smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. “I love you, Ben.”

“I love you too; there’s no-one else I’d rather by my side to raise our family with.” He says, and you think you’re about to cry, so overwhelmed at the sincerity and sweetness that it’s all you can do to lean forward and kiss him.