#I’m thinking. it sounds like she went thought a few different ‘eras’ & now I *need* to draw what those eras might have looked like 😭

[eeblouissant]

Today I’m thinking about the time Dorothy said that she gave herself a perm during her ‘midlife crisis’ in response to Stan impulsively buying a car

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.2| MV1

an: ahh i'm really enjoying writing this dynamic, although this isn't set in the victorian era. i am a SUCKER for historial romance so this feels very similiar.

wc: 5.5k

part one

Two nights later, under the cover of darkness, the princess found herself slipping through the quiet halls of the palace again. She knew Lukas had warned her not to sneak out, but the pull to return to the track was stronger than the caution in her mind. She missed the feeling of freedom, the wind against her face, and—though she hadn’t admitted it to herself fully yet—Max’s easy company. The memory of the last race, of his smile, of the way she’d felt like a completely different person, made her restless.

She had to go back.

The stable yard was silent, the smell of hay and leather heavy in the air. The familiar path to the hidden exit was just ahead, tucked behind the horses’ stalls. Her heart raced with excitement, and she moved quickly, eager to feel that surge of adrenaline again.

But as she reached the spot, her steps faltered.

The small gap in the stable wall—her secret exit—was blocked. Heavy wooden planks had been nailed across the opening, crisscrossing over the stones, sealing it shut.

Her stomach dropped. She stared at it in disbelief, her pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons now. She hadn’t been gone long—only two days—but someone had found out. Someone had noticed.

No... not someone.

As if summoned by her very thoughts, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.

“Princess,” came a familiar, deep voice.

She turned slowly, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. The head of the royal guard, Commander Alfred, stood just a few feet away. His tall, imposing figure seemed to fill the space around them, his grey uniform stark against the soft, moonlit stable. His expression was calm, but there was a hardness in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t try this again,” Alfred said, his voice low but firm.

Her mouth went dry. Her mind scrambled for something to say, an excuse, anything, but nothing came. Instead, she just stood there, frozen, caught like a child sneaking out past curfew. The thrill of the night evaporated, replaced by a cold dread settling into her bones.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on this exit for a few days now,” Alfred continued, stepping forward with measured, deliberate steps. “I saw you the other night. I didn’t say anything, hoping you wouldn’t make it a habit. But here you are.”

Her throat tightened. “I just... I needed some air,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alfred studied her for a moment, his stern gaze softening ever so slightly. He let out a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a princess,” he said, his tone gentler now, but still unyielding. “The world outside these walls isn’t safe for you. There are risks you can’t see—people who would take advantage of you, who wouldn’t think twice about using your title against you. You can’t just... sneak out and pretend none of that matters.”

The weight of his words pressed down on her, heavier than her own guilt. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make it easier to swallow. All she had wanted was a few moments where she didn’t have to be the princess, where she could just be... herself. Not the heir, not the symbol of royal duty. Just a girl who liked racing karts and laughing with a stranger who didn’t know her name.

But now, even that small slice of freedom was being taken away.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

Alfred nodded once, his face unreadable. “Go back to your room, Your Highness,” he said, his tone final. “It’s late.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. There was no arguing with Alfred, not when he was right. Slowly, defeated, she turned and walked back toward the palace, her heart heavy with disappointment.

As she crossed the yard and disappeared into the dim halls of the palace, she felt the sting of tears building behind her eyes. She blinked them back, forcing herself to hold it together until she reached her room.

Once inside, the silence of her chambers was deafening. The weight of everything—the closed exit, Alfred’s disapproving words, the suffocating sense of responsibility—pressed down on her all at once.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands as the tears finally came.

She hadn’t realised just how much she needed that escape until it was taken away from her. The walls of the palace suddenly felt smaller, closing in on her, trapping her in a life she wasn’t sure she could keep living. The image of the boarded-up exit flashed in her mind, a cruel reminder that her freedom, however small, had been ripped away.

She curled up on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest as the sobs wracked through her. The palace, her family, the expectations—it all felt too heavy, too impossible to carry. She thought about Max, the thrill of the track, the brief joy she’d found in being someone else, and how, for a few short hours, it had made her feel alive again.

But now, that world seemed farther away than ever. Untouchable.

The tears kept coming, long after the moon had risen high in the sky. And when she finally stopped crying, the exhaustion weighed her down like a blanket, pulling her into a restless sleep.

For the next few days, she didn’t leave her room. She couldn’t bring herself to face anyone, not even Lukas, who she knew had done everything he could to protect her secret. She felt numb, lost in the overwhelming sense of disappointment that she couldn’t shake.

No one came to question her absence from meals or the usual royal duties. Maybe they thought she was unwell—sick with some quiet illness that kept her hidden away. In a way, she was.

Because now, more than ever, she felt like a prisoner in her own life.

Days had turned into a week, and she still hadn't left her room.

At first, her absence had gone unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to retreat after the long banquets, charity events, and royal meetings that often took up her time. The palace staff had simply assumed she was taking a break, maybe indulging in some much-needed rest.

But as the days dragged on, it became clear that something wasn’t right.

She barely ate. Meals delivered to her chambers sat untouched on the tray by her door. The curtains remained drawn tight, shutting out the warm autumn sunlight, and her once neat and orderly space had become a mess of discarded clothes and rumpled sheets. The sparkle that usually lit up her presence had dimmed, buried under a weight that no one could see but everyone felt.

Her ladies-in-waiting whispered among themselves, their voices low as they passed in the corridors. They traded worried glances, unsure of what to do. Should they call the Queen? Inform the King? She had never stayed hidden away like this before—not like this. Even when she needed space, she always re-emerged, ready to face her responsibilities. But now, the princess seemed... lost.

Her mother was the first to express concern openly.

One afternoon, as the palace staff hurried about preparing for a royal dinner, the Queen stopped one of her ladies-in-waiting in the hall. The Queen had always been poised and composed, but there was an unmistakable hint of worry in her sharp green eyes.

“How is she?” she asked, her voice tight, betraying more emotion than she intended.

The young woman fidgeted under the Queen’s gaze, lowering her head. “She’s been... resting, Your Majesty. But she hasn’t left her room in days. I don’t think she’s well.”

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Has she spoken to anyone?”

“No, Your Majesty. She’s refused visitors.”

The Queen’s worry deepened. She had always been headstrong, independent. But this felt different. Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the physical withdrawal—it was the silence. She had never shut herself off like this before, and the Queen couldn’t shake the sense that her daughter was sinking into something far deeper than exhaustion.

The next day the King himself stepped into her chambers, expecting to find his daughter reading or quietly working through whatever troubled her. But when he saw her lying on the bed, her back turned to the door, still wearing the same clothes from days ago, the sight struck him harder than he’d expected.

“Darling,” he said gently, stepping into the room.

She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge his presence.

The King’s brow furrowed. His daughter had always been the stronger one, the one who pushed through no matter the burden placed on her. But the stillness in the room, the absence of life in her usually vibrant eyes—it unsettled him.

He walked to her side, sitting down on the edge of her bed. For a long moment, he simply watched her, unsure of what to say. As King, he was used to fixing things, solving problems, and making decisions. But this... this felt like something he couldn’t fix with words or power.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he asked softly. “Talk to me.”

She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the wall, eyes red-rimmed and empty. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she might fall apart completely, and that scared her more than anything.

The King sighed, reaching out to gently touch her hand. “You don’t have to do this alone, darling. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We’ll help.”

But she didn’t respond, her body tense under his touch. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling—the pressure, the emptiness, the suffocating weight of her title, her future, and everything in between. And the only escape she had found—the one place where she could breathe—had been taken from her.

The King remained by her side for a few more minutes, but eventually, he rose, his expression more worried than when he’d entered. He had hoped she would open up, give him some clue as to what was going on, but her silence spoke louder than any words could.

As he left the room, he quietly summoned Commander Alfred. The head of the royal guard appeared swiftly, his usual stoic expression in place. But even he couldn’t hide the concern that flickered in his eyes when the King spoke.

“Have you noticed anything unusual about the princess lately?” The King asked, his tone quiet but filled with authority.

Alfred’s jaw tightened. He knew precisely what was troubling her. He had been the one to stop her the night she tried to sneak out again. And though he had done his duty, he regretted the way it had crushed her. But now, standing before the King, he couldn’t very well admit he had allowed her escapades to go on unnoticed for so long.

“Your Majesty,” Alfred began carefully, “I believe the princess has been under a great deal of stress. It’s possible she’s... struggling with the weight of her responsibilities.”

The King frowned, frustration creeping into his expression. “We all have responsibilities, Alfred. But she has never shut down like this before. This is different.”

Alfred hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell the King about the racing, about the brief moments of rebellion that had clearly meant so much to her? It wasn’t his place to reveal such things, especially when the princess had already been punished for it in her own way.

Instead, he simply nodded. “I will keep an eye on her, Your Majesty. But I believe she needs time.”

The King gave a short nod, though his unease was palpable. “Time. Yes. But not too much time. If this goes on any longer, we’ll have to intervene.”

That night the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the palace grounds. Inside her room, the shadows loomed larger than life, stretching across the walls like silent sentinels. She lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling like the dust motes dancing in the moonlight. She had tried to find solace in sleep, but each time she closed her eyes, her mind spiralled back to the karting track—the laughter, the thrill, the fleeting moments of freedom that now felt like a distant memory.

As the clock struck midnight, a soft creak broke the stillness of her room. She turned her head, heart racing. The door slowly opened, and Lukas slipped inside, his silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Your Highness,” he whispered, urgency lacing his tone. “I know you’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” she gasped, sitting up quickly. “You can’t be in here!”

Lukas held a finger to his lips, a mischievous grin breaking through the concern etched on his face. “Shhh! Just trust me. I need you to change. I brought something for you.”

He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a pair of dark jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. “You need to get out of here.”

Her heart pounded as she processed his words. “What? But Lukas, I can’t just—”

“Please, princess. You’ve been stuck in this room for too long. You need to breathe. Change quickly!” He urged, his tone more serious now.

Despite her hesitation, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. She nodded, her resolve strengthening. “Alright,” she murmured, taking the clothes from him. “But you have to promise this is safe.”

“I promise,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ll be right here.”

She hurried to the bathroom to change, her heart racing with anticipation and fear. The soft fabric felt foreign against her skin after days of wearing nothing but the same loungewear. She took a deep breath, catching her reflection in the mirror—her eyes still heavy with sleepless nights, but the spark of rebellion ignited within her once more.

When she emerged, Lukas was waiting, a grin on his face as he took in her new look. “You look ready for an adventure.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she breathed, feeling exhilarated yet terrified.

“Don’t worry. Just follow me.” He took her hand, leading her through the darkened corridors of the palace, down the stairs and into the depths of the guard quarters.

After what felt like an eternity of cautious footsteps and whispered exchanges, they reached a door that she had never noticed before. It was tucked away at the far end of the guard barracks, partially concealed by a thick tapestry.

Lukas turned to her, his expression serious. “This is a guard exit. It’ll take you out to the stables, but you need to move quickly. Once you’re outside, make your way to the track.”

Her heart raced at the thought of being outside the palace walls, free once again. “And you?”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on things from a distance. If you need anything, just call. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t afford to let anyone know you’re gone.”

As he spoke, he reached into his bag and pulled out the helmet she had been gifted the last time she was at the track. “Here. Take this. It’s yours now.”

She stared at the helmet, a mixture of gratitude and exhilaration washing over her. “Thank you, Lukas. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

He smiled softly, but there was an intensity in his gaze. “You deserve to feel free, princess. You deserve more than what this palace offers. Now go. Run.”

She stepped forward, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace was warm and reassuring, a promise of friendship and loyalty in a world where she often felt so alone.

Lukas held her for a moment longer, then gently pulled away. “I’ll be right here, watching you,” he promised.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back and nodded. The door creaked open, revealing the moonlit stables beyond. She could feel the cool night air beckoning her, the thrill of adventure coursing through her veins.

With a final glance back at Lukas, she stepped through the door and into the night. The world outside felt alive, electric with possibilities. She sprinted toward the stables, adrenaline surging as she imagined the karting track waiting for her, the laughter of her new friends echoing in her mind.

As she reached the edge of the stables, she turned to look back one last time, seeing Lukas standing by the door, watching her with a proud smile.

Then she turned and ran, feeling like she was breaking free for the first time in ages. The track awaited, and with it, the promise of freedom.

Her heart raced as she sprinted down the familiar path leading to the karting track. The thrill of freedom surged through her with each stride, the cool night air whipping around her. She had longed for this moment, to feel the exhilaration of the track beneath her feet, the adrenaline that coursed through her veins as she raced.

But as she burst through the gates, her excitement faltered. The track felt eerily quiet, devoid of the laughter and energy that had once filled the air. The karts sat silently in their spots, the pit area dark and still, the bleachers looming like forgotten memories. Disappointment washed over her as she realised she might have come back to an empty space, a place that had felt so alive just days ago.

“Pity” she muttered, her voice echoing into the void.

Feeling the weight of solitude, she hesitated at the edge of the track. She had envisioned this moment—the thrill of the race, the rush of speed—but now it felt as though the universe had conspired to leave her alone once again.

Just as she turned to leave, something caught her eye. A figure sat cross-legged on the ground near the barrier, partially obscured by shadows. Curiosity piqued, she squinted, and her heart leapt when she recognized the silhouette.

“Max?” she called, the name tumbling from her lips as a rush of hope surged within her.

He looked up, surprise washing over his face, and in an instant, he stood up, a wide smile spreading across his features. “Angel!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Without thinking, she rushed toward him, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps. The distance between them vanished in an instant as she barreled into him, relief and joy overwhelming her senses.

Max caught her in a warm embrace, and the world around them faded. “I can’t believe you came back! I thought maybe you weren’t going to,” he said, his voice warm and sincere as he held her tight.

“I missed it too much,” she admitted, pulling back to look into his eyes. “And I missed you.”

He stepped back slightly, his gaze searching hers, and there was a moment of stillness between them. The excitement of their connection lingered in the air, an unspoken understanding that made her heart flutter.

“I was here the whole time, waiting for you to show up again,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You really know how to make an entrance.”

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “I almost didn’t make it. I was worried I’d be the only one here.”

Max shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, I couldn’t stay away either. This place is too good to abandon. Plus, I was hoping you’d come back. I wanted to see how you were doing after our last race.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she replied, her heart swelling at the thought of their last adventure together. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”

“Same here,” he said, his expression softening. “It felt real, you know? Just us, no pressures, no expectations. I’ve missed having that, it’s been a long time.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his words. “I’ve missed that too. It’s hard to explain why. Everything in my life feels… complicated.”

He nodded, understanding glimmering in his eyes. “I get it. Sometimes you just want to escape from everything. That’s why I love coming here. It’s my little slice of freedom. I came here once a year with my mother and I come back each year.”

“It feels like no one cares who you are or what you’re supposed to be here.”

Max stepped back, his eyes playful. “So, you ready for another round? I’ve been practising, and I’m pretty sure I can beat you this time.”

“Is that a challenge?” she teased, feeling her competitive spirit ignite.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his smile wide. “But you’d better keep up.”

As they walked toward the karts, she couldn’t shake the feeling of exhilaration that buzzed through her. The emptiness she had felt moments ago faded, replaced by the warmth of their connection. Here, with Max, she was just a girl—not a princess, not a royal burdened by expectations.

They reached the karts, and Max gestured for her to take the lead. “You go first. I’ll watch you and see if I can learn a thing or two.”

Shr grinned, her nerves dissipating as she settled into the familiar seat of the kart. “Okay, but don’t blame me if I leave you in the dust!”

As she tightened the helmet over her head, Max’s laughter filled the air, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt free. The night stretched ahead of them, full of possibilities, and with a deep breath, she fired up the engine.

The engines fell silent as she and Max brought their karts to a stop, both panting from the thrill of the race. The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and the excitement that still hummed between them. As they climbed out of their karts, a shared laughter lingered in the air, buoyed by the adrenaline that coursed through their veins.

Max leaned against his kart, catching his breath, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration. “You really held your own out there,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought I was going to lose for a moment.”

She smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Well, don’t get too used to it. I’ll get better every time,” she replied playfully, wiping the sweat from her brow.

But as their laughter faded, the atmosphere shifted. The thrill of competition transformed into something deeper. Max’s gaze lingered on her, his expression softening as the playful banter shifted into a moment filled with unspoken understanding. They stepped closer, the warmth between them drawing them together, filling the space with a tension that felt electric.

Max brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, and her breath hitched in her throat. In that moment, the world around them faded away—the empty track, the quiet night—everything became a distant blur. The only thing that mattered was the connection they shared, the desire that surged like wildfire between them.

“Schjate,” Max said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Her heart raced at his words, and she felt a rush of emotions bubbling to the surface. “Me too,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our last race.”

As their eyes locked, the air around them crackled with intensity. Without thinking, they moved closer together, their breaths mingling as Max leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that ignited the night.

It started softly, a gentle brush of lips that deepened as the world melted away around them. Her heart soared as she kissed him back, savouring the sweetness of the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, as if he were afraid she might slip away. She melted against him, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace.

Their kiss was filled with a mix of exhilaration and longing, each moment stretching into eternity. Time seemed to pause as they lost themselves in each other, the warmth of his body grounding her in a way she had never experienced before. Every doubt, every fear faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that electrifying moment.

But as they finally broke apart, a rush of reality crashed down on her. She stepped back, her heart racing, panic rising in her chest. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Why?” Max asked, confusion clouding his eyes as he searched her face. “It felt right, didn’t it?”

She turned away, trying to catch her breath as her thoughts raced. “I can’t offer you anything,” she admitted, the weight of the words heavy on her tongue.

“Why not?” he pressed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“Because I can’t just… be with you like this,” she said, her chest tightening. “It’s complicated.”

His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, determination shining in his eyes. “What’s complicated about it? It’s just us here.”

“No, it’s not just us!” She exclaimed, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what I’m giving up.”

“What are you giving up?” he asked, his voice laced with hurt. “What do you think this is? I’m not just some guy to you.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But I can’t pretend that this is simple. I have responsibilities—things I can’t just ignore.”

Max’s expression shifted, disbelief etched on his face. “Responsibilities? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m the princess of this country!” she blurted out, her heart racing as she revealed the truth she had kept hidden.

Silence fell between them, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. Max’s eyes widened, shock replacing the warmth that had just been there. “Wait… what?”

“I have a life I can’t escape from,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t be with someone when everything I do has consequences.”

Max took a step back, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper than any blade. “So that’s it? You’re just going to run away because of some title?”

“No!” she cried, tears threatening to spill over. “I wish it were that easy. But I can’t risk everything for something that might not even be real!”

The tension crackled between them, pain and frustration hanging thick in the air. He shook his head, disbelief etched on his features. “So what that kiss was fake? An act of pity?”

“I don’t know what that was,” she admitted, her heart aching. “But I can’t let myself get lost in it. I have too much at stake.”

Max’s expression softened for a moment, but the hurt lingered. “And what if this is your chance to find something real?”

“I can’t take that chance!” she replied, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Max.”

With that, she watched as he turned away, the distance between them feeling insurmountable. Her heart shattered as she took in the sight of him walking away, the warmth of their moment fading into the night. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realised the weight of her choice, the finality of what she had just done.

“Max,” she whispered, but the words were lost in the night.

As he disappeared into the shadows, she felt an unbearable ache in her chest, the reality of her world crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She turned away, her heart heavy, and made her way back to the palace, each step feeling like a loss.

The thrill of racing, the taste of freedom, and the warmth of connection had been swept away, leaving only a hollow ache where joy once resided. As she walked through the familiar halls of the palace, the burden of her title felt heavier than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost something precious.

As she made her way back to the palace, the cool night air felt sharp against her skin, mirroring the ache in her chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, the thrill of her escape now replaced by a deep sense of loss. The weight of her reality bore down on her, and she could hardly breathe as tears streamed down her cheeks, each drop a cruel reminder of what had just happened.

The familiar silhouette of the palace loomed ahead, its grand façade illuminated softly in the moonlight. It had always felt like a sanctuary, but tonight it felt more like a prison, trapping her within its walls of expectation and duty. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the memories of her time with Max, yet somehow knowing that they would haunt her no matter where she went.

As she approached the entrance, she spotted Lukas standing near the guard post, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by an expression of concern. The moment he saw her, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward, instinctively sensing that something was terribly wrong.

“Princess?” he called, his voice low but urgent. “What happened? You look—”

Before he could finish, she crumpled, the weight of her emotions crashing over her like a wave. Without a word, she rushed into his arms, burying her face against his chest as sobs wracked her body. The warmth of his embrace felt like a lifeline, and she clung to him, desperately seeking solace.

Lukas stiffened for a moment, clearly taken aback, but then his arms encircled her, holding her close as she cried. “Princess, what’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked her hair gently. “Talk to me.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up at him. “I—I can’t,” she stammered, struggling to catch her breath. “I messed everything up, Lukas.”

“Take your time,” he encouraged, his voice steady and calming. “Just breathe. You’re safe here.”

With a shuddering breath, she began to pour out the words that had been trapped inside her, the turmoil spilling forth like a dam breaking. “I went back to the track, and I saw Max,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “We raced again, and it was incredible. I felt so free, so alive. But then… we kissed, and it was everything I wanted, but I can’t have it. I can’t be with him.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he held her tighter as she continued. “He thinks it’s real, but I can’t offer him anything, not with who I am. I’m a princess, and I have responsibilities. I can’t just run away and live a normal life.”

Lukas remained silent for a moment, absorbing her words. “Princess,” he finally said, his voice low and earnest, “you deserve to be happy. It’s okay to want something for yourself.”

“But what I want isn’t an option,” she replied, shaking her head, her tears still flowing. “I can’t put him in danger because of my title. I can’t risk my responsibilities for a fleeting moment of happiness. It’s not fair to him.”

“I understand that it feels complicated,” Lukas said, his tone gentle yet firm, “but you can’t sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of your duty. You deserve to feel loved and to have someone who cares about you.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it’s all too much. I thought I could be someone else, even just for a little while, but I can’t escape who I am.”

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression earnest. “Princess, running away from your responsibilities won’t change who you are, but it doesn’t mean you can’t find moments of joy. You have the right to seek happiness, even in a world that tries to dictate how you should live.”

She met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “But what if it all falls apart? What if I lose everything?”

“You won’t lose everything,” he reassured her, his grip tightening around her shoulders. “You have to take risks sometimes. You won’t know what could happen unless you allow yourself to find out.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time that night, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her, a small voice whispering that maybe there was a way to reconcile her desires with her duties.

“But what if I mess it up again?” she asked, her voice still shaky.

“Then you try again,” Lukas replied softly, a small smile breaking through the concern etched on his face. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll be here to help you navigate it. You can’t let fear dictate your life.”

As she looked into his eyes, she felt the bond of their years deepen. He had always been there, her steadfast protector, and tonight he was more than just a guard—he was a confidant.

“Thank you, Lukas,” she whispered, gratitude swelling in her heart. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he assured her, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s get you inside before anyone else sees you like this. You deserve a moment to breathe, away from everything.”

[pink-pavlove]

Big fucking spoilers babe

Okay I need to dump. I’m actually gagged Rosie is holding alastors leash. Like GAGGED! I would have never guessed in a million years. Rosie x alastor friendship has been popular in the fandom, ive seen it in so many fics and fanarts. Although when i first watched the series i thought the relationship between them was more of a friendship of convenience and mutual interest (cannibalism, power, murder) more than it was that they actually enjoyed each others company. That being said i still would have never guessed she was such an important character. Now that im over the initial shock lol, im pleasantly surprised.

Alastors backstory. First of all the way it’s presented to us; Alastor going to ask a favor from Rosie and being bitchy about it; is *chefs kiss*. I can’t tell you how much I love seeing this side of al. He’s vulnerable in a way I didn’t expect to see but also stays true to himself trying to smooze or intimidate to get what he wants. Love that for him! I loved his human version. Idc what ppl say about the mustache, *captain holt voice* “that mustache was ERA APPROPRIATE!!”

Oh no, he’s hot! Maybe it’s just cuz his voice doesn’t have the staticy overtone anymore (or maybe it’s cuz he just sounds angry) but his voice is HOT. Human al is a maniacal hottie and I will not apologize for saying it!!!

When Rosie laughs about him getting shot and killed the day after making their bond, and he goes “oh hahahahHaHHAHAHAHAHA! Yesssss… SO! funny…” all sarcastically???? Babe… I’m done. His character is so naturally hilarious they don’t even have to do too much with him.

I’m so excited to see more Vox this season. I love him deerly (haha… ha?) Him absolutely trashing the hotel and making Charlie’s life hell is a great plot point and I honestly want to see it the most. Besides a few quick glimpses of him, there was a storyboard with al and angel dust tied up, apparently Vox kidnapped them. 🥵 girl I’m too twisted to think normally about that. I’ll just leave that one alone….

All the scenes of heaven made me SO MAD!! I hate them fr. Tbh it’s such a great and intelligent commentary on our society and how we treat people we deem worthy/unworthy, (An arbitrary concept that is based in opinion not fact) and how we often let our emotions get the better of us. The way they immediately assume sir pentious forced his way into heaven, that it’s a “trick”. They refuse to acknowledge or even consider that their way of thinking, the things they have been doing, the beliefs they’ve based their society on, might be wrong. They would rather make it almost impossible for new souls (worthy or not) to enter heaven out of fear. Fear that the people they’ve oppressed and abused might fight back, and fear that there actually might be consequences to their actions (if one can be redeemed, than it would be right to assume one can also fall (they even have an example that this is already true, Lucifer!)). It’s disgusting to watch them act this way, but only because it’s so REAL! This is really how people are and it just confirms the theory that the people in heaven aren’t that different than those in hell.

I think all this backs my personal theory that people don’t end up in heaven or hell because of what they’ve done in life, but instead they end up where they THINK they belong. Sir pentious went to hell because he never forgave himself for not coming forward when he should have; for not saving people when he had the chance. So when he did have the chance to save his friends, and he acted on it selflessly, he in his mind believed he had atoned for his past mistakes. Therefore! Landing him in heaven, redeemed.

Further solidifying my theory, he hates it in heaven! I fully believe people end up in hell most of the time simply because they would have more fun there than in heaven! Heaven lowkey sucks. Having to hangout with LUTE? Or stupid fucking ADAM?? Yeah, no, fuck them! Heaven might be nice, but no drugs? No porn? Yeah I’d perfer hell too 😅🤭

Lucifer being a guest at the hotel is also an interesting addition I didn’t expect. The dynamic of the show seems much different than the first season, definitely more intense imo. Didn’t see much or any of angel or husk, (I think there’s a leaked Angel song somewhere but I haven’t found it yet) although I caught a glimpse of cherri bomb curled next to Angel on the couch and I’m really hoping that means we get to see more of her!

Anywaysssss I’m off to look for more spoilers, I’m finding all of the leaks on tiktok btw! I wanna hear you vent so come talk to me about it in the comments or dms 🫶

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly 5. Recording Studio 3B

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w., r.b x n.w.

warnings: Brief mention of pregnancy, Steve in his King!Steve era briefly, again with the misogyny

A/N: Happy Stranger Things Day! I want to say thank you to everyone who's reading this old and new readers alike! Every notification makes me so excited and I'm just happy to be here, ya know?Listen, I know we're really Steve-centric right now but you got to trust me on this, we are laying a FOUNDATION here right? Remember we're covering six years' worth of drama and we are just getting started, trust me!

wc: 4.8k

MASTERLIST🎸

Previous Chapter 🎹🎺

***

STEVE: Yeah, I know I had fucked up. Like, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I don’t know why I did it, I think I felt threatened or something. Listen, I think about what happened all the time and there isn’t one singular moment that we can pinpoint where everything went south, really, we all made mistakes, a lot of them. But sometimes, I can’t help thinking to myself that if I had just handled that day at the restaurant better, our whole lives would’ve been different. Or… who knows? Maybe not, maybe we were always meant to end as bad as we did.

***

June 7th, 1983–Los Angeles, California

A few days after your lunch with the Downsides, you see your own face peaking at you from the cover of a Subrosa magazine on a grocery store newsstand. 

You glance around before surreptitiously crouching down for a closer look.

It was a grainy picture of you and Steve, sitting across from one another at lunch, clearly in conversation. The picture had been taken from outside the restaurant and framed in such a way that it looked like it was only the two of you dining together. You can tell by the looks on your faces that it was before everything had blown up—the two of you looked like you were enjoying yourselves.

Sultry Songstress Sees Upside with the Downsides’ Flirty Frontman reads across the top of the page, and you gag. They sure do love their alliteration over at the Sub.

You briefly wonder to yourself what Steve and the others will think of this once they see it. Shrugging that thought off, you toss the magazine into your cart.

***

You actually find out pretty quickly what Steve and the others think about the cover later that evening when you receive a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, it’s Robin,” you hear from the other line as soon as you pick up.

“Hi Ro—”

“Robin Buckley, from the Downsides? I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at lunch the other day when my friend made a huge ass of himself and— ow, Steve that hurt, God.”

Sounds of some sort of physical struggle echo through the telephone line until you decide to interrupt.

“Hi Robin, of course I remember you and your ass of a friend, what can I do for the two of you? Also, how did you get my number?”

You’re more curious than bothered when you ask the latter question.

“Four.”

“Pardon?”

“Four. There are four of us. See, you asked what you could do for the two of us but it’s not just me and Steve. Nancy and Argyle are here too—” At this point, you hear a faint ‘hello’ and ‘what’s up’ from the background—"For the sake of full disclosure I felt that I should mention that. Jonathan is visiting his family in Lenora Hills, otherwise, I’m sure he’d be here too. Oh, and to answer your question I got your number from Murray.”

“Uh-huh.” 

You glance at your wristwatch; there’s a party in the Hills that you were planning on going to and you were going to have to leave soon if you didn’t want to be stuck in traffic all night.

As if she had read your mind, you hear some shuffling on the line before Nancy decidedly takes over the conversation with a much more serious tone.

“Hi, sorry to bother you this late but we wanted to ask if perhaps you had seen the latest issue of Subrosa? It seems like you and Steve are on the cover.”

Exhaling a laugh, you answer, “Yes, actually, saw it at the grocery store today, sorry you guys didn’t make the front page, I’m sure you’ll get them next time.”

“What? No, I mean, have you read the article? They’re printing lies about you both,” Nancy stutters out, indignantly.

“They’re saying that you and Steve had a private lunch and that he’s been seen sneaking out of the Hotel Mormont for weeks and that you might be pregnant? They’re even alluding to a fight breaking out between him and Jason Carver of all people.”

 This causes you to fully chortle.

“I wish, that guy deserves a few punches to the face. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though, everything they say about me is a lie.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they supposed to have some journalistic integrity? Don’t they get in trouble for printing lies like this? Have you tried to contact their editors about this?”

The confusion you feel about this conversation is outweighed by how weirdly touched you feel that these girls who had only met you once seem so offended on your behalf.

“No, I mean, it’s a gossip rag, not like The New York Times or anything,” you placate, “and after all the terrible things they’ve said about in the past, I’m kinda just glad they got a half-decent picture of me.  I appreciate you all calling about it though.”

And then, after a beat, you address the band’s lead singer, who has been oddly quiet throughout the whole exchange.

“I hope being pictured with me didn’t sully your reputation, Flirty Frontman.”

Really, you didn’t care if Steve was bothered by the whole thing, you just hoped that he wasn’t making his bandmates call you on his behalf. You didn’t know what to make of the guy quite yet. On one hand, he was completely sweet to you most of the lunch, he spent the meal asking you questions about yourself and refilling your drink without you having to ask. But the tantrum he had thrown reminded you a little too much of the dangerously self-absorbed musicians that had grown sick of these last few years.

“Me? No, I’m fine. Did you see how great my hair looked?”

You laugh silently at his answer. His hair did look great in the photo, but you were not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear that from you.

He continues, “Plus, they never really said anything terrible about me. They’re like, totally after you which is why Nance and Rob have been so worried, I guess. Are you good?”

His question comes out more hushed than everything else he’s said, and you are once again reminded of the earnest smiles you exchanged across the table a few days ago.

“I’m fine, Harrington, this is a regular Tuesday for me.”

With that, you bid goodbye to the band, citing your lateness, but not before expressing a very sincere thanks for their naïve concern.

The unexpected phone call makes you hit traffic, as you had predicted. You spend nearly an hour and a half in the back of a cab, the whole time, you can’t stop replaying the conversation you just had in your head.

Maybe there was more to the Downsides than met the eye?

***

This theory is proven, in part, after Hopper sends you a demo recording of some of their songs the following week.  

The Downsides, you quickly find out, are good, like very good. Their music is like nothing you’d ever heard before: experimental and fun but polished and very technically sound. Steve’s vocals are annoyingly impressive—his growly timbre grounding the lighter sound and keeping it from sounding too saccharine. You can see them dominating the charts and blowing The Letterman’s and every other one-trick band out of the water.

The track they wanted you to jump on was part of the demos Hopper had sent out. It was called “Feel It”, a romantic song, tinged with melancholy but paired with an upbeat synth sound.

You had been sent a copy of the lyrics that included a cue for you to come in.

You practiced your part for days, agonizing over how you wanted to deliver the lyrics, and eventually, you came up with exactly what you wanted to do after making some minor adjustments.

You were actually excited to record the song until you remembered that you would have to come face-to-face with the band’s two asshole guitarists again.

On the day of the recording, you tried your best to be early, but you had been up tossing all night which caused you to oversleep then you lost your keys, and you were moving at the time, so your things were all over the place. You also had to turn around and come back when you realized you had forgotten the gift basket of cookies you were planning on bringing for the band—something left over from a package Charles Riva's team sent you as an apology for him blowing you off. All in all, you were about thirty minutes late.

You pulled into the Starcourt parking lot a harried mess and as you rounded the corner into the studio, you could hear the booming voice of Eddie Munson.

“She’s probably stuck circling the parking lot trying to find some working-class sucker to park her car. Harrington, why don’t you go check out there? Maybe you’ll get papped again and get another 5 minutes of fame.”

You hear Steve respond and while you can’t make out the words, you can tell he’s annoyed, embarrassed, or possibly both.

You can see the faces of every other band member fall like dominos as they each caught sight of you rounding the corner to stand directly behind Eddie.

Eddie though doesn’t seem to pick up on what’s clearly written on all their faces and persists through his tirade, “She’s only coming for the photo opp anyway—she doesn’t care about any of this.”

It’s Argyle who finds his voice first, “Eddie, man, isn’t that her?”

Eddie whips around and with comically wide eyes, looks down at you, grimacing.

You consider telling the guy off but decide against it.

If there is one thing you have learned these years it’s that while the male artists can throw fits, yell, scream, and even damage equipment without anyone as much as blinking an eye, one emotional misstep from you and you would be branded a diva. They would say you were difficult, rude, and find any excuse to toss you aside like they had so many women before you and you refused to let them have that satisfaction.

So, instead, you smile at the band, eyes lingering on Eddie for just a moment longer than on anybody else, to let him know that you had heard him, and then say brightly, “Sorry I’m late everybody. I brought some cookies.”

***

EDDIE: Yeah, it was a dick thing to say, and I regretted it immediately and not just because she brought us cookies.

I wasn’t—that wasn’t me.

I was just so angry about everything that I had lost, and I didn’t know where to put it all and then she shows up: this rich, spoiled girl who just seemed to float through life without a single fucking care or struggle, and suddenly I had an easy target.

I felt bad about it until she changed my fucking lyrics.

***

Unlike their guitarists, most of the band seemed pleased to see you and you spent a few minutes greeting everyone and handing around cookies while Eddie and Steve kept their respective distances—Eddie, sulking in a corner and Steve doing a poor job at pretending to tune his guitar.

“Okay kids let’s give the voices some space to do their thing,” Hopper says waving them through the door sounding more like a disgruntled parent than a manager.

In the end, it’s just you, Steve, Murray, and the sound booth tech. The latter two are busy prepping the sound and mic, leaving you and Steve standing in the back.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize about what I said the other day at lunch,” he leans in close to your ear, his eyes transfixed on his shoes.

“I didn’t mean it—not really. I guess I was just lashing out because, well, they keep changing things about the band without even talking to us. First, they made us go pop, then they made me give up lead guitar to Eddie because his previous band didn’t want him anymore, and then it seemed like they wanted to replace me with you and like, it’s not that I wouldn’t want you it’s just that—well they never even asked what we wanted, you know? I was frustrated about that, and I took it out on you and I’m sorry about that.”

You watch him as he digs the toe of his sneaker into the carpet, eyes downcast, clearly waiting for you to respond. You’re too busy contemplating his words, however, because an apology was the last thing you were expecting from him, much less such a sincere one.

Out of all the difficult men you had dealt with in your life—producers, musicians, lawyers, managers, former flings, hell, even your own father—you had never received an apology from any of them regardless of how poorly they’d treated you.

Steve’s eyes finally trail up to meet yours, searching your face for signs that he didn’t say the wrong thing yet again.

Seeing no trace of dishonesty on Steve’s face, you decide to trust the apology for what it is and nod in acceptance.

“I get it,” you say, and truly, you did, “I’ve had most of my career decisions made for me, and a lot of times, they weren’t really what I wanted. It makes the whole thing feel kind of…empty, doesn’t it?”

His face floods with relief as he nods along in understanding.

“Yeah, like does success matter if we can’t do things our way? Me and Rob, we’ve been best friends since we were little and this has always been our dream and now that it may be coming true, it doesn’t feel like we imagined. I guess that’s kinda stupid though, expecting things to be like you imagined them as a kid,” he laughs at himself nervously.

“No, it’s not,” you counter, “that’s not stupid at all.”

You understand Steve’s disillusionment completely because it mirrors your own.

“Listen, I get how you feel, trust me, but you got to keep going. You guys are good, and I think you could all be big one day and then it’ll be you who’s calling the shots and then you can kick me and Eddie to the curb,” you clearly say the last part in jest but that doesn’t stop the shame that rolls across Steve’s face.

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re really talented and we’re lucky that you’re doing us this favor. We’d be even luckier if we could get you to stick around. Munson I could give or take, though.”

His joke makes you laugh so loud that Murray turns around and glares.

***

Steve was sent into the booth first to record his final vocals for the song, leaving you to observe.

As they set Steve up, your eyes kept bouncing over to the newly appeared Eddie, trying to figure out what exactly he was doing there.

“I wrote the song,” Eddie explains, after catching your eye.

“Oh,” you say, not bothering enough to hide your surprise, “well, congratulations, it’s a good song.”

You catch him eyeing the plate of cookies at your side. You open your mouth to offer him a cookie, but the echo of his words rings fresh in your mind, so instead, you reach for one and make a big show of savoring it.

Steve records his part of the vocals in five takes. He appears a bit nervous at first but eases into his groove rather quickly.

As the audio engineer is setting up the booth for you, you feel your own nerves rise. You wanted this to go well. You wanted to impress Steve and Hopper and even Eddie.

They signal you into the booth and the first two times, you record the song exactly how it’s written. Then, on the third one, you switch up the final chorus.

The original lyrics were: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your hope bare next to mine/ and even if the world caves in, we’ll be fine

You changed the lyrics to: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your flaws bare next to mine/ because when the world caves in, I’ll leave you cryin’

The change was slight, you thought, but meaningful.

The original version—Eddie’s version—was too hopeful. It was a boring portrayal of lovers staying with each other through thick and thin.

Your change added some conflict and dimension to the narrative. You made it better.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie pushed past Murray to yell into the mic that fed into the booth.

You roll your eyes at him dramatically interrupting your take, “I was just trying something out.”

Hopper pulled Eddie back by the shoulder while Murray wrestled the mic from him.

“Woah, sweetheart, pump the breaks. That was good. Better than the original. Can we run that one more time but with your lyrics instead? Harrington, we’ll re-record some of your parts too.”

Hopper has to all but carry Eddie out the door after he hears that.

***

EDDIE: The thing that pissed me off the most was that her version of the song was better. I just didn’t want to admit it because I wrote that song about Chrissy, about how even though I was so scared I was going to fuck up our relationship, she understood that and was willing to work through that with me. Her version was much closer to what actually happened and that hit a little too close to home.

***

“Woah, what did you two do to Eddie?” Robin demands as soon as you and Steve are dismissed into the hallway. “Hopper pretty much had to drag him out in tears!”

You worry at your bottom lip, caught in the wondering eyes of the group. At the time, you felt like you were doing the right thing, but now you wonder if you had forgone the common courtesy of at least letting him know you had changed the song. You didn’t want to come across as unprofessional as he accused you of being.

“I should probably go talk to him,” you say in response.

“Geez, Robin. Was the third degree really necessary there? This is just like last week’s DMV visit all over again,” Steve chastises as they all watch you walk away.

***

You find Eddie in the smoking area, cigarette in hand. “Hey, listen can we talk—"

Eddie turns dangerously to face you, cutting you off.

“You know what your fucking problem is? No one’s ever said no to you so you think you can do whatever the hell you want and that everyone else just rolls over and gives it to you because you’re so pretty and charming and rich.

“Well, you may have the rest of those assholes fooled but I see right through you, okay?”

Your eyes narrowed in response before you snap back.

"First of all, you don't know anything about me, so stop pretending that you do. I have worked hard to be here, just like the rest of you, and as far as this song goes, my name is going to be attached to it too, so I have just as much of a right to give input as you or Steve. It was wrong that I didn't say anything to you beforehand, sure, and I apologize for that, but let's not pretend that you've been the epitome of professionalism here either because you've been an ass to me since we've met, and I don't know why but I won't stand for it again. Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you spit out before turning on your heel and stomping away.

***

EDDIE: That was hot, not gonna lie.

***

“Are you really going to let some mangy metalhead from Bumfuck, Nowhere keep you from finally doing what you want?” Murray asks exasperatedly when you call him to complain about the exchange later that night.

“Listen, I’ve recorded a lot of songs in that studio, some of them great, most of them mediocre, but today blew all of them out of the water. The band’s never sounded better and neither have you, frankly. If you gave up the chance to finally write your own songs and sound this good while doing it, that would be flat-out idiotic. You know that, right?”

The line goes still.

“Yes,” you finally say.

“Great, now that that’s settled, why don’t you get some rest, huh? Ruining Muson’s day must have tired you right out.”

You exhale a laugh before saying goodbye.

Although you would never say it to his face, you were grateful for Murray. It was nice having someone looking out for you.

***

MURRAY:  Brenner loved the track. After that, we had a very short time to make a lot of big things happen. The Downside’s debut album was already 70% recorded, but now that we had a whole other person on vocals, we had to scrap a good portion of the work they had already done and rerecord with our new vocalist. We couldn’t even celebrate our victory because we were just getting started.

Those poor kids had no clue what was coming.

***

When your phone rings a few mornings later, you suspect it’s Murray again with an update on the song, and while you’re right about the message, you’re wrong about the messenger. 

“Hi, it’s Steve, uh, Harrington. Obviously,” you hear a familiar voice crackle over the line.

“Oh? And to what do I owe the honor Mr. Obviously?” you respond.

“Oh, very funny. Listen, I wanted to call and let you know that we just heard from Hopper that Brenner and his guys liked our song, and they want us to continue, you know… recording together and stuff. So, yeah, would that be something you’re interested in… being a part of, you know, the band?” his voice wavers a bit as he asks.

“Is that even a choice?” you fire back, “I was under the impression that once Brenner gave the go-ahead, it was pretty much a done deal.”

He clears his throat in response, “I think you deserve to have a choice. I talked to the rest of the band, and they agree and if you don’t want in, we’ll back you… even if that means breaking our Starcourt contract.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate the gravity of what Steve has just said. The Downsides would be willing to put their own career at risk just to assure you the luxury of choice.

The answer was easy after that.

“I’m in,” you say after a few moments of terse silence. “I want to be a part of the band.”

You can all but see Steve pumping his fist on the other side of the line.

“That’s great! That’s great news. I’m glad my asshole tendencies didn’t put you off,” he laughs, relieved.

“I mean, it was a tough sell,” you tease back, “but I think we can be good together. The band, I mean.”

You wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing when his joyous peals of laughter stop suddenly at your words.

“Actually, um, about that,” he begins, once again nervously, “I’m really grateful that you’re giving us—the band—a chance and that you were nice enough to record the single with us in the first place. And, I mean, I know I’m already pushing my luck with the universe and you but maybe—uh, maybe today it’s my turn to be the luckiest guy in the world? Who knows?”

You have absolutely no clue what he’s getting at, and you let him know as much.

“Right, hm, I was wondering if I could take you out, on a date, to celebrate us becoming a band but also like, you know, a date. I know I made a total ass of myself, but I really like you, and I think you're gorgeous and talented and smart. I know I may not deserve another shot, but I would love it if you gave me one.”

You’re at a loss for words. First, you’re not even sure if you want to trust Steve fully, not quite yet. Sure, he apologized, but a part of you wonders if he only did it to get on your good side once he had seen how your pre-established infamy could serve him after that Subrosa article ran. Murray mentioned how radio runtime for the few EP songs The Downsides had in the rotation tripled since the publication. It definitely wouldn’t have been the first time you were being used like this.

Even if you could find it in yourself to look past that (and who knows, maybe you could?) there was still the matter of what Murray and Hopper had so delicately mentioned that day at lunch.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I don’t think that would be very professional. Especially on account of our…  front-facing, romantic narrative.”

“Our what?”

***

MURRAY: I thought that Hopper had gotten his team on the same page about the more personal aspects of the band’s arrangement, but apparently, I was wrong. None of them had any clue what was going on and the thing about running a ruse is that people that are in on it kind of have to know that they’re in on it.

A few days before we began re-recording, the girl called me all in a tizzy because she accidentally spilled the beans, not knowing that Harrington had no clue at all about the plan.

I then call Hopper; it turns into this whole thing. We had to arrange an emergency meeting with the two of them and the entire legal team.

A bit slow on the uptake, that Harrington kid, but he got there. Eventually.

He was harder to convince than the girl, though. At least she didn’t have a problem with lying to the public. But Harrington was all about that Midwestern “integrity” and “letting the music speak for itself”. Hop eventually had to spell it out real simple for him: either they do this, or the entire band was cooked.

STEVE: I guess after like 15 years the ruse is finally up, huh? Yeah, the relationship was fake. Or, at least, it started out that way. Listen, it was complicated and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

But, if you’re asking about what I was thinking when they finally told me their plan, well, I wasn’t happy or on board at all. It felt like we had already given up so much of ourselves for this—like, where do you draw the line, you know?

But then Hopper reminded me that it wasn’t all about me: Nancy had dropped out of college to be in the band, Jonathan…he had his sick little brother to take care of, and even Munson was going to be in trouble if he didn’t fulfill his contract with Starcourt.

It was selfish to say no, in my opinion. And really, what was I losing? I got to make music for a living and parade around, pretending to date a total hottie while doing it. I mean, the only way it could’ve gotten better was if the relationship had been real.

***

After what feels like days—but is most likely hours—with the Starcourt legal team, you and Steve are finally released with a very long grocery list of instructions that include a minimum number of required public appearances; a very specific list of acceptable PDA; and interestingly, enough, a sample NDA in case either of you wanted to “be involved” with anyone on the side.

“Nothing says romance like NDA, right?” you weakly joke in an attempt to break the ice.

“How are you so okay with this?” Steve shoots back, seemingly stunned.

“Well, it’s not like this is my first rodeo, or my fourth, or my sixth.”

And before he can question further, you tell him everything, starting with Jason fucking Carver.

***

STEVE: I couldn’t believe it. They had been forcing her to pretend to be involved with all these guys for years. It was super fucked up, but she stuck with it. That’s how much she wanted it. How could I possibly let her down after that? Especially with my own selfish, dumb feelings? She was right, we needed to keep it professional, no matter how hard that was going to be for me.

NEXT CHAPTER 🎤

Taglist: @rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter

[solar-halos]

okay i need to stop posting in the middle of the night bc the last two times i did that i was doing entirely too much in the tags + posted a torso reveal (as if i’m not a pic of snoopy walking around going 👍) but i need to keep talking about lucy grays rainbow dress. so here’s an unasked for progress check + the inspo for the top i wanna crochet in case i wanna connect the skirt to the shirt to actually make it a dress lol:

okay i put a cutoff here bc i wanna rant but don’t wanna put such a long post on anyone’s dash <3. but for the top it was a toss up between a puff sleeve and a corset but i decided to go with the puff sleeves for a few reasons

1) it’s giving 1890s. not to sound like a nerd but i had a huge historical fashion phase when i was younger and i’m in love with the idea of lucy gray’s puff sleeves representing a different era (since, yk, ballad in general represents a diff era)

2) i’ve never crocheted a puff sleeve top before so it would be fun to try hehe (but i have crocheted a corset top and it does not Stay Up so, in the event that lucy gray was performing in an all-yarn outfit, that would not be very practical for her)

3) okay wouldnt the sleeves subtly fluffing around as she performs be kinda cute? obviously they’re not gonna be super fluffy or anything (just the amount of floofiness in the pic) but it’s kinda like a less intense version of the skirt ruffling

speaking of the skirt:

ohhhh my good. i alternate between loving and hating the white panels but tbh there’s nothing i can do unless i wanna drop an ungodly amount of money on a skirt that’s not even my style. but good thing it’s my sisters style (actually it might not be she looked at it and went “omg omg it’s so cuteee <3” and when i asked if she herself would wear it she went “o.o welll..” so maybe i’ll just have to do my hair and makeup entirely different to sell that this is in fact my style bc no way am i not wearing something i spent literal money + time on). sorry that was a tangent but it’s around knee length rn and i think i have enough yarn (of the rainbow color scheme and scrap yarn) to make it a bit longer. i’ve always envisioned lucy grays dress as a maxi, so maybe i’ll get one more skein of yarn at the end of the month since they’re having a sale. but the whimsy when it comes to wearing this skirt is unreal. like when i put it on i always gotta do a little spin to see the ruffles shift. and that’s actually another thing that makes me convinced that lucy grays skirt is a maxi bc making it into a mini skirt was atrocious. and that’s saying something bc if my entire ass isn’t hanging out of a skirt then what the fuck am i even wearing it for. but it just looked a bit strange and i thought it was bc there was SO much volume on top and it made me a look a bit disproportional, but once my mom stopped going “that’s a lot of colors going on” she had an answer that (while very crude.. and maybe a bit problematic) explained things:

“you look like a pedophile’s dream”

yeah. to be clear i don’t agree that women who dress in ruffles and pastels and things that are considered “childish” are trying to appeal to pedophiles, but keeping the skirt so short and colorful and ruffly made it look very Young. also making it longer added to the whimsy since there’s more fabric that swooshes around when you spin

okay i think i’m done. so thankful that i have tumblr now bc where else was i gonna rant about rainbow dress omg. but tbh i think i’m gonna take a break from making this before i get burnt out and finish a chapter for a fic bc the hg grind never stops. bye!!

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 2

As you reconcile with Sirius, he reminisces on how you came to be friends despite a rather rocky start (mostly told through flashbacks taking place in the Marauders era).

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 2 .:Pranks and Past Prejudices:.

~Previously~

“I was about to see if you were awake,” Sirius admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, stepping aside slightly so you could come in. If the Sirius Black from your school days had offered you into his room in the dead of night, you would have slapped him upside the head; but things were different now, and so were the two of you. 

However, as you glanced around the room you almost laughed at how remarkably unchanged it was, and why wouldn't it be? He hadn't lived here since he was sixteen, and he was only living here now because he preferred this house to an Azkaban cell by a small fraction. While the rest of the house was set in deep tones of obsidian and gray, save for the green Slytherin theme of his younger brother's room, Sirius' room was all warm shades of red and gold, Gryffindor paraphernalia covering every inch of it from Quidditch trophies and old banners to a tapestry he had stolen from the Great Hall when they'd won the house cup that year.

The room was littered with memories of your school life— a set of charred robes from when he and James had drunkenly lit the Quidditch field hoops on fire, an old Beater's bat that he had broken in half during the Cup finals, an old Gobstones set you used to play with in the courtyard, and stacks of classic rock records that you and Remus had gifted him for the holidays. A muggle toolbox sat in the corner of the room from when he'd made improvements to his enchanted motorbike that couldn't be done with magic, which you were certain his parents were mortified by.

Posters of bikini-clad women were plastered across the wallpaper, and you recalled the day he told you his mother had a fit when she realized he'd used a permanent sticking charm on them so she couldn't take them down. Said posters were still present, but mostly covered up by all the photos of him and his friends from their school and early Order days— the only noticeable sign of change you could see from his moving back in. It was truly like some sort of time capsule.

As soon as you tore your eyes away from the room and turned to focus on its owner, a tense silence fell between you two. This was the first time you had seen Sirius in over a decade. The last time you two spoke, he was in chains being led away to Azkaban. What was there to say? How could you possibly think things could go back to the way they were? 

“Sirius,” your voice cracked with emotion as you said his name, and when you saw the look in his eyes, so similar to the look he'd given you when he was in that horrible barbed cage during his trial, the dam just broke.

You practically threw yourself at him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder as the fabric of his shirt bunched up in your trembling hands

“I'm sorry,” you said, “I am so, so sorry I didn't believe you, Sirius. I didn't know, I didn't—”

“(Y/n), it's okay,” Sirius said softly.

You almost jumped at his gentle touch, his arm wrapping around your waist and one hand coming up to pet your hair. It hurt him to see you like this, that you went through this much because of him.

“There was no way you could have known,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head as tears continued to stream down your face, “There was no proof that I wasn't the Secret Keeper. We'd decided to make it that rat at the last second. Only James and Lily knew and, well, they couldn't exactly attest to my innocence.”

Hatred bubbled up in his chest at his own mention of Pettigrew, but he forced it down for you, his expression softening as soon as he looked at you. “That was bad judgment on my part, I suppose,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, although twelve years in prison was a difficult matter to joke about.

“I should have just believed you,” you muttered into his collar. Sirius' other hand reached out to cup your face, wiping the last few tears from your cheeks.

“Come now, even Moony thought I'd done it,” he said, a small smirk finding its way to his face, “I know what it looked like. . . I don't blame any of you for not believing me. So please, don't blame yourself for this, (Y/n). You're still my best friend.”

“Oh, now you've done it,” you sniffled, laughing despite yourself as fresh tears spilled over. Sirius laughed along with you and yo u could feel the sound reverberate through his chest, rich and melodic. Warm.

He wrapped both his arms around you, holding you tight as you two chuckled like a couple of idiots, standing there glassy-eyed in the middle of his room. If anyone else had bore witness to the scene they'd have thought you'd gone mad, but in that moment you couldn't care less. Your body had been buckling under the weight of your guilt and how much you had missed him. Hearing him say that he still considered you his best friend. . . that was more than you could have ever asked for.

Sirius swelled with pride as he saw he was able to make you smile, something he'd long considered a small victory. He couldn't believe how much your relationship had changed. If someone had told him all those years ago that you would turn out to be someone he couldn't imagine his life without, he wouldn't have believed them. But he supposed life was unexpected like that. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1973  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the day you'd stood up to him, James Potter found himself increasingly curious about you. Of course he and his friends continued to pick on Snape, but when you were around to fend them off it became more and more difficult to do so, something that the leader of the self-proclaimed Marauders decided was cumbersome.

James insisted that to get to Snape they would have to take you down too, since you were so keen on protecting him.

“We need to cut the head off the snake,” he had said.

And so, slowly but surely, James shifted the cross hairs of his mischief-making from Severus Snape to you. It started out small; a Bat-bogey hex here, some heat sensitive combustion power under your cauldron there. What he didn't expect in the slightest was for you to actually retaliate with pranks of your own.

Quidditch season had just ended as the year came to a close, and James, who was supposed to be helping clean out the Gryffindor tent, was lying on his back and fiddling about with a golden snitch he'd found wedged in the wooden scaffolding. His head perked up as he saw the Lily across the pitch, walking next to you and chatting. He clearly couldn't care less about what, as he had no problem interrupting your conversation.

“Hey, Evans!” he hollered, heading towards you two.

As soon as Lily spotted him she rolled her eyes.

“And now we're walking faster,” she muttered, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you along.

“Aw come on, I just wanna talk,” he said, quickly catching up with you. Before long he had jogged a few paces ahead, turning around to block your path. “Hey,” he said with a smirk. He was wearing his Quidditch practice uniform, broom in hand.

“Merlin, you are nothing if not persistent,” Lily huffed.

“What can I say? I'm a Chaser~”

“Goodbye, James,” Lily deadpanned at the pun, and he quickly moved in front of her again.

“Wait, wait! Just watch this, okay?” he insisted.

You bit back a smirk, grateful he hadn't paid you any mind until now.

“Trust me, you've never seen anything like this before,” James said cockily, willing his broomstick to hover a few feet off the ground and hauling one leg over to mount it. However, as soon as his arse hit the wood, his entire body phased right through it. He groaned as his tailbone made unceremonious contact with the ground, his broomstick now hovering above him. As soon as he looked up the stick dropped and plonked him on the head, solid again.

You burst out laughing, revealing your wand that had been obstructed from his view by your sleeve.

“(Y/n)!” Lily looked at you in shock, hitting you in the arm playfully but unable to fight the laughter that rose in her chest. It was nice to see him get a harmless taste of his own medicine.

“Well, you were right, Potter,” the redhead said, “I've never seen anything like that before.”

James' face flushed with embarrassment while you two walked away, gathering his broom and whatever remained of his pride. You wouldn't get the better of him again.

Or, at least that's what he told himself until the beginning of your fourth year.

________________________________________________________

James strode down the corridors leading to the Great Hall with a pep in his step. It had been an unusually peaceful morning; despite having slept in, he wasn't in much of a rush to join his friends who had already made their way to breakfast.

The real reason for his quick pace was because he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his latest prank. It was a classic, amped up a bit thanks to a tube of ink from one of the “magic” markers at Zonkos. He hoped you liked your new look, because you were going to be saddled with it for a while.

As he walked through the courtyard he shot a wink to a fourth year Hufflepuff girl he recognized from his Divination class and she covered her hand with her mouth, turning away from him slightly as she tried to hold back the giggles that spilled from her lips. He gave himself a pat on the back, oblivious to the fact that the laughter was directed at him, an unawareness that stayed with him up until the moment he threw the doors to the Great Hall open. The gasps and laughter that followed him only grew as he sat down at his usual spot. Even his friends were staring at him, wide-eyed and unblinking.

“What?” James ran a hand through his hair in confusion, “What are you guys—!!”

As his hair flopped in front of his face his peripheral vision was curtained with the brightest shade of neon turquoise he'd ever seen.

“No,” he said, “no, no, no way!”

He grabbed one of the food trays, dumping the pastries that were on top onto the table. Peter squeaked as he caught a few that were about to fall, setting them down quietly on his own plate.

James stared at his reflection in the shiny metal, and sure enough his once pristine brunette hair was colored the bright blue of the magic marker whose contents he'd dumped into your shower bottle the night before.

“Did you like the shampoo?” a voice behind him asked innocently.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to see you, your hair colored the same bright blue shade. Now he was thoroughly confused.

“It smells nice, right?”

“How did you. . . if I. . . why is your hair—”

“A simple connection charm on the shampoo bottle,” you said, “anyone who touches it receives the same benefits and results of the next person who uses it within three hours. In this case, you landed yourself a dye job and a hell of a keratin treatment, so you're welcome. The spell was already on the bottle to begin with; pretty convenient when you have dorm mates that can all save on buying product, and besides it can be kind of nice to skip a hair wash day every once in a while. I suppose I should thank you, I didn't have to do any shopping or sneaking around for this one. You did all the work for me.”

You put your hand to your chin, pretending to study him for a moment.

“You should take care of that fast, though” you said nonchalantly, gesturing to his hair, “you don't look nearly as cute as I do in this color, Potter.”

To further prove your point, you waved your wand around the crown of your head, and with a quick utter of 'aufero hue' the blue in your hair seemed to melt right off the strands, leaving behind your natural (h/c) locks. The color swirled around the tip of your wand in an aqueous state for a moment before you flung it aside. It landed with a splat! against the Gryffindor table, staining a section of the wood that same shade of bright blue as if it had grown that way.

“I'd do it for you myself, but I don't want to,” you smirked, “ Perhaps you could take a few remedial classes to learn the color-leeching charm. Have fun figuring something out!”

And with that you flounced away, leaving behind a very embarrassed, very blue, and very reluctantly impressed James Potter.

He may just have found himself a proper rival.

Sirius scoffed from where he sat.

“Oh please, the stupid charm can't be that hard to do,” he said, taking out his wand.

“Not that I don't have faith in you, mate, but I'm probably better off seeing if Slughorn has anything for this,” James said.

“Why don't you just soak your head in some Valerian water? That's what takes the color out of potions, right?”

“Peter, he might go bald if he does that.”

“Oh.”

_______________________________________________________

James would go on to land a few good jokes on you too. There was one night where you had snuck into the Prefect's bathroom and emerged with a mermaid tail, which was pretty awesome until you realized you had no way of getting out of the tub. From then on, you and James would continue to try and get the jump on one another, marking the start of your now-infamous fourth year prank war. It entertained the students and infuriated the faculty. Gradually, your pranks on one another became more light-hearted, meant to amuse the other person and make them laugh rather than actually hurt or humiliate them.

“Very funny, (L/n),” James said as he walked up to you, his body turned around 180 degrees from the waist up so he had to shuffle backwards to face you. You laughed, nearly choking on your pumpkin juice as you saw your handy work.

“What are you, five?”

“Right, because you're so much more mature stalking and bullying my friends,” you quipped back.

“I really don't understand how Snivelus is your friend.”

“Severus,” you said crossly, “and for the record, I really don't understand how Remus is yours either. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Har har,” James rolled his eyes, “Now would you turn me the right way 'round already? I've got Quidditch practice.”

“Nah, I think you're fine to play like this.”

“Honestly? Not a bad tactic. I can cover my blind spot and stare at my own ass while I fly.”

“Who's five now?” you grinned.

As the months went on, instead of storming over to each other and slinging insults, your interactions with James became more akin to playful banter. And frankly, Sirius didn't get it. You were a Slytherin, and a pureblood at that. Hell, you were a descendant of one of the 28 pureblood families. Everything about you went against everything he believed in and relished in getting away from each year when he would leave home to go to school. You were in the same house as those stupid blood purists, you probably were one yourself—

“You're glaring.”

Sirius blinked, snapping out of his stupor as Remus nudged him in the shoulder. He said nothing, slowly returning to eating his dinner as he tore his eyes away from you, sitting at the Slytherin table with Snivelus, Evan Rosier, and his younger brother of all people. He stabbed at his roast potatoes a little too harshly and his friends traded looks among themselves.

“You alright there, mate?” James asked cautiously.

“Fantastic,” Sirius said, shoving another forkful of potatoes into his mouth to avoid saying anything unsavory as he spotted you heading towards their table.

“Coming to the library today, Remus?” you asked the boy to his right who looked up at you in surprise.

“Oh, sure thing,” he said, “I'm off for the night.”

“Great, we can study for Arithmancy then,” you said. Remus nodded at your suggestion and you gave him a dazzling smile, walking off with your books.

“Since when did you two get so chummy?” Sirius bristled.

Remus rolled his eyes.

“We're just studying for the upcoming mid marks,” he said, “They’re proficient in Ancient Runes and History of Magic. As a study partner it's. . . refreshing.”

“Oi, are you calling us stupid?” James rose a brow.

“Your words, not mine,” Lupin grinned. He saw Sirius' bothered expression and sighed, collecting his things.

“You might get on if you bothered to get to know them,” he told Sirius out of the others' earshot, slinging his book bag over his shoulder before heading off in your direction.

You only continued to grow inadvertently closer to James throughout your fourth year, your prank battle coming to its epic conclusion with the two of you joining forces against some particularly nasty upperclassmen. Your practical jokes subsided, your quips and passing insults were traded for real conversations and walking each other to class. You hated to admit it, but he'd grown on you— especially with him letting up considerably on bullying Severus and annoying Lily lately.

All the while, the closer you got to James the more irritated his best friend became. In Sirius' mind, the more time you were spending with James the less time James was spending with him. They hardly hung out alone anymore. And since James started hanging out with you he started mellowing out, which made Lily start hanging out with him, which made him even more tame. Sirius just wanted his best friend back.

“You do realize that issue would largely be resolved if you weren't so bothered by hanging out with both of them together, right?” Lupin had brought up one night as Sirius was airing out his frustrations.

“I'm not going to bother making friends with someone whose family is so wrapped up in blood politics they forget to be human beings first. Trust me, I've met their mother enough times to know.”

“Have you ever asked them about it?” Remus pressed.

“I don't really need to, do I? They're a (L/n). Open your eyes, Moony!”

Remus' brow furrowed, a shine in his eyes akin to sympathy as he regarded Sirius.

“Perhaps it's you that needs to clear your vision, friend.”

A/N: Thank you all so much for the unexpected early support on this story! I have a lot planned for it~ If you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know ! 

Read chapter 3 here!

Taglist: @blackpinkdolan @sleep-i-ness @parker-natasha​

[ererokii]

Pretend I Am || Zhongli

note: hi! This is super indulgent for some reason because I just wanted to write this so bad. Thank you @reddriot and @etegomanere for betaing!

Warnings: spoilers for archon quests (?) angst, insecurity, identity crisis

WC: 5.1k

Synopsis: After his first love joined dust once again, Zhongli can’t help but believe she’s still here, through you.

Staring into a mirror wasn’t the same as it was before. An image was put into your head, your mind playing tricks upon tricks that got you dizzy just thinking about it.

Many tales of the God of Dust were passed down from generation to generation. Your family seemed to be fond of her stories, especially hearing about the creation of the Guizhong Ballista.

The more you heard of her, the more you wanted to be her. She was your idol as a young child. A woman building something was not commonly heard of at that age, but it was possible.

Now at the ripe age of 24, you despised hearing of her.

Glaze lilies.

How horrid, yet so beautiful. Delicate shades of blue sprouting up at you, with a deeper meaning behind the petals that saddened you. Staring down upon them, you were drawn to them despite having harsh thoughts of these flowers. When the sun went down and the moon took over, you would be home and have glaze lillies in your vase by the window.

Amber eyes would stare at you from the hallway, drinking in your appearance. The funeral consultant, Zhongli, would look on with a rather perplexed and sorrowful expression. The amount of times he found you with Glaze Lilies by your side was enough for a pain to form in your chest.

And that’s how it started. Something as simple as a flower was able to ruin your own image.

Accidentally slips of the name would be heard, causing your head to perk up at the sudden change. Not long after, formal apologies would be sent your way, gloved fingers would intertwine with yours, thumbs rubbing your knuckles.

It felt as if you weren’t enough. Hearing her name felt like a spear being thrown through your heart, ironic because the one saying her name was Rex Lapis himself.

Many times Zhongli would go on a tangent, speaking about the era eons ago; the two gods ruling over Guili Plains. It never bothered you, but by the way he spoke so highly of her, how his voice got more soft to the point where it sounded like he was whispering; you knew he wasn’t over her.

And all you could do was listen with a sad smile and nod your head to the things he spoke about.

In Zhongli’s eyes, you were beautiful, ethereal, and intelligent.

Just like Guizhong.

-

Your words seem like idle chatter in the back of his mind as he peers over at you from the sofa in the main lounge of your shared house. Your back to him, hands moving to grab things. There’s a slight downward curve to his lips, his gloved finger tapping away at his knee as if concentrating.

His golden eyes take notice of the dress you’re wearing. A shade of white with intrigue designs at the bottom. The forsaken flower that seemed to the base of his problems, shined like gold in his vision.

With slightly widened eyes, he leans forward, his hand balled. His calm breathing changes to something shaky, a small pant leaving his mouth. His vision becomes cloudy, tears threatening to spill past his lower lids. The Archon wants to reach out and grasp, wanting to make sure she’s safe forever.

But dreams could hardly become reality.

“Zhongli,” she whispers, a concerned look plastered on her face as she turns around to gaze at him. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He recognizes the sleeves from her dress; something he made poked fun at her for being too big. But for some reason, he can’t see her features. All he can take notice is the Glaze Lilly tucked behind her ear, holding a strand in place.

He’s unable to say anything and blinks, the tear trickling down his face as he stares one more time.

“Zhongli,” you call out for once more, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. “What’s wrong, my love?” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raspy, eyes looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry..”

“W-What are you even sorry for? What did you do?”

And he doesn’t tell you. He composes himself and says he’s out for a walk, alone.

From that night on, he never brought up what happened. But you weren’t stupid; you knew what was going on.

It was growing harder for you to stare at your reflection. It felt as if your face was a lie— like you were being lied too. The longer you gazed at the mirror, the more you got confused. In the eyes of everyone, they see a young adult woman with unique features that could make her desirable to any man in Liyue.

But in your own, you couldn’t even see yourself. All you could see was the stem, leaves and petals of a Glaze Lilly. No matter where, no matter what, it was there.

She was there— someone you looked up to in your childhood years.

Your fingers hesitantly stroke the glass of the mirror, feeling the cold underneath your fingertips. They trace the outline of your cheek, to your eyes, to the curve of your nose. It wasn’t you.

“Who are you pretending to be?” you whisper, taking a step back as it becomes clear.

Staring back at you was a faceless woman, though she wore a frown identical to your own. Her clothes were drastically different from your own. Gold and white silk robes adore her upper body, the only thing your eyes can grasp. The woman seemed strangely distant, something that you couldn’t quite comprehend, something that wasn’t you.

Your hand shakily lifts to your face, your skin warm to the touch. Your chest heaves slowly, deeply inhaling as you exhale, pinching the skin of your cheek. It feels all too real.

Your hands travel over your shoulders to your chest; the clothing of your night time wear does not feel the same as the silk robes she is wearing. It feels too real, yet the person in front of you threw your sense of reality for a loop.

You admire your hand, staring at the palm and the back. It looked as if you were first staring at your limbs like you never have before.

“Guizhong,” you whisper, one hand gripping the counter of the sink, your body leaning forward to stare closely. A yellow stem catches your attention, eyes gazing at the flower in her hair. Mesmerized, you place your hand on your head, feeling for the petals.

In the reflection, she has a petal in between her fingers, rubbing it gently. But you— you’re rubbing nothing but a few strands of your hair. Disappointment runs through your veins, hand dropping back by your side.

Your mind is swirling with thoughts that scare you. The feeling of not being able to recognize yourself was driving you up the well. They were hallucinations, you knew that. You wanted them gone.

You wanted to be able to stare at yourself, to truly be able to do that and speak with confidence and say it’s you.

Now you aren’t able to do that.

Who are you?

-

You never told Zhongli how you felt about yourself; you didn’t want him worrying. Chances are he probably will never know.

A night out was something you desperately needed and that, Zhongli gave you. Not one for fancy things, you told him just going to Wanmin Restaurant would be enough for the two of you.

It was back to the good days when you first got with him. Laughter was shared between the two of you, looks of love and adoration was sent your way. His hand resting on your thigh, giving it an occasional squeeze as he speaks about the interesting history about Liyue (even though you practically knew everything already).

When it’s your turn to speak, you speak with confidence. He loved hearing the words effortlessly flow from your mouth. You knew how to hold up a conversation and draw someone in.

Not to mention how extremely intelligent you were. You talked about inventing things that no man has ever thought of but never brought yourself to do so. Maybe there could have been a weapon to protect Liyue from monsters now with the Archon gone.

“And then if that’s even possible...” you trail off, a sparkle in your eyes as your hands are lively, emphasizing your points. Zhongli can’t help but pay more attention once you talk about inventions. Maybe you could build something like the Guizhong Ballista? But then again, she was one of the smartest women in his lifetime.

He takes his eyes off the woman beside him for a second, watching the waiters pass him with trays of delicious Liyue delicacies being served to other customers. He glanced back over, freezing in his spot.

Guizhong continued to talk, letting out a sigh of defeat, her head hanging forward that showed her being displeased. “It seems almost impossible at this point.”

Instead of getting emotional like the last time, he lets out a hum, then chuckles. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he tells her, looking down at their plates of food that’s almost wiped clean. “I’m positive you’ll manage it.”

“You really think so, Morax?”

“Huh?” That catches his attention, his head snapping back over to the woman. “What did you say?”

“I said you really think so, Zhongli?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips pursed ever so faintly as you shift in your seat. “Are you okay? You seem out of it.”

He’s unable to answer, staring down at you with a frown. From your view, he looks disappointed. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to make you repeat yourself but...did you say Morax?”

You’re confused. You have no idea what he’s talking about.

“No,” you start, tilting your head to the side faintly, “I didn’t say Morax...maybe you’re hearing things. We can go back home if you’re not feeling good.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes for a split second before reopening. “Maybe I’m a little tired. It’s okay, darling. I’m fine really. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for the night.”

The calm and collected man did not seem okay, but you decided it was best if boundaries weren’t pushed tonight. “Alright,” you say with a small smile, grabbing his hand, squeezing gently. “If you say so.”

“I know so.” He leans closer, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, the hairs on your neck standing up. “You seem to doubt me on many occasions. Why is that?”

You scoff lightly, rolling your eyes as you turn your head to face him. “Oh stop it. You know I never doubt you.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” you say, copying his words moments prior; cupping his cheek and stroking his skin with the pad of your finger. “I love you, Zhongli,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. His eyes flutter close, his hand dropping to rest on your waist, reciprocating the kiss.

And I…

That little incident of him hearing his old name did not go unnoticed. Throughout the day you would catch him staring at you like he was lost. His mouth would be slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed to the point where a small wrinkle formed in between them. Whenever you called him out on it, he would lightly shake his head to get his sense of reality straight again before brushing it off.

“Zhongli? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my love.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Of course this worried you to no end. Maybe he was tired?

Maybe he was looking at someone?

Someone who wasn’t you.

-

A night stroll was something you both enjoyed immensely. The soft light of the moon gazing down at you, lighting up the dirt path of Dihua Marsh. No words were spoken between the two of you, rather enjoying the serene silence.

Your eyes focus on the trail in front of you, the leaves of the Sandbearer tree wisp in the cool air of the night. As you venture forward, you lightly kick the pebbles that rest by your foot, watching them roll forward or to the side. You earn a chuckle from the older man beside you; his eyes focused straight ahead.

There’s no definite place you’re headed too. At this point, you might as well be stuck here for the rest of the night.

At this time, monsters roam around, but tonight feels different. It feels as if you don’t have to watch every empty space of land to make sure nothing comes at you. There’s a churning in your gut, but you can’t put your finger on it.

Your eyes catch onto the river on the left side of the trail, the reflection of the moon evident in the rippling water. “That’s pretty,” you state softly, looking up at your lover, “don’t you think?”

“Mhm. I do believe it’s very beautiful,” he says, voice gruff and firm. His ponytail moves with every step he takes, the auburn color at the tips glowing slightly— something that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“This area used to be pure, untouched by wandering monsters, bearing their hands on any living thing. That of course was what happened before the rest of the Gods decided to take seat upon the divine.”

Divine was Celestia. You heard numerous stories told by storytellers that stay in the small restaurant in Liyue. Each story was unique— not like the other. Many citizens of Liyue often got into bickers when it came to telling the ‘true’ story.

The God of Salt’s people refused to call the Geo Archon by his name. Morax was basically poison to them. They believe Havaria was murdered out of sheer jealousy. But of course, that wasn’t true.

When you first heard the story by none other than him himself, you were in awe. Despite the brutality and casualties placed upon god after god and innocent citizens, it left you with nothing but questions.

“Man is known to let their greed take over every ounce of them. Of course, me being ruler over Guili Plains at the time, I had no choice but to protect my people...then the death of Guizhong–” He stops talking, tongue peeking out and licking his lower lip.

You take notice where you’re at now.

A small field of Glaze Lilies.

You watch his shoulders rise slowly as he inhales deeply before exhaling, letting his head fall back as he turns his face to the sky, eyes closed.

“I’m sure you remember me speaking about the Memory of Dust correct?” You nod to his question, following him quite closely as he begins to walk once more, hands behind his back.

“She gave it to me a few months after we met. It’s something no mortal can handle. Even I wasn’t able to open it. I spent months on end, trying my best to open the mystery that was contained inside. It was truly a challenge. But of course, she was a woman with extreme intelligence. Guizhong was the brain for the two of us.”

And thus Zhongli continued to speak highly of her. He shared the moments when the God of Dust. Cloud Retainer and himself would meet up for tea and lunch in Mt.Aozang. He spoke when they would take walks together in Dihua Marsh, walking through the glaze lilies; listening to her sing at the blooming flowers.

Hearing him talk about his previous lover set a fire within you. Insecurity ran through your veins when he would smile, bringing up something else that came into his mind. It made you feel as if you weren’t enough at this very moment.

But, it made you feel loved.

A warmth blossomed in the pit of your chest, your body feeling light and relaxed. The way his eyes sparkled to the way he gestured— everything just seems so perfect. Your lips curled up in a smile as you gazed up at him lovingly, your heart skipping a few beats to the nervous feeling in your stomach.

You were in love.

It was as if he was praising you. You were the intelligent woman, the most beautiful being in Teyvat all those years ago. Generous, kind, thoughtful. Each of those words, you thought it was for you.

You were going deeper and deeper into a hole you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of. Love was something that was meant to be cherished, but was also the more cruel thing a human being can go through.

Love made people blind, and you were one of love’s victims.

“She sounded amazing,” you comment, running your hands through the spot of glaze lilies you’re currently sitting in, the cool green grass rubbing against the palm of your skin.

“She was extraordinary.”

You hum in return, closing your eyes as a cool breeze whooshes by you, goosebumps littering your arms as you shudder under the cold. With the wind, the blades of grass danced under the air, the nearby flowers swaying.

Zhongli peers down at your seated form with the flowers. He watches with intent eyes, looking at the way your hands hold the plant, careful as if it were a form of porcelain.

He can’t help but feel sad as you stroke the blue petals with the tip of your finger, a faint smile on your lips. He pondered to himself; why were you staring up at him with a dumb founded look of love? Surely he wasn’t saying anything great at that moment.

He can recall the way you stared at him with half lidded eyes, like you were dozing off in your own dream state.

It throws him for a whirl. These past few weeks messed with his head— more than anything has in his life.

“Glaze Lilies were her favorite, huh?” you spoke up, bringing it closer to your nose, sniffing as the aroma filled your senses, a pleased sigh passing your lips. Your fingers mess with the stem, no thorns popping out from it.

“They… yes indeed they were.”

It’s silent for a moment before a hum breaks the silence.

Sitting in a small field of Glaze Lillies in Dihua Marsh, you hummed softly to yourself as you become one with the flowers in your mind. If all of Teyvat was silent enough, your melody could reach all ears; the young and the old.

A sheer screen of white flashes before Zhongli’s eyes, blinding the archon for a split second before his eyes snap open, a small pant leaving his lips.

It’s no longer night. The sun has risen for the day, the rays shining down on him.

His arms feel slightly heavy as he gazes down, notice the black and gold lines littering his arms; the color of Geo glowing with each second. He checks his palms then the back, taking notice of the white robe he now wore along with his slightly baggy pants and no shoes.

Unsure, he slowly lifts a hand to the top of his head, feeling a sharp pole coming from under the hood. His horns stood up, tall and proud for everyone to know that this was Rex Lapis.

It’s quiet among the trails in Dihua Marsh. Something catches his eye as he turns his head, noticing the small traces of civilization.

“Odd...everything was in ruin after the war,” he mutters to himself, the dirt rubbing against his bare feet.

Instead of being near the field like he was moments ago, he’s rather far away; the patch of flowers in the distance. Morax is confused as to how he ended over here but decided not to comment.

With each step he takes, the rocks buried in the ground poke at his feet, making him wince faintly in pain. He most definitely recalls wearing shoes before coming out in the open.

Everything now seems to be beautiful, at peace. Nothing was out of the ordinary, the old statues were up, not a single crack on them.

The walk seems to last a millennia to the God of Contracts but eventually reaches the green patch that leads to the blooming flowers.

The first thing he takes sight is the clothed back of what looks like a woman who happens to be sitting in the field. The second thing he notices is a flower of Liyue that rests in her hand.

As he gets closer, his ears catch the melody the woman is singing. It tugs at the strings of his heart, yet drags him deeper into the hole of curiosity .

The red baggy robes are the things he recognizes on the spot. The sleeves are far too large for this lady, the white belt that is loosely wrapped around her waist that gives the idea of carelessness; but the way she moves, the way her voice reaches his ears.

There’s no doubt in his mind.

He gets closer and closer with each note she hits before he’s only three steps away from her. His pupils are dilated, his hand reaching out to grasp.

It’s only seconds until he feels a droplet trickle down his face, dropping to the grass underneath him. One tear turns into two, then three until he’s quietly crying behind the woman, remembering every note.

His arms that glowed have now dimmed, faded from its bright color. His head is hung forward, shoulders slugged as he lets out a shaky breath, bangs brushing against his forehead.

“You know, you don’t have to stand right there and stare.”

“P-Pardon?” Morax stutters, lifting his head up to see the woman’s head turned faintly to where he can see the outline of her nose.

“I said,” she started, her voice soft yet demanding, “you don’t have to stand and stare like that. You can approach me too.”

“My mistake,” Morax clears his throat, one hand wiping away the clear liquid from his cheek. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

She lets out a laugh that makes his heart flutter. “You didn’t scare me. I was able to sense you when you were back there by the old tree. You have a very powerful presence, Morax.”

“I’ve been told that before by old friends of mine.” He peered down at her, taking in the shape of her nose. “Might I ask, what’s your name?”

“My name?” She asks, not giving him what he wanted. “And why might you need that?”

“Well shouldn’t every god know one another?”

She’s silent for one second before nodding. “I suppose you’re right.”

“My name is—“ she tells him but he doesn’t quite catch it. He asks for it once more but does not hear it again. Morax rubs his ear gently before noticing that she’s standing up; back to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Morax. I think we’ll get along just fine,” her bare feet move in the grass blades, her body beginning to turn.

The wind gets knocked out of his chest, lips parted in shock. A face he’s been trying to remember for eons— isn’t the same as it was.

Her eyes sparkled, a gentle smile on her lips as she approached him. Her features were unique, something that looks awfully familiar but cannot put his tongue on it.

“Don’t you think?” Her head tilts to the side, lifting a Glaze Lily in front of their face. His bright eyes can’t even stare at the plant, fixated on her face that he seemed to see every day of his current life.

“I…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer me just yet, Zhongli.”

“What?” He asks in a whisper, voice barely audible to her ears. “What are you talking about?”

“I know, Zhongli.”

There’s a dull ache in his frontal, a hand clutching his forehead with a wince, eyes squeezed shut.

So many things hit him like a meteor. His head is spiraling, his heart feels as if it could burst out of his chest at any second. All he wants to do it lay down on the floor and let everything wash away. That seems like the best option.

“Zhongli...”

His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the now dark setting of Dihua Marsh. Clear liquid cascades down his face as he quickly scans the area. The old traces of civilization were now gone, the area nothing more than flora and fauna; the statues broken down.

“Zhongli.”

Your voice catches his attention, your body standing right in front of him, holding a glaze Lilly in front of your face.

It clicks in his brain for only a second when he sees the tear slipping down your face.

But the thing that throws him off the most is that beautiful smile you’re wearing.

Smiling through the pain as you told yourself many times in the past month. Your sad eyes aren’t even staring at him, rather looking at the petals that seemed to weigh as much as the rocks that surrounded the area.

Seeing your current state set off a small alarm within him. His hand as if automated too, reaches out and cups your cheek, a gloved thumb rubbing against the soft skin.

“What’s wrong?”

“This whole time–” Your voice is shaky, unstable as you steer your gaze to stare into his golden eyes. “–I was confusing myself to no end. Every night I would walk up the mirror and try to figure myself out but I never could. When I closed my eyes, I couldn’t see anything but this...this flower. It was all I saw.”

When you spoke, your smile never faltered. In all honesty, it was starting to get him a bit frightened at how calm yet broken you were.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Maybe you’re just tired?” he suggests, worried about your wellbeing. “You might be stressing yourself too—” You cut him off with a shake of your head, reaching up and cupping both of his cheeks, the stem rubbing against his skin.

“When you close your eyes… I know who you pretend I am.”

At this moment, his vision is blurry as more tears form before slipping past his lower eyelids. He’s unable to see your face, blinking the tears away, but more form in their wake. He’s unable to see you.

“I don’t understand what you mean...”

“I know who you pretend I am, and it’s okay.” Your lips brush against his own for a second, your tears mixing with his own.

Through his tears, he catches a glimpse of your face. To him, you look devastated. Your lips are down in a frown, your head hung forward with your body hunched just a tad, hands by your side. To him, you look done.

But you, you’re far from it.

The circumstances of the now don’t affect you as they did when you first caught onto the strange behavior. The longing glances, how he would spend his hours of the night trying to open the dumbbell that contained her wisdom. Not to mention the slip ups of her name being said rather than her own. Even in his sleep, you could hear him calling for her once in a while.

“I’m not upset. It took me a while to accept it but...I’m ready.” You bring the flower to your nose, taking a whiff then presenting it to him.

Once again the archon stares at you with a dumb founded look, something that was strange to see on him. He can’t say anything as you look forever different in his eyes.

It’s like your body was split in half, making two completely different people. The right side staring at him was Guizhong. His first lover and former ruler of the Guili Plains. Her eyes were sad with a smile, her body stiff as all she could do was stare at him.

The left was his current lover. Someone who went through months of denial, confusion and hurt. Your eyes shone as you offered nothing but a flower and your love and devotion to him.

Two women that happened to be one.

Yet one outshined the other.

“I’m ready to be who you want me to be.” Your hand runs up his face, tucking the stem of the flower behind his ear that now takes a seat in his black hair. “No matter how you see me as, my love for you can never change.”

Zhongli feels his heart flutter at your words and the small laugh that slips past your lips when you catch his look. Yet each time he closes his eyes, your face becomes blurry before going normal. Your clothes change, and so does the style of your hair. Everything changes once he closes his eyes to get his reality set straight.

I know who you pretend I am.

“Even if I’m not Guizhong, I’ll be her for as long as you need...until I die. I’ll always be here, Morax,” you whisper, gazing at his lips before pressing yours against his. Your arms slither around his neck, cradling the back of his neck.

Morax melts into the kiss, his arms encircling your waist bringing you flushed against him.

In his mind, he’s standing in Guili Plains with the sun shining down at him, the God of Dust currently in his arms as their people cry in joy that they found a safe place to live— two caring gods to watch over them forever and protect them from harm's way.

All the worries were thrown out the door as the now is most important to him.

But now, he’s standing in a field covered with the most beautiful flowers known to man, their petals swaying with the sudden harsh wind that hits against him and his lover.

After eons of waiting and in sorrow, Morax now has what he desired the most once the chaos of the Archon War was finished. To hold the one most important close again.

Unbeknownst to him, a single tear slips down your face as you begin to revel in the new identity you gave yourself. Pain will continue to surge through your veins but you could care less.

If Morax was happy, you will continue to be happy for him.

For you are Guizhong, the God of Dust. Lover of Morax.

I love you, Morax.

And I love you too, Guizhong...

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[ghostdrew22]

More || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No Pairing: post-war Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: Pregnancy, miscarriage, some swearing, a bit of angst and so much flufffff

WORDS : 2786

~~~

Song - More by Halsey

“A couple years of waiting rooms“

“They told me it's useless, there's no hope in store But somehow I just want you more“

“I sit and I stare at your clothes in the drawer I cry and my knuckles get sore 'Cause I still believe it won't be like before“

“And nothing could stop me from giving a try I've loved you for all of my life“

~~~

“I’m sorry to tell you this but, you’ve lost the baby.” Dean Thomas- Head Healer in the pediatric and maternal division of St Mungo’s- says to Y/N and Draco Malfoy as they both sit in silence in his office.

“Do you know why this keeps happening?” You ask- barely able to blurt the words out without sobbing.

“I’m afraid not- Y/N, you just might not be able to have children.”

Draco tenses and draws in a breath- “That’s outrageous, isn’t there something you can do?”

You notice his frustration and place your hand on his thigh to calm him down- even though a sea of rage and grief is currently flowing through you as well. You’d always thought that you’d be a mother by now- your own having easily given birth to three children by age 32- and yet here you are, eight tries and four miscarriages later.

“We’ve tried everything…” Healer Thomas sighs and offers you both a solemn look. “It’s beyond our control.”

“So now what?” You rasp- tears tugging at your throat with every word.

“Honestly? Just keep trying.”

“You said that to us a year and a half ago.” Draco grits out.

“That was when I thought I could help- it seems that I overestimated my own abilities.”

“That’s unprofessional.”

“I know, I apologise.” Healer Thomas sits up in his chair, “Cases like this are so rare- I didn’t think it was this serious.”

“That was your fault then.”

“It was, I know… Look, adoption is always an option if Y/N can’t-“

“There’s nothing wrong with my wife, so don’t phrase that sentence like there is.”


“I’m not, I’m jus-“

“You don’t think she’s having a hard enough time without your two cents?”

“Draco, it’s oka-“ You start- wanting to calm him down but he’s already fuming and there’s nothing you can say that will help.

“No Y/N, it isn’t- he can’t condemn you for something that you can’t help, especially when it’s his job to find a way to make this easier for you.” Draco gets out of his chair and pulls you out of yours as well before turning to Healer Thomas once more. “You’re a right knob, you know that?”

You send Healer Thomas an apologetic eye as your husband turns on his heels and walks you both out of the office. Once you’re back in the busy hospital hallway you turn to face him with a huff- ready to have a go at him for being so rude- but before you know it he’s pulled you into his chest and you’re sighing into his arms.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Draco…” You whisper into his chest and start to pull away slowly, “But-“

“Don’t ask me to apologise, I won’t do it.” He says adamantly as he crosses his arms like an angry toddler. “He was being an arsehole and he let us down- after months and hundreds of galleons.”

“So you’re angry about the money?” You raise your eyebrows at your husband who rolls his eyes and lowers his arms so that he can grasp your hands in his own.

“You know that I don’t give a shit about the money- I only care about you and you’ve been crying yourself to sleep over this crap for months, I’m sick and tired of having to watch you blame and hate yourself for something that isn’t your fault. I understand what he was saying but he should’ve picked his words better, there’s nothing wrong with you and I don’t want you to continuously feel like there is.”

“But then why-“

“I don’t know why Y/N. I’d do anything to find an answer for you- I’d do anything for us to start our family right now and you know that. But we clearly have a mountain ahead of us and I need you to believe in yourself if we’re going to climb it, yeah?”

“…” You look up at your husband in silence for a second- observing the look of hope consuming his features- “Yeah.”

“Good. Now we’re going to go home-“

“We have dinner at Harry’s-“

“We’re going to go home.” He repeats- indicating that it isn’t up for discussion and you nod slowly in agreement. “I’ll run you a bath and while you enjoy it, I’ll cook your favourite. Then after dinner we cuddle on the couch and eat ice cream.”

“And Harry’s?”

“I’ll owl him and let him know that we can’t make it this week cause we’re sick.”

You sigh and nod. Draco grabs your hand in his and pulls out his wand to apparate you back home. He fulfills his promises and cancels dinner with the Potter’s- deciding that it would be too difficult to sit through dinner while mini Harry and Ginny’s crawl around the floor. You snuggle into the couch instead to watch Disney movies in silence- trying not to think about how empty your house on the cul-de-sac is without the sound of tiny feet scraping against the floor.

~~~

“Well?” You raise your eyes to your husband as he eyes the muggle pregnancy test in his hands.

He sighs and shakes his head- turning behind him to drop the contraption into the bin and wash his hands.

“I’m broken.” You mumble and drop your head into your hands as you sit on the closed toilet- cursing yourself for thinking that it would be different this time.

“You’re not broken Y/N.” Draco chuckles and makes his way onto his knees so that he can look up at you. “It’s hard getting pregnant.”

“Not for everyone else.” You say exasperatedly and bring your head up to look him in the eyes as he kneels below you. “Ginny and Hermione and Luna are popping out children like it’s a bloody competition.”

“You’re not any of them.” He cups your face in his hands, “And the Weasley’s have genes like rabbits- don’t compare yourself to them.”

“I’d like to have genes like that.” You mumble and pout at him which makes him roll his eyes.

“You want to have genes like that? Then what- you produce the next era of the Weasley clan?”

You giggle and shake your head at him.

“Exactly love.” He plops a kiss on your forehead and releases your face to stand up.

“You know what sucks?” He hums in response as an indication for you to continue, “I keep thinking that it’ll be different next time. We order new clothes, we make plans for the nursery, we start to plan our lives around this baby that we’re so sure that we’re going to have and then every time it doesn’t work out. And every time, I love this baby that we don’t have, even more.”

“I know, it’s like the yearning just makes your heart bigger to hold more love for them.”

“Yes, exactly!” You exclaim with a sigh, “What are we going to do?”

“I was thinking…” Draco starts nervously- fiddling with his fingers- “Maybe we should expand our horizons beyond St Mungo’s.”

You look up as he towers above you and raise your eyebrows at him in questioning, “Expand them to what?”

“Muggles- gynecologists.”

You draw in a breath and observe the look on his face- taking note of how serious and thoughtful he appears to be. “I don’t kn-“

“Look, I’ve already found a few that are willing to meet with us.” He puts his hand out for you to grab, “Let’s just have a sit down with them, hear what they have to say and decide whether or not it’s worth a try afterwards. Yeah?” He asks you with his eyebrows raised.

You process his words and nod slowly- agreeing with reluctance- as you clasps his hand in your own and hoist yourself up off the toilet. “We can hear them out.”

“Thank you love.” He whispers and brings you into him for a kiss.

~~~

“We’ve met with some muggle doctors that say they can help us.” Draco replies to parents as he takes your hand and smiles nervously- worried about how his parents will take the news.

“But we’re probably not going to do it.” You whisper in addition quickly and look down at your plate of food- much to Draco’s dismay as he sends you a disappointed look.

“Why not?” Narcissa furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “Don’t you want children?”

“Yes…” You mumble and look up to glance at your in-laws, “But I don’t know if muggle medicine is the best option.”

“No one said it was the best option,” Narcissa starts as she offers you a smile, “But it’s an option.”

“Which is better than nothing, Y/N.” Lucius finishes for his wife and gives you a soft look of encouragement.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Draco responds quietly- squeezing your hand in an effort to comfort your nerves.

“But what’s the likelihood of muggle doctors fixing the problem when our own best and brightest, can’t?” You choke out- tears starting to claw their way up your throat.

Lucius begins with a sigh, “A muggles perspective might grant some clarity.”

“Look, how about you give it a try, and if it doesn’t work then you keep looking?” Narcissa beams and you feel a wave of relief wash over you at the overwhelming support of your husband and his parents.

If this had been your own parents they would’ve ridiculed you for being unable to naturally produce a child and completely shunned the idea of using medical assistance- let alone muggle medicine- to get pregnant.

“Okay.” You sigh and smile- your hand squeezing Draco’s back and dragging a smile from him. “We’ll try it.”

~~~

“Well?” You asks Draco as you sit on the closed toilet. It’s been three months since that night at the Malfoy Manor when you agreed to use muggle medicine- the very next morning you went back to meet doctor Kiran who got you started on a treatment plan immediately- and this is the first test you’ve taken since.

“I’d like to point out that these are a bit dehumanising- is there no better way than to piss on a stick?” Draco mumbles as he pulls the test out of the container he’d dropped it into after you’d taken it.

“Draco!”

“Hmm?” He looks back at you.

“Focus.”

“Oh! Yeah.” He chuckles nervously and brings up the test so that he can read the results. “Y/N…” He starts solemnly and you look down at the ground and sigh immediately in disappointment.

“This is bullshit.”


“It really is.” Draco breathes out as a smile creeps out onto his face, “I don’t think seven months is nearly enough time to come up with the perfect dad joke.”

“What?” You look up at him suddenly- hope glistening in your eyes- and see that he’s got the brightest smile on his face.

“You’re two months along Y/N.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” You respond with a smile- unable to contain the excitement you’re feeling.

“On my life- both tests are positive.” He says as he hands them both to you so that you can see the ‘+’ and ‘2’ written in bright red on the sticks. “We’re going to have a baby.” He breathes out.

“We’re going to have a baby!” You exclaim as you jump off the seat and into your husband’s arms.

~~~

“I’m delighted to introduce you to your daughter.” Dean Thomas exclaims in excitement as he brings the new addition to the Malfoy family in to the room after she’s been cleaned up. “You did really well Y/N, a true champ.” He pats your shoulders as the nurses hand you your daughter.

“That’s my wife.” Draco watches you endearingly as you hold your newborn.

“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be more help before.”

“Don’t worry about it- we figured it out.” Draco says with a smile on his face.

“I’m really happy for you both- you deserve this.” Dean utters as he pats Draco on the back.

“Thank you… for everything.” Dean nods at Draco.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Dean says as he makes his way out of the hospital room so that you can be alone.

“Come look at her, Dray.” You rasp out- your voice still raw from all the yelling you were doing only hours before during the delivery- and Draco swiftly makes his way to your side so that he can pick up his daughter.

“Ew, we’re crying.” You say in mock disgust as you note that tears are falling from both you and your husband’s faces.

“This is disgustingly cheesy.” Draco chuckles as he lifts one hand from underneath the baby to wipe the tears off of your face.

Weeks of long nights spent in muggle hospital rooms and copious amounts of medication finally paid off- you have your beautiful daughter, to hold and to love, right in front of you. It almost feels too good to be true.

“Can we please meet our grandchild now?” Narcissa asks excitedly as her and Lucius walk in beaming. Draco nods at them with a laugh and brings his daughter toward his parents for them to hold her.

“Here’s your granddaughter.”

“She’s perfect.” Lucius chokes out as he stares down at the bundle of blankets in his arms- feeling a wave of happiness wash over him that is similar to the one he felt at his own son’s birth. “She has Y/N’s eyes.”

“And Draco’s face.” Narcissa whispers with adoration- love washing over her features completely. “Congratulations my love.” She utters as she moves away from the baby and goes to catch her son in a hug- who still has a few tears running down his face.

“Thank you mother.” He whispers into her shoulder.

“And Y/N.” Narcissa walks toward you with a smile so bright it could blind the heavens, “I’m so happy for you darling.”

“Thank you Narcissa- for everything.” You breathe out with a smile as you melt into the warmth and affection of Narcissa’s arms. “We wouldn’t have been able to go through with it if it wasn’t for your support.”

“What is family for?” Lucius perks up from his spot next to Draco with a chuckle- handing the baby back to his son so that he can also hug you. “You did good.”

“I tried.” You chuckle back into his embrace.

“You succeeded, exceptionally.”

“Will there be any more?” Narcissa asks with a smile as she cooes at her granddaughter that she’s holding in her arms- already imaging all of the ways in which she can spoil the child rotten and clasp her love as the favourite grandparent.

You and Draco catch each other’s eyes and smile- already knowing the answer.

~~~

“You’ll never catch me alive!” A small voice says before a body jumps onto the bed and lands above the blankets beside you- startling you awake suddenly.

You shuffle about in the bed- feeling that something above the covers is weighing them down and making it difficult for you to shift them around- and finally peer your head out of the blankets in defeat.

“Oh look, it’s my little chocolate frog.” You exclaim once the fog of sleep wears off and you can see your daughter peering down at you with a bright smile.

“Hi mum.” She giggles out as she moves to climb beneath the covers with you.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m running away from dad.”

“Wh-“

“I thought we agreed that we’re letting mum sleep, peanut?” Draco cuts you off as he stands in the doorway and questions his daughter with furrowed eyebrows- his toddler son trailing on all fours behind him.

“That deal was cancelled.”

“Why?”

“You know what you did.” She mumbles menacingly as she glares softly at her father.

“What did you do, Draco?” You asks from the bed with a laugh.

“I tried to give her a bath.” He deadpans in amusement and you laugh back.

“I’m beyond cleanliness!” Your daughter exclaims in response, “Besides, I thought mum could use some cuddles.”

“I do love cuddles, Dray.” You replies very seriously- even though there’s a huge smile plastered on your lips.

“Well, might as well give her what she wants.” Draco chuckles as he reaches down to carry your 14 month old son off the ground and walks toward the bed to join his two favourite girls. “Happy mother’s day, Y/N.”

Draco settles into the bed- putting his son in first so that both children are sandwiched inbetween you two- and leans over the kids to place a kiss on your lips. Your little display of affection earns a disgusted groan from your daughter and you both pull away with amused expressions.

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims in excitement as he climbs over his sister and lands on your lap.

“Hi bubba.” You giggle and place a kiss on his forehead. He smiles cheekily and tries to recite the words he’d been rehearsing with Draco only minutes before.

“Happy mommy day.”

“Thank you, bubba.”

“I hope you love us because we’re the reason it’s your day.” Your daughter adds in a matter-of-fact tone that has both you and Draco laughing.

“Oh angel,” You finally breathe out with a smile, “I’ve loved you for all of my life.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,185 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Someone dies and Daryl finally learns about Y/N's past.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Where ya goin’?” Daryl’s voice behind you as you headed to the gate, your recurve bow slung over your shoulder.

“Hunting,” you said. You’d been reserved since Hilltop and Daryl was worried.

He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. “Huntin’ what?”

You caught his meaning and sighed. “Food. I promise.”

He nodded and paced closer to you. “Good. Look, if ya want to go out and hunt them, I’ll go with ya. Ya shouldn’t do it alone.”

You nodded. “Been doing it alone a long time now,” you countered. “But I won’t today.”

Daryl nodded. That was about as good a response as he could hope for. “Alright.”

“Where are you off to?” you asked, noting the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Denise found a place she thinks might have meds. She asked Rosita and I to go with.”

Your stomach twisted suddenly and you felt unbalanced. You didn’t know why… it sounded like a routine supply trip. But eventually you shoved the feeling down and nodded. “Alright. Be careful…”

“Ya. We will. You too, alright?” Daryl wished he was brave enough in that moment to—to do or say something more. He could sense that whatever had happened to you, whatever you knew about the Saviors, it was eating you. It had been since Hilltop, and likely even before, probably since the run-in with those men when he was laid up with his ankle. That time when you hadn’t been able to sleep and he had stayed at your house… And he wished he knew how to lift that burden, how to make it stop or at least lighter, but until you were ready to talk about it there wasn’t much he could do.

You came back that evening with a deer. The gates rolled open to admit you and you headed toward home. That’s when you saw the crowd gathered on the porch of Rick’s house, but something was wrong. No one was talking and their expressions were grave.

You felt your stomach lurch. You slung the deer down onto your porch and started walking over. Daryl broke off and met you halfway. You gulped at the tightness in your throat. He looked pale. “What’s going on?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes and he was chewing his bottom lip anxiously, drumming his fingers against his leg. “Denise,” he croaked, the gravel in his voice even thicker than usual.

You looked up, and the fact that everyone was gathered at Rick’s house and not outside the infirmary made what had happened clear. You felt like you’d been punched in the stomach. Your chest heaved with terrified breaths. “No… H—How?” you whispered.

“That guy with the girls I helped in that burnt-out forest, the ones who ended up fuckin’ me over, takin’ my bike and my bow… He’s one of them now.”

Your eyes narrowed. “The Saviors?” you asked in an undertone, your heart starting to race.

He nodded, finally lifting his blue eyes to yours. “Shot her with my crossbow right in front of us. Right—right in front of me.”

Your eyes glistened with emotion you were trying to hold back. “Oh God. No. No, no, no…” You were reeling. Your wide eyes had an unseeing quality.

Daryl gulped, speaking what was consuming him, a rasp in his throat as he fought emotion. “It’s my fault. I should have killed him. I should’ve made Denise stay back. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you said forcefully, gently resting your hand on his arm. You stepped forward to look up into his face, which was now contorted with some emotion. “It’s not. Don’t do that.”

“It is. She wasn’t ready and I—I should have known they were there. We shoulda been more careful, not out in the open. I—It’s my fault,” he rasped.

You shook you head, holding his blue eyes. “No. It’s not. Even if you had killed him, we don’t know that anything would turn out differently. We don’t get to know. So, you have to stop.”

“I’m goin’ back tomorrow. I’m gonna track ‘em.” His grief and regret were turning into rage quickly.

“Daryl—”

“I’m goin’. He’s a dead man,” he growled.

Your eyes were wide and fearful. “Please, listen to me. Just wait. We can do this, but we have to be smart about it.”

“What’s smart is trackin’ ‘em before their trail disappears,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch—"

You shut your eyes, a flash of emotion on your face and Daryl softened a little at the sight. “Just—come over later. We need to talk,” you whispered. You shot him one last look, the worry line you always got by your left eyebrow quite pronounced. You turned and went back to your house to deal with the deer you had shot. Daryl watched you drag it around to the back of your house and he thought that for even the weight of the deer, your steps looked heavy.

It was already late when you heard the front door open from your seat on the couch. “Y/N?” Daryl’s deep voice.

“In here,” you called back. His boots on the wood floor came closer and he appeared in the doorway.

“Ya alright?” he asked. You shook your head.

“No. You?”

He shook his head. “Nah.” Daryl sat down on the other end of the sofa, placing his own crossbow, recovered after the scramble with the Saviors that day, on the coffee table. He could tell you had been crying earlier. Your eyes were a little red. “What is it?”

Your heart was racing and you felt like you couldn’t draw full breaths. It felt like there was a weight sitting on your chest that was keeping your lungs from filling. You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna tell you what happened to me. How I know about the Saviors.” You stared down at your hands and he heard you pull in a raspy breath. “I’ve never told anyone this…”

A shadow darkened Daryl’s face. “Alright.”

You sighed and licked your lips nervously. “I had a brother. He was two years younger than me. We were with a small group of people, holed up in some house, scraping in town for supplies. Just a group of survivors who fell together, like yours did. The Saviors showed up. They said they were going to ‘save us.’ Said we had to come with them and if we did they’d keep us safe and fed in exchange for labor. Of course, none of us trusted them. Who can you trust these days? We all knew they just wanted what we had, and maybe even just us, like commodities. We tried to fight. Almost all of us were killed and they got control of those of us who were left.” You passed a somewhat shaky hand over your eyes briefly. “Negan showed up. He executed one of our people in front of us. Bashed his head in with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and made us watch. Terrorized the rest of us. Spouted off a bunch of bullshit about how he hadn’t wanted to do it, but we had forced his hand. My brother and I survived, along with a couple of the others. They took us back to their headquarters.” You finally glanced over at Daryl and your striking eyes, looking wide and anxious, met his blue ones. “They call it The Sanctuary.”

Daryl thought of Denise, dying right in front of him. “I’m sorry,” Daryl said.

You shook your head. “I’m not even close to done.”

Daryl’s stomach hardened into a tight pit and he waited for you to go on.

“I knew right away that something was different… with me, I mean. They separated me from the group, from my brother. Shoved me in a tiny, completely dark, barren cell.” Daryl watched your brow furrow. “Just me. Alone. Sometimes I was chained up, handcuffed, sometimes I wasn’t. Every second of every day I just sat in the dark and wondered what horrible thing was going to happen to me the next minute. I didn’t understand why I’d been singled out at first, except maybe that I’d fought the longest. I didn’t know if my brother was alive or dead…” Your eyes grew faraway, detached, and Daryl felt like someone had twisted a knife in his stomach. You went on. “The isolation and hunger was bad enough but they had more in their playbook. They purposely kept me awake for days at a time—lights, loud music. Some real Guantanamo Bay shit. I lost track of time. I thought I was going crazy after a while. It was obvious they were trying to break me. And then one day, he came.”

“Negan?” Daryl asked. You nodded.

“He told me I’d paid enough for trying to fight. That he understood why I had and that I had a few choices in front of me. I could eventually die in that cell, I could work, or…” you trailed off and shut your eyes for a moment. “He told me he thought I was…different. That I was tough, brave because of how I was during the fight and after. He said he’d—he’d taken a special liking to me and said I could marry him, be one of his wives, and live the way we did before the world fell apart. All I had to do was take care of him and his wants and needs and he’d take care of me.”

Daryl was staring at you with a scowl on his face, his stomach twisting at your words. His eyes were narrowed and he was so still he looked frozen. Anger was boiling in his chest. You gulped, hoping to clear your throat but weren’t successful.

“I asked him if my brother was alive and he said yes. I told him I’d work. I just wanted to be with my brother. So, I became one of the workers in The Sanctuary. You work there to earn points, which you use to ‘pay’ for food and whatever else you need, but it’s never enough. It’s slave labor where every once and a while they throw you a peanut. Conditions are terrible. And after a while, my brother and I were both almost wishing we were dead. But at least we were still together.” You settled back more deeply into the couch and sighed. “Negan rules with an iron fist. If someone tries to escape, someone steals, screws up at all…” Your face contorted as you thought about what you’d watched him do. “I’ve watched him do the most—inhuman, horrendous things... unfathomable. I watched him burn people with a hot iron, brand people, beat people to death for not following his orders perfectly… And his men? They’ll do the same things in his name, some of them worse. The whole place is guarded, patrolled, locked down like a fortress. But more than anything it’s the fear that keeps people there… And I was trapped in it because all I wanted to do was keep my brother alive and for us to stay together.”

You stopped for a moment and Daryl watched as you tried to steel yourself to go on.

“It was like that for a while. We were practically starving, always just waiting for the next thing, the next trauma. And then I got sick… Very sick.” Your eyes flitted up to meet his. “A blood infection. I was dying. And they’ve got a doctor, medicine, but if you use them you owe more than you could ever pay—and that means they own you even more than they already did. It’s just leverage to them. My brother—” your voice broke. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and Daryl could hear you pull in a few slow but ragged breaths. “He tried to steal some antibiotics. To save me. And he got caught.”

You were silent for a long moment, trying to stop yourself from crying. Daryl just waited, feeling sick to his stomach, feeling enraged, wanting to tell you it was going to be okay, but knowing he couldn’t... Nothing he could say was going to fix whatever you were about to tell him. He knew that.

“I ended up in the infirmary anyway. I don’t even know how. I had been so delirious with fever and I can’t remember a lot from around then… But when I was better, eventually, Negan came to see me again. He told me they were going to make an example of my brother. He broke the rules and Negan couldn’t have people thinking you could get away with that. I knew what that meant. Negan would kill him horrifically. In front of me and everyone else.” Despite what you were saying, your voice was somewhat detached. It was like you were on autopilot as you explained, like you had told the story in your head a million times and were just replaying through it. Daryl thought you probably were.

“But he gave me another—another choice,” you said. Your tone conveyed that it was presented as a choice, but there was no refusing. “His offer still stood. If I ‘married’ him and became one of his wives, he’d spare my brother’s life and erase all of our debts.” Just saying the words made you feel sick and Daryl watched as you reached a hand out to clutch onto the arm of the couch as if you were spinning and needed grounding. “What could I do?” you asked, turning to look at Daryl again, your eyes frantic, devastated, shining with tears that you were barely containing. “I just thought—‘I need to keep him alive.’ That’s—that’s all I could think and I would deal with the rest of it later.” You opened your mouth to continue speaking but the words wouldn’t come out and your gaze at Daryl was desperate until you couldn’t look at him any longer.

“Hey,” he said. “Ya had to. S’alright. Ya didn’t have a choice.” He moved closer to you and was brave enough to gently lift your chin so you would look at him again, and the glistening in your eyes hit him like a punch. “Ya had to,” he said gently.

You nodded, shrugging vaguely. “I agreed. And Negan didn’t kill my brother but he cut off his hand in front of me and everyone else.” Your jaw clenched and you shut your eyes against the flashbacks.

Daryl stared at you in horror as you took a breath, trying to hold yourself together enough to continue. His face was growing darker and darker as you told the story.

“But we went on. He worked for points and I—” You couldn’t even speak of it. “For a while, that’s how it was.” You were suddenly silent and Daryl felt yet another twist in his stomach, apprehension about what was coming. You continued, your voice disconnected again. “And then one day Negan came in and told me that my brother—” you gritted your teeth against another wave of emotion. “My brother killed himself.”

You hurried on, afraid you wouldn’t be able to get anything else out if you didn’t rush through it.

“And the thing is—” your voice broke, “even that he didn’t do for himself. He didn’t do it because he was miserable there or because he couldn’t go on.” Your bottom lip quivered. “He did it because he knew that while he was there, alive, I wouldn’t leave. If he was alive, I wouldn’t try to escape. He killed himself to save me, to give me the option to get out.”

Daryl felt a sinking emptiness in the middle of his chest. For a moment he just sat still and watched as you struggled not to go entirely to pieces, but he couldn’t allow you to reel the way you were any longer. “C’mere,” he said gently. He enfolded you in his arms and you sank in against him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. He could feel your shuddering breaths and he held you tighter to him, his heart racing, feeling sick waves of horror and anger. He rested his chin on the top of your head. “Ya got out. You’re out. S’alright.” He smoothed a hand over your hair and down your back until you stilled somewhat. You pulled back only slightly to look up at him, your faces mere inches apart.

“Do you understand?” you whispered. “You can’t just go barreling after them, Daryl. You can’t. I—I can’t lose you.”

Daryl gulped, his eyes flickering between yours… But inside he was thinking that everything you just told him was exactly why he had to go...

“I hear ya,” he said finally. He pressed you tightly against him again, shutting his eyes and relishing the feeling of you beneath his hands, even while his mind raced. He held you for a long time, until you seemed to have calmed again. Finally, he pulled back and looked into your face. “It’s—it’s gonna be alright.”

You soaked in the reassurance of him, calmed by his deep voice, his hands gentle on your arms.

“It’s—It’s late… Ya gonna be alright if I go? M’sorry. I don’t wanna leave ya but I wanna check on everybody…” he murmured.

You nodded. “You should. It’s okay. They—they probably need you. I’ll be fine,” you said, knowing it was probably a lie. You were sure you’d have nightmares that night if you managed to sleep at all. You slipped from him the rest of the way and as you separated, he felt like you took some part of him with you.

“G’night,” he murmured, climbing to his feet and collecting his crossbow from your coffee table. As he picked it up, he couldn’t help but think about how the bolt that had killed Denise had left his bow. He should have killed that asshole when he had the chance. “Y/N. Ya should tell Rick,” he said, nodding. “Ya should. If ya can. It’d help him understand, ya know?”

You considered him for a moment. “Okay. I will,” you replied. You watched him across the kitchen as he made his way to the front door, the wings on the back of his vest catching the light differently than the leather, almost looking like they were glowing. With his hand on the handle of the front door, he glanced back at you and gave you a thoughtful look. You managed a somewhat sad smile at him, anxiety still pulling one of your brows inward, and then he disappeared outside.

[y0itsbri]

shameless summer series - lifeguard au 🥽🩲🌊

debbie has her eye on the new lifeguard at the public pool. unlucky for her, said lifeguard already has his eye set on a different red-headed gallagher.

(think like s2 era)

also happy a.u.gust! @gallavichthings

words: 1.7k

"Debs, why do I gotta take you to the pool again this week? I thought you already fixed whatever was the problem with that blonde bitch," Ian whined, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Two tubes of sunscreen sat on the table in front of him.

"It's not about her anymore." Debbie retorted, like it was the simplest thing.

"Okay. Then what is it about?"

"Nothing!"

"Ask her boyfriend." Carl yelled over his video game in the living room, taking any opportunity to embarrass his sister.

Ian and Debbie's voices overlapped with a "Boyfriend?!" and "He's not my boyfriend-- Carl I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Debbie tossed a fork at Carl's head.

"Oh, now I'm definitely in," Ian laughed and winced before Debbie could throw a fork his direction.

--

The walk to the pool was relatively quiet aside from the rhythmic smacking of their sandals against the gravely pavement.

Debbie leapt a few strides, trying to outrun her shadow and failing each time. Ian chuckled, pulling the towel around his neck and swinging his keychain with the other hand.

Now that it was just the two of them, he tried again.

"Soooo," he drawled. "What's with this secret boyfriend?"

Debbie sighed. "He's not my boyfriend. Well, not yet."

"Hmm?"

"He's one of the new lifeguards since Justin got attacked by that dog last week."

Justin still owed Lip a beating for something or other so Ian was glad he didn't have to deal with Justin today, at least.

"You think this new lifeguard is a little too old for you?" Ian wondered.

Debbie shrugged. "Not like it matters much."

Ian couldn't argue with that logic. "I'll kick his ass if he bothers you, yeah?"

"Please. He doesn't even look at me. Even when I was fake-drowning." She skipped down the sidewalk, nearing the pool entrance.

Ian shook his head. His sister was something else.

--

After they set their towels down, Ian's eyes scoured the lifeguard chairs immediately. Too-tan-Toni, shrimp-speedo-Sam, and holy-fucking-shit. Was that Mickey Milkovich?

Ian hadn't let himself think about Mickey since he left town. But it was hard not to now that he was right in front of him again. Shit.

Mickey spread out across his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, watching the newcomers and he smirked before glancing back towards the pool. He blew his whistle and yelled at some kid to 'slow the fuck down unless you wanna bust your ass -- and I ain't fixing you up!'

Ian was brought back to the moment by Debbie's hands waving in front of his face. "Helloooo, earth to Ian! Sunscreen?"

Ian could've sworn he heard a chuckle coming from the direction of the lifeguard chair as he dug the sunscreen out of his shorts pockets. No. He was just being paranoid. His cheeks blushed regardless.

"Is that...?" Ian nodded his head towards the raven-haired man.

"Shhh!" Debbie slapped him on the arm. "Don't make it obvious!"

Ian rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness.

He covered Debbie's back and shoulders in the high resistance sunscreen before she took off towards the side of the pool with the diving board, eager to show off her skills.

He yelled after her. "Wait, fuck, Debs you forgot..." He glanced around.

His eyes definitely locked with Mickey's now.

Fuck.

Mickey hopped off his chair, waving his hand to dismiss his crowd of moon-eyed preteen girls and middle-aged women in scandalous bikinis. Ian would have shuddered at the thought if Mickey wasn't making a bee-line directly towards him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuuck.

"'Sup, man? Been awhile..." He smirked. "Raggedy Ann run out on ya?" Mickey bowed his leg out on his final step towards Ian, a little closer than he expected.

"Uhhh...." Real smooth, Ian. His words were bound to fail him again with the man in such close proximity to him, so he simply held up his bottle of sunscreen and shrugged.

"Toss it here," Mickey coolly demanded.

Ian was thoroughly confused, but threw it anyways. "What?"

"You heard me, Red. Turn around, I'll get your back."

"Protecting and serving the local ginger kids at the pool?" Ian joked weakly, finding his voice again.

Mickey huffed a breath. "Fuck the pigs. The only thing I'm protecting is your ass from a sunburn."

Ian was still confused as to why Mickey was offering to rub his back at a very public pool when he would have literally beaten his ass for looking his direction before.

All of Ian's thoughts subsided as he felt sturdy hands push the warming liquid around his shoulder blades, up his neck, then down his spine. Mickey's thumb digging deep into his muscles. He suppressed his urge to shiver despite the rising temperatures of the hot Chicago summer.

At least he thought he had suppressed it. A huff of air on the back of his neck said otherwise.

Mickey started pulling his hands away and Ian leaned back into them again. Mickey whacked the side of his head before tossing the bottle of sunscreen onto the chair in front of them.

"No free massages, man. Just sunscreen." Mickey licked the corner of his mouth and looked from the ground up to Ian's eyes.

He had to know how devious he looked. Ian didn't want to be presumptuous, but he just held eye contact.

"Unless," Mickey veered, slowly backing away, "the favor was returned in one way or another." He winked.

Ian stood, mouth agape as Mickey turned and waved again to the group of girls who still hadn't taken their eyes off of him. He hopped up onto his chair, whistle in mouth in no time like nothing had ever happened.

What the fuck was going on?

--

Ian spent the next few hours very much Not Looking At Mickey despite feeling a heated stare on him.

Even when he was having a breath-holding competition with Debbie, his brain couldn't stop the endless stream of Mickey Mickey Mickey.

After Debbie's third win, Ian felt like he was on the verge of passing out, so he returned to his towel, chugging his water bottle.

In a moment of weakness, he glanced at Mickey, only to find him already staring. Mickey tilted his head towards the main building and quietly dismissed himself to go on his break.

Ian knew.

He wasn't that stupid. He knew Mickey wanted him to follow. And he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. All the while, his feet took him closer.

The building felt even hotter than the outside, the AC must've gone out and no one bothering to replace it.

This was a bad idea.

Ian was just about to turn around and leave when he heard the click of a lock.

"'Bout fuckin' time," Mickey stalked forward, eyes raking up and down Ian's body appreciatively.

Ian was putty.

He groaned as he let himself be pulled forward by the hips. "Didn't know you were a lifeguard?"

He sighed as Mickey toyed with the band of his shorts in between his tattooed fingers. His nails scraping dully against his sides.

"Dad got shanked. Family business went under. Had to go legal." Mickey's hands moved upwards as he raked his fingers through the sides of Ian's still-wet hair, gripping onto the back of his neck. Ian slid his own hands up Mickey's back, pushing his red tank top up with it, exposing his pale skin.

"Missed this." It was a whisper.

Ian attached his lips to the side of Mickey's neck briefly, tasting remnants of salt, chlorine, and sunscreen, before Mickey sunk down to his knees. Ian's hands were now gripping dark hair, and he was sure that the rocky pavement of the unfinished building had to be digging into Mickey's skin, but he made no sounds of discomfort.

Sure, he missed this, but he missed him more, not that he could say that.

--

On the walk home, the sun was hanging low in the sky and both Gallaghers' cheeks were sunburnt pink.

"Did ya have fun?" Ian asked, knocking his empty water bottle against the top of Debbie's head.

She scrunched her face up, but replied with some pep in her voice. "Yeah! Today the hot life guard actually looked at me! Maybe bringing you around was good luck."

No way in hell Ian was going to out Mickey to his little sister, let alone out himself. He put on a big-brother reassuring smile and changed the subject.

"Good luck for you maybe. I lost literally all of our competitions today!"

She giggled, "That was all skill, not luck. Frank's been helping me practice!"

Frank? Maybe Ian needed to spend a little more time at home. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing Ian hadn't been spending a lot of time at home.

--

Ian left after dinner unannounced, taking his well-worn trail to the baseball dugouts.

When he approached the field, he noticed a small orange flame illuminating the man's face and a cloud of smoke fog through the chained fence. He smirked.

"Couldn't get enough the first round?" Ian taunted, announcing his presence as he leapt over the fence, an old habit.

"Fuck you, man," Mickey scoffed and blew his smoky breath in Ian's grimacing face.

"Oh I think you plan on it." He stepped closer.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm," Ian plucked the cigarette out of Mickey's fingers. "Can't have you with bad lungs, then what will all the poor defenseless swimmers do without a capable lifeguard?"

"Let 'em drown," Mickey smacked Ian's cigarette out of his hands and closed the distance between them.

"It would crush your groupies to know you care so little," Ian murmured against his neck.

"This is a bad idea," Mickey breathed, tugging at Ian's crumpled shirt.

"The worst," Ian yanked his shirt fully off.

Mickey pulled back, eyeing Ian's now-bare back.

"Mmm, no sunburn. That would've ruined my plans." Mickey smiled smugly.

Oh shit.

Ian swallowed. He was already way too far off the deep end. Luckily for them both, Mickey knew how to swim.

[a-froger-epic]

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

J

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

J

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

[bxllafanficc]

Lady of mischief- Part five

Pairing: Loki x Greek!goddess f!reader

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory against his brother as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

One week later and you found yourself at a sea cliff on Asgard’s largest known bay. You’d brought Henna with you, just like every other day since you got officially banished. Now you couldn’t stand being in the castle and spent almost every waking hour in the city, avoiding the royal family at all cost. Odin even demanded you ate breakfast with them since you were an honored guest but of course you never showed.

Zeus left the day after the banquet and not a word from your parents. They probably didn’t even blink the second he told them their daughter had been locked in with an entire castle of self-centered gods.

“Gods are assholes!” You threw a rock at the size of a basketball into the water and glared at the splash, secretly hoping your father Poseidon would sense it and feel guilt. That was impossible, of course. A Greek god holds no power at the realm of Norse gods.

“My lady, you’re a god.” Henna stayed seated at a comfy rock she found the first day coming to the cliff. She said it was the perfect fit for her to relax her always perfect posture without sloping. You always told her you don’t care if she sloped at non-formal occasions.

“Yes, Henna. Me included.” You were just surprised she didn’t faint because you used such a mundane word, a thing you picked up from the humans on a visit once.

“I can’t stop thinking about what I said to the prince. It was a decade ago, yes, but he still remembers it. Probably thinks about it every time he sees me!” You tried to concentrate on the real reason you were here. To practice. You’d never win anyone’s respect if you couldn’t control your powers. You started with the hardest, the sea; a force that doesn’t want to be tamed.

A pulsing body of water drove up from the sea and flew in front of you. The goal was to force it into a perfect shaped globe, forcing the sea to obey so thoroughly. To your luck the liquid started obeying your wish when you put all your concentration to use. Almost a solid globe. You’d only need a few more seconds to-

“And I’ve already said you should apologize to him. Who knows, you two might hug it out and the next thing you know you wake up naked in his chambers the next day.”

The almost globe burst into millions of droplets and salt burned in your eyes at the shock. Your vision blurred out and you coughed on the water that went down your airways. Heat went to your cheeks and you looked down at your soaked clothes.

“Goodness, Henna! You’ve spent too much time with the Asgardian maids.

You can’t say stuff like that!” Your voice was still faint from the couching as you scolded her. You had to put your focus to use once again to extract the water into fine droplets hanging midair in front of you. The dress was far too pretty to get stained with saltwater. The jewelry looked surreal in the light the dress radiated. Every thread of the fabric seemed to be created of pure shining starlight or liquid diamond. The dress held the beauty of a thousand stars.

No one knew where it appeared from, however. You had your own guess, of course. It laid neatly folded on your work desk one afternoon and if it was the first born prince, he would’ve left some grand note with it as well. The dress just laid there in absence of anyone claiming the rights. An apology for sure.

“Well, you said asshole if I’m not mistaken.” There it was. Henna cleared her throat as a sign to drop the subject but you knew she had a big smirk on her lips. You didn’t want to turn around to confirm it.

“Let’s try again, my lady. Why don’t you try claiming the entire wave coming right there?”

You analyzed the wave and realized what Henna was asking. The size of it was huge and it would surely crash into the cliff side underneath you. Your job was to stop that impact and lift it up to your level.

It was dead silent as you waited for the wave to arrive. With a last big engaging try you felt the power of the sea surging through you. Blocking the impact of the wave lashing itself forwards was similar feeling to getting that same wave right in the face like a wall of bricks. But it was not in vain. The water started to rise to the cliff you stood on and you had to replace your feet for a better stance. Every second the sea threatened to leash out of your hold.

“How mighty.” A soothing voice, yet laced with viciousness, appeared only a hot breath away from your ear and you screamed.

The scent of new books hit you too late and the wave had already been unleashed on the threat behind you. The water had devided around your frame, covering Henna and Loki from head to toe in seawater without showing mercy. The sea held no mercy. Right…

A moment of silence and Loki still had his eyes tightly shut, his entire body frozen in place. He’d been less than an inch from you and you hadn’t noticed. He was still less than an inch from your bodies touching.

He slowly went to wipe one of his eyes clean of water and tasted the layer of salt glancing his lips. You cursed yourself for noticing the shameful way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Did he take the warm weather with him somehow or why was it suddenly growing hot again? And why did he look so different with the drenched clothes hugging his frame, hair slicked back. The dripping from the each strand fell and caressed the heavy outline of his collarbones.

What were you even thinking about. He must’ve done something. A spell of some sort.

“That was unnecessary.” He said it as simple as ever and it made you grit your teeth.

Stop staring at his abs, dammit!, you thought.

It had to be a spell. This couldn’t be real.

“Why are you here?” You weren’t prepared for this. He was supposed to be on a mandatory meeting right now. Did he just right up ditch that?

“You’re no fun… I came with a proposition.”

“Of what sorts?” You eyed him with careful detail, trying to sense a trick of some sort. His gaze lingered on your appearance a little too long from what seemed appropriate. It was a thorough scan up and down and the soul behind the eyes held a strange glow. Of course he was shocked you wore the dress he bought.

“We can teach each other things. You tell me stories and history of the Ancient Greece, your kind’s gracious era and I teach you illusion magic.” He could tell your raised eyebrow was a sense of confusion. “Like, combining water and light into something entirely new. I’ll teach you how to conjure spells-“

“Like the one you’re doing now?” It just slipped out of you and it was too late to ignore. It was now his turn to look confused. The tip of his tongue came out once again to wipe off some salt and you looked away.

“What?” He asked.

“Whaaat?” You repeated along with a dumb giggle you had no idea where it came from. The already tight fabric of Loki’s shirt was riding up from the wet fabric rolling itself up. You really did try not to think about how the pearls of droplets looked like glitter in the sun on his toned stomach, but realized that you already failed. You swallowed a hot lump of dryness that caught in your throat.

So no spell then?

Loki sighed and cracked a tense muscle in his neck, a green light drying him and his clothes from bottom and up in a matter of a second (Henna remained drenched).

“Just say no quickly, there’s no reason to drag it out. I’ll leave you be when you’ve answered.” You bit your bottom lip and actually took a moment to think about it.

“Actually, it doesn’t sound too awful. But don’t you already know everything about my realm there is to know?” That earned a genuine smile from him and you thought about how that was a rare sight.

“You’d be surprised of how understocked Asgard’s library is when it comes to your history, your highness.”

“And stop calling me that! It’s weird. You never did it before so why do it now?”

“I thought you disliked me being informal.”

“Oh do shut up!”

Loki laughed and nodded in agreement. It was just then you realized how you were still inappropriately close to him and how his breath smelled of something sweet. Something brushed past your hand and Loki retracted his own with a flinch and an apologetic look.

“I’m s-“ Loki started but Henna’s loud cough and pointed glare.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I don’t… I don’t find you disgusting.” You watched his expression and expected him to get upset but nothing in his body language seemed tense. If anything, his jaw and shoulders seemingly dropped.

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His chuckle was bright but your gut still twisted in shame.

“No but like, I don’t find your touch disgusting. I never did, actually-“ The amount of truth you entrusted this man with was almost too much. The words were so tense on the way out that you started coughing.

“Then why did you-“

“I don’t know! No more questions though. All I know is that it was far from unpleasant and that’s all you need to know for now.” Loki raised his eyebrow, lips slightly parted. You understood you’d talked before your brain caught up with you again.

“No, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean!” Your hands fiddled on the edges of the dress, only to flatten out the fabric right after. The dry lump just couldn’t seem to go down.

“Oh I sure do… And I agree with you on how we speak to each other. I hate speaking to you formally! It doesn’t sit right for me especially. Then I wouldn’t be able to say the stuff I actually want.”

“Like what?” You regretted asking immediately but couldn’t bring yourself to step back as he leaned in.

Lips brushed against your earlobe and his scent was all up in your world, along with the surreal warmth that always seemed to follow him.

“That dress looks absolutely ravishing on you, (Y/n). I never thought you’d wear it to be honest. We’re you really planning on fleeing the castle on such an occasion and not letting me see any of the beauty?” His voice turned low again and the always present rasp seemed extra present today.

The dry lump finally went down.

“You could’ve gifted it to someone else if you wanted to see the dress on an actual body instead of a hanger.”

A low rumbling came from his chest and erupted in his throat. It took you a moment to realize that the sound was a chuckle.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. Yes, any person could wear it, but I can’t think of anyone else who could wear one of the most beautiful things crafted ever and the most beautiful thing in the room would still remain the person in it.”

You couldn’t move your body. It was frozen in place even though the blood in your veins was literally boiling. You were almost thankful that he was so close. That way he wouldn’t see your red cheeks.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Why would I lie about it? Meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast. I look forward to our time together.”

(A/N: Hi! Don’t hesitate to comment on each chapter what you thought about it/if you liked it since that keeps me motivated to keep writing. Also reblog so my story reaches a wider audience, if you really liked it! Your support is much appreciated. Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series. Have a good day, lovelies!)

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Tag list: @liffydaze

@queen-of-mischief

@girl-obsessed-with-things

@obsessivelysearching

@reverse-iak

@perpetually-exhausted-and-tired

[yeolmae-s]

a chanbaek analysis from a veteran exo-l

before anything else there are a few disclaimers i'd like to make:

i am writing this analysis right now because as a non exo stan i'm not into chanbaek that much anymore. of course i like them to some degree since i'm writing this and all but it's nothing in comparison to the way i felt about them two years ago. so i feel like it's easier to keep a less clouded (?) state of mind being where i'm at right now, mentally, in regards to them. i feel like i can look at things more objectively, which is why i decided to write this and share it with you all.

for all the smart asses out there, this is a ship analysis. yes, i’m reading too much into everything. that’s what an analysis is.

all translation credits goes to @/fyeah-chanyeol

i'm a chanyeol stan. this analysis will, most likely, have more information about him in comparison to baekhyun. this is simply because i consumed more content about him since he's my bias (such as magazine interviews, fancams).

i don't stan exo anymore, but it's not because of anything they did. i liked them for a long time and made a lot of different friends because of this fandom, therefore i experienced a lot of hurt, scandals, fights and didn't deal very well with many things, so i decided to leave. this didn't happen because of exo themselves and neither did it happen because of the fandom itself. it happened because of the relationships i had.

that being said, i haven't been following them closely for the past year and a half, but i still keep up with stuff a bit, although not chanbaek related stuff since i gotta dive in kinda deeper for that lmao. so this analysis is mostly in depth for 2012-2018. if anything that you perceive as significant happened after 2018 i'm more than willing to hear your opinions about it.

so, let's get started!!

MAMA ERA

I have always felt like Chanyeol and Baekhyun's relationship was strange. I started shipping them when they debuted and more specifically because of the 130128 ISAC. When I was younger I didn't see a lot to discuss in their ISAC interactions besides it being cute and shippy, but I've started to look at it differently now.

I think everyone knows how ISAC is known for being basically a stage for fanservice. The whole "dating ground for idols" issue aside, judging from the amount of attention they direct towards the fans who manage to attend the event, idols are clearly instructed to perform fanservice. EXO's first ISAC had to be full of it, obviously, and they did give fans a lot to be happy about, content we still get giddy about to this day, and I'm sure they were instructed to act like this to please us. I don't believe that fanservice equals "false interactions": if two individuals are talking, touching each other, they are interacting, even if it is a carefully planned setting made specifically for pleasing fans. They still get reactions out of one another through these interactions, it is still relevant to the way these people's relationship will develop; even though these acts are done with the intent of pleasing a crowd.

Don't get me wrong, though. I don't think the 2013 ISAC fanservice changed anything in Chanbaek's relationship. In fact, I just want to use it as a way to illustrate something I will explain later on.

To be remembered in an industry you must have an image. You won't be getting anywhere without a carefully constructed visual image. Marilyn Monroe is always used as an example of this: she's someone you can easily make a costume of and people will instantly recognize it as her. She's basically a concept by now: blonde hair, red lips and white hair. These aspects take our mind back to her instantly. Of course, most celebrities don't achieve this type of icon status, but it is still important to cling to a specific concept/image of what you want your celebrity self to be perceived as. Without this, you'll be forgotten as soon as your career ends.

When Chanyeol debuted, he clung to the first trait they gave him: being a happy person, a.k.a "happy virus". If you were not an EXO fan back in 2013 then it's likely you're not even aware of this nickname that was given to him, but it's basically just what it sounds like (lol). He was bright, energetic, had a "teeth rich" smile (another nickname that was given to him back then), was able to give 10/10 laughter reactions to MCs and to his members jokes, was always enthusiastic to interact and smile towards fans. He even introduced himself as "happy virus Chanyeol" in interviews (and later on that changed to "EXO's voice Chanyeol" or "EXO's rapper Chanyeol").

I feel like Chanyeol was very much aware of this "must have" that I mentioned, this need to have an image pasted into yourself and have that image be what people will remember you as. We're all complex and multifaceted individuals, but the general public needs something simple to grab on to, something easy to remember. That happy guy from EXO? I know who he is! I'm sure this is the path Chanyeol chose, back when he debuted: to pick a trait given to you by the public and make it a huge part of your image.

However, that image of him didn't last very long. It certainly became tiring to worry so much about how he was being perceived, to carefully construct something so his career would last, specially when his group had so many scandals and went through a sudden burst of popularity that changed their lives completely. By 2017, Chanyeol already had a change of mind in relation to his career, these changes being mostly due to how he felt about music and what he wanted to do with it.

He recognized himself as having always being impatient, which might be the reason why he clung to a specific image so fast right after debuting:

From Fall Magazine in 2017

"At the moment I just want to enjoy myself with the music as it comes, without feeling as though I have to do something. It isn’t a greed from impatience, I could call it more of a greed to do better."

"When I first debuted I thought I was very optimistic, but as time has passed I think a more reserved side of me is showing."

"I think I've grown in many ways. Maybe it’s because it’s as though I perform everyday, but the stage has become comfortable for me. Shall we say I’ve become more calm and composed? [...] I think I’ve become more mature."

He matured. He's still bright and energetic but he's also more reserved. He managed to keep up the fanservice that his fans adore in a way that is more fitting to his actual personality. It still is an image, but an image that's not as exhausting as his previous one, with its strict demands to act in a certain way all the time. I remember specific interview with MCs demanding him to smile (although jokingly, of course) saying things like "Aren't you EXO's happy virus?", so I'm sure he felt pressured.

This is interesting to think about when put side by side with his relationship with Baekhyun. Back when they debuted, Chanyeol and Baekhyun were close friends that clearly felt comfortable with each other, and it isn't surprising to think that Baekhyun would be Chanyeol's first pick when he thought about doing fanservice with someone. Of course, I can't exactly pinpoint their first fanservice moment since I'm not a walking EXO encyclopedia anymore, but I can say with certainty that both of them felt like it worked as soon as they first tried it with the fans, and that's the reason why they kept doing it. Conveniently, they were both good friends, so all was good.

Until well, it wasn't.

At some point, Chanyeol's interactions with Baekhyun seemed too eager for Baekhyun himself. There are various moments where this is visible, such as this one:

Why are you grabbing my wrist out of nowhere young man........

Or...

That one pic where Jongdae, who was in front of them, looked so damn uncomfortable I can't even bring myself to google it

Of course, they had some over the top fanservice that did work out pretty well, such as this one, both of them imitating Jonghyun's and Taemin's Internet War stage, which seems a little scripted now that I look at it properly, with Baekhyun seemingly expecting Chanyeol to do whatever it is that he did on that day. (Can you imagine this: both of them backstage, watching Jonghyun's and Taemin's performance in silence, and one of them just blurts out "We should do that too!". What the fuck was going on)

By the way, if you have never seen the original Internet War performance, you can watch it here.

This is what they were imitating.

Tumblr won’t let me upload the gifs for this moment for some reason, so here and here.

You can't tell me Baekhyun wasn't expecting it already, lol.

Now, know what this moment reminds me of? ISAC. On their Internet War imitation moment, Baekhyun seemed fine, playful, even, agreeing. During ISAC, however, doing basically the same thing again (this time on a lighter way even; since they weren't, you know. Imitating a strong performance such as Internet War.), he appears reluctant. It's a bit painful to watch.

What changed? The ISAC event happened a few months after the SMTOWN concert where they did the Internet War thing, so what made things become so different?

If this has enough likes I’ll make a second part!

[feelingofcontent]

DNP Rewatch: Dan Reacts to His Old Videos

Date video was published: 01/12/2015 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 256

Dan’s first video of 2015.

0:07 - I actually think he does want to look back and reflect a bit, but he’s  covering that with a joke. 

0:18 - wow, old YouTube. Also, why did young Dan like brown so much? ...the walls of his bedroom, this...it’s not really a common color to like I don’t think. His little paint drawing of himself is adorable though.

0:31 - also, 4668 subscribers after just three videos!

0:40 - obviously he has to start with HELLO INTERNET.

0:42 - immediate pause. One of my favorite bits of DNP trivia is that Phil plays this to annoy/wind up Dan. I love that so much.

1:08 - Dan’s already cringing and past-him hasn’t even said anything yet

1:23 - lol at the comment on the long jump cut. It is really noticeable after being used to today’s editing but not THAT bad.

1:27 - he does look so different!

1:43 - he’s laughing at himself so much! This is great though; you really can see that “thinking” look when he points it out.

2:04 - I love him talking about his original filming set up. “that perfect downwards MySpace angle” ...too real.

2:20 - this acknowledgement in a video of Phil’s contribution to him starting YouTube. Around the end of 2014/here really was movement into a new era of DNP.

2:45 - young Dan having to keep so many secrets 😕

2:52 - great spelling there. Also, this is such a Phil-like thing to focus in on during editing.

3:06 - ahahaha, there’s self-aware Dan

3:14 - no, don’t stop the hand heart! It’s adorable.

3:28 - awww, no Dan.

3:36 - BUTTERFINGERS time. You can tell he’s not as embarrassed by this one even before he starts.

3:40 - I really would love to know how much pre-planning he did for his channel before he actually started making videos. Every time he talks about it, it seems that he had thought about it and planned it out a lot.

3:56 - he’s more proud of this one!

4:05 - laughing at the editing is reasonable, lol

4:10 - awww, actor Dan! I’m glad he seems proud of that too.

4:19 - oh, he skipped over a lot of the center-part of that one. Hand heart again!

4:28 - think that moved it into the cringe category for himself

4:31 - next up is Procrastination. He sounds excited about this one.

4:38 - lol at his face at the “yo” intro 😂

4:52 - this one he still feels is true!

4:55 - his commentary on this shirtless scene...”exposing myself for views”

5:04 - awww, Dan. He should be proud of himself.

5:25 - love this behind-the-scenes story. I would love for DNP to watch more old videos and talk about behind-the-scenes from filming them stories. Like when we found out this Easter baking almost made them late for a flight.

5:45 - this mental image is hysterical

6:01 - “bullshit profound conclusions” I love self-aware Dan so very much.

6:13 - and then the self-aware annotations on top of it 😂

6:24 - and it’s okay for people to do that! Like when Dan did decide to go unlist/private quite a bit of stuff in 2017 (none of the videos mentioned in this one though). Or Phil unlisting LessAmazingPhil stuff now.

6:49 - New Years Resolution Fail. lol at him not wanting to comment on this one. But he has started running in 2015!

7:07 - “this doesn’t need to be in the video” but it is!

7:30 - both DNP are so excited to be able to talk about at least one project at this point (while they continue to keep the book and show a secret)

7:31 - wow, “Phil and I” actually. Phil talked about this in his last video too. They went to see it later in the month, met Baymax, and saw that they were in the credits!

7:42 - “not the stars of a new movie about two gay princes....unfortunately.” 👀

8:08 - lol at the “you have two lines”

I really love this video. It’s nice that Dan took a look back at his start on YouTube as he heads into a sort of “new era” of content with TABINOF/TATINOF. 

A few days after this, DNP hung out with Cat when she was visiting London (1, 2), then did some work behind-the-scenes for the Brit Awards nominations show (1, 2, 3).

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is kind of an introductory/fluff chapter if you will :)

Story summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl, gets pulled into the world of rock and roll on a fateful night at the Marquee Club in London when she experiences the musical phenomenon of the Five Live Yardbirds. She grows up fast, navigating her way through the downfall of The Yardbirds, the legendary skyrocket of Led Zeppelin, era-defining decadence instigated by the ‘60s and ‘70s mindset of free love and personal gratification, and finding the courage to express how she fell deeply in love with one of modern music’s greatest guitarists.

Author’s notes (from Molly of rebel-without-a-zeppelin): Hi everyone! A little disclaimer on my part: this is the first story I’ve ever shared for public consumption. I’ve been toying with this idea in my mind for a very long time now, and I’ve finally mustered up the courage to share it with you all. I hope you like it. I am incredibly honored to collaborate with Syd on this project; this is truly our baby, as it has a very long, detailed, intricate plot, so saddle up for lots (and lots) of drama! This is also a sloooowwwww burn, like really, really slow lol. Over the course of the story, please feel free to send me your theories and comments; I would absolutely love to read them. Please enjoy, and happy reading!

---------

3 May 1965

The sound of a car horn beeped incessantly from the front of Y/N’s house. Dropping her backpack down on her bedroom floor with an annoyed huff, she sprinted down the steps. She never did get enough time to prepare, and it was no different today. With her friend Carolyn in tow, Y/N made a beeline for the front door, the click-clack of her Oxford shoes pounding across the hardwood floor. Y/N’s mum, who nonchalantly strolled out of the laundry room with an armful of freshly washed and folded bath towels, leant against the doorframe.

“Now remember Y/N: no drinking, no drugs, no sex. No going home with strange musician guys, nor are you allowed to go to their hotel,” her mum instructed calmly, knowing she’d receive an eye roll from the girl. Her stern expression at home on her gracefully-aged face, the girls receive the speech they get every time they go out.  “You too, C. Even though I’m not your mother, I still worry about your safety.”

Both Y/N’s mum and dad had a very protective instinct over their eldest daughter, just like their other three children. Even at Y/N’s healthy age of seventeen, she longed for the freedom and trust that her older brother had gained at her age.

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Carolyn replied with a little laugh.

“Mum! This is literally the fourth time I’ve been to a Yardbirds gig, and nothing bad has happened,” Y/N huffed. Her mum raised her eyebrows.

Lillian, Y/N’s little sister, walked into the foyer and surprised Y/N with a big, tight hug around her waist. Y/N gasped at the sudden contact, but chuckled when she realized it was her younger sister, and reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Y/N. Boys are icky. And stupid!” Lillian said in a whiny voice, her face muffled by being buried in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N ruffled her sister’s muss of dirty blonde waves affectionately, rubbing her back to soothe her worries. “I promise, I will come back perfectly fine! I won’t let any boys mess with me, Lil,” Y/N said with a smile, “And when I come back, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

Lillian gazed up at Y/N with a similar smile, her small teeth shining a bright, pearly white and her chin resting on the taller girl’s stomach. “Okay,” she said, content, before releasing from Y/N with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Where’s Charlie?” Y/N asked, hoping she could say goodbye to her younger brother before she left.

“I think he’s riding around the neighborhood on his bike with his friends,” Y/N’s mum replied with a shrug. Y/N felt a little disappointed, but she figured she’d talk to him tomorrow at breakfast about her night out.

Thomas, Y/N’s older brother, continued to honk the horn rather obnoxiously, growing quite impatient. It’s a wonder the neighbors weren’t at arms, knocking on their door. He was forced by his parents to be Y/N and Carolyn’s chauffeur to the Marquee Club in London.

“We have to go, or else Tommy will have my head,” Y/N said as she started to open the front door.

“Wait!” her mum said, sloppily placing the towels down on a nearby counter to dash to the door and give Y/N a hug and a kiss on the head goodbye. Finally pulling away her weathered hands flew to Y/N’s shoulders, and gripping them firmly, she continued, “Be good. Love you.”

“I know, I will. Love you too,” Y/N smiled, before dashing down the steps and to the passenger seat of the car. Carolyn was in quick pursuit, following her to the car and taking a seat in the back.

“It’s about time,” Tommy huffed impatiently, tapping his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel as he put the transmission into drive.

“Sorry. Mum was giving me and C a safety brief,” Y/N replied apologetically.

“Why are you two still in school uniforms?” he snorted, shifting to look over at the girls; their studious appearance of white oxford shirts, sweater vests, plaid kilts, white knee socks, and smart oxford shoes would be quite out of place among the audience at the show.

“No time to change, just like usual,” she replied, turning on the radio, soft melodies pouring out at a low volume.

The three drove in silence, except for the sound of the radio playing, until Carolyn had dozed off on the somewhat lengthy car ride. Occasional small talk between Y/N and her brother permeated the quiet that fell over the group, but it picked up when they were only a few blocks away from the venue.

“You gotta stay safe in there, Y/N,” Tommy said, looking straight ahead. His teeth clamped down sharply on his bottom lip: a dead giveaway to the nerves he must have been feeling.

“I know, Dad,” Y/N joked, punching him lightly across the shoulder. Her bright smile wavered and fell when she saw his grim expression.

“I’m serious, you know. I don’t want my sister being pestered by some wankers in a blues band.”

Y/N smirked at her brother’s sudden defensive behavior. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo. You should’ve seen the first Yardbirds gig we went to. Utter chaos...” The tilt of her lips signalled that she was joking, and Tommy huffed out a laugh.

Carolyn, stretching with a grunt, had miraculously woken up just as Tommy pulled up to the front door of the Marquee. Glancing at the venue with awe dancing in their eyes, Y/N and Carolyn disembarked from the car, walking closer with the façade of calmness and competency.

“I’ll be back later to pick you girls up. Have fun, but not too much fun,” Tommy rolled his window down as he said this, winking playfully.

Y/N waved to her brother as Carolyn thanked him graciously for the ride. Arms linked, Y/N and Carolyn entered the famous Marquee. Nervousness and anticipation began to pool Y/N’s stomach as she was greeted by the decadent atmosphere of the club: the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat hung in the air as her eyes were flashed by many people mingling about, dressed in typical mod clothing. Y/N and her friend looked at each other, feeling like aliens in their intelligent dress. They tactfully made their way through the crowd as they found their way to their usual spot, a small leather-upholstered booth set against the wall near the stage.

“Today might be the day, Y/N,” Carolyn said as they settled into their seats.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt, “the idea of that is both scary and exciting to me at the same time. We’ll just roll with the punches, I guess.”

“Which Yardbird do you have your eye on?”

Y/N smirked as she thought for a moment. “Hmm...I’m not sure. I guess they’re all pretty cute in their own way. What about you?”

“Yes, I agree. But I must admit, I do have a very soft spot for Chris Dreja.”

“I’ll pray for ya, C,” Y/N chuckled.

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, backstage, five live Yardbirds were performing some pre-show rituals in the hopes of easing the preliminary anxiousness. Jeff, Keith, and Jim were peeking out the little sliver of curtain that allowed them to see their gathering audience.

“Look! It’s those two schoolgirls again!” Jeff pointed to the two teenage girls in school uniforms, chatting in their booth waiting for the show to begin. They were huddled together in conversation, legs daintily crossed as their faint giggles floated over to them. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the sound, though he recovered quickly, not wanting his bandmates to get any ideas.

“What’s wrong with that? They must like us,” Keith replied.

“I think they’re both really pretty, especially the one with the Y/H/C hair,” Jim pointed out, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah, maybe we should invite them backstage after the show… have a nice little chat,” Jeff winked at the singer and the drummer cheekily.

After taking a final glance at the two conversing girls, the three returned to the backstage area where Paul and Chris were. Jeff immediately enlisted Giorgio, their manager, to complete the agreed-upon mission. Jeff loosely draped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulder before bestowing the request as politely as possible. Not trying to be suspiciously polite, of course, because everyone in the band and its entourage were firsthand witnesses of Jeff’s temper and stubbornness. Yikes.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Jeff said to Giorgio with a mischievous smile.

Giorgio rolled his eyes, knowing this “favor” would have to do with scouting girls from the audience. “What d’ya need, Jeff?” he sighed exhaustedly.

“Don’t complain, please,” Jeff deadpanned. “There are two pretty birds in the audience, wearing their school uniforms. They’ve been coming to our shows for a little bit now, and they seem nice—”

“You want me to bring them backstage after the show?” Giorgio interrupted, somehow telepathically knowing, by routine, what the guitarist’s request would be.

“You finish that sentence like you know what I’m about to say.”

“That’s because I do, Mr. Beck,” Giorgio retorted sarcastically, “this happens a lot more often than you think it does.”

“Whatever,” Jeff grumbled moodily, knowing he was right, before walking back to the group of musicians in preparation.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Carolyn continued to gossip happily about what was happening at school, not a care in the world. They felt the stares of older men in the club, who silently disapproved of their knee socks being scrunched by their ankles, because that wasn’t the “proper” thing to do. But they didn’t care. Who are they to judge?

Every teacher scolded girls at school who did the same thing, because they didn’t want their long legs to be “tempting” or “distracting” any boys. A bloody nuisance, is what it is.

The girls were snapped from their thoughts by the sound of a heavy guitar tone being blasted through the speakers in an opening riff. Their eyes were stapled, almost transfixed to the stage as they took in the five sharply-dressed men in front of them, singing their songs and playing their instruments.

As much as Carolyn enjoyed The Yardbirds and music in general, Y/N had a rather deep connection to it, odd enough as it was. She could play the piano fairly well, so she understood where these musicians were coming from cognitively and creatively. From what she’d read in magazines about current popular musicians, like The Yardbirds for example, she liked the same music they did. Y/N understood dynamics, tempo, tone, key, and musical notation, just like they did. Perhaps she’d be able to get into an intelligent musical conversation with at least one of them one day.

Two straight hours of hits, obscure songs, and blues covers from The Yardbirds’ catalogue were played for the Marquee Club patrons, hypnotizing its drunk and high onlookers with polished musicality and instrumentation.

As the final song concluded, both Y/N and Carolyn, unbeknownst to the other, felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that fell like a pit in their stomachs. They wouldn’t have the chance to meet the band. No one from the entity had approached them yet, and momentarily the five live Yardbirds would be exiting the stage for the night.

After they said their goodbyes and thanks to the crowd, they disappeared behind the curtain. The main lights of the club brightened to signal that the show was over, as the voices of all the patrons raised in rave of the spectacular show they had just witnessed.

Discouraged, but still in light spirits at what they had just seen, Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seat and headed for the front door. Y/N expected her brother to be waiting in front; it was late, so might as well not make him wait longer than he needs to.

Y/N and Carolyn were merely a few feet from the door when Y/N felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see a man with a dark beard already baring a jovial tight-lipped grin at her, the girl was quite surprised, maybe a little weirded out, but she reciprocated the gesture as genuinely as she could.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” Y/N greeted, discreetly nudging Carolyn to help her out and become a united front with her in front of this stranger.

“Good evening ladies, I was sent by Mr. Jeff Beck to offer you an invitation backstage to hang out with the band.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and her face broke out into an obvious mad blush, much to her dismay. She was internally screaming. The Jeff Beck had spotted them in the crowd?! This had to be a dream.  Wait, this could be a complete drunken buffoon trying to trick them. Y/N remembered what her mother had said, and took the proper precautionary measure.

Y/N smiled in the most composed way she could. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation! Could I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Giorgio Gomelsky, manager of The Yardbirds,” he replied, in a seemingly proud manner.

Okay, this was real. Y/N knew that Giorgio was definitely the manager’s name. She turned to Carolyn, who looked just as excited as she was.

“What are your names, dears?” Giorgio asked, pulling them out of their daze of what seemed like a fake reality.

“I’m Carolyn, and this is my friend Y/N,” Carolyn piped up, excited that she finally got an opportunity to speak to someone close to The Yardbirds.

She internally agreed to let Y/N handle the “diplomacy” part of the introduction, knowing that she was best at that. Carolyn knew her friend was quite shy, so she knew to step in when Y/N was starting to feel anxious. She noticed Y/N starting to fiddle with her fingers while talking to Giorgio in the most collected way she could muster; as excited as Y/N was, Carolyn knew she was growing very nervous.

“Well, it is certainly lovely to meet you both. So, what do you say? Would you like to meet the lads?”

After one final glance of excited mutual agreement, Carolyn replied, “Yes, we’d love to.”

Giorgio led the pair of girls back the way they came, through a sea of inebriated people, but this time through the backstage door. Y/N made an appoint to walk behind Carolyn, in an attempt to collect and relax herself. She was starting to sweat a little, her stomach doing flips and her hands becoming cold and clammy.

~~~~~~~~

“Our guests should be arriving any minute now,” Jeff said as he was placing his guitar back in its case.

Chris was standing and chatting with Paul in a corner when he turned around in surprise at the news. “Guests? What guests?”

“We had Giorgio invite two girls from the audience to come back here,” Jim replied, walking over to sit down in a metal folding chair.

“And why weren't we made aware of this?” Paul asked, as he walked to get another metal folding chair to place near Jim.

“It was their idea,” Keith replied, pointing two fingers between Jeff and Jim. Paul and Chris just nodded in recognition.

“I didn’t hear you disagree, Relf,” Jeff clapped back. He then told Chris and Keith to get some chairs for themselves and the two girls that would be walking through the door at any second.

Before Keith could respond, a couple knocks resounded in the room, signalling the arrival of the guests. Jacket lapels and ties were quickly straightened, even though each person was still glazed with quickly-drying sweat from the show they had just played, before the room fell unnaturally quiet as Giorgio opened the rather squeaky door.

The initial tension in the room that lasted a split second could be cut with a knife. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat already running down her back, as five pairs of eyes landed on her, Carolyn, and Giorgio, warm smiles following suit.

She felt like internally combusting.

“Boys, this is Y/N,” Giorgio broke the momentary silence by introducing her, “and Carolyn.” Y/N smiled shyly and sent them a little wave, a dusty shade of pink seeping its way to her cheeks. Carolyn’s greeting was much more exuberant than Y/N’s, as she took the initiative to go over and shake all of their hands amiably. Y/N realized she had to follow her friend in order to make a good first impression.

Knowing that the boys wanted to spend time with the girls without being chaperoned, Giorgio left the room to attend to other business affairs.

Upon first glance, Y/N was the most beautiful girl that four of the five Yardbirds had ever seen. Perfect features, long legs, a calm, gentle, sweet demeanor… Just an absolutely angelic young woman; a vision.

Jeff had obviously recognized her beauty, from seeing her at multiple shows, but he thought she was way out of his league. He decided to focus on getting her to laugh and relax around them, because he noticed just how nervous she looked. She was turning pale right in front of his very eyes! Paul and Chris began to internally question themselves, how have I not seen this girl before? She is so gorgeous! Jim had been glancing at her sporadically throughout the show, soaking up her faraway presence. He noticed how her eyes glistened in childlike wonder as she watched them do what they did best: perform the Chicago blues.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” Keith replied enthusiastically. “I’m Keith,” he alluded to himself, then pointing to the other members of the group while giving their names, “and this is Chris, Paul, Jeff, and Jim.”

“I mean, we know who you guys are, but it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Carolyn replied. Y/N nodded in agreement.

“Come and sit down! Make yourselves comfortable. We don’t bite,” Jeff joked, motioning to the open chairs. The girls smiled and accepted his invitation, Y/N taking a seat between Jeff Beck and Jim McCarty, while Carolyn took a seat between Keith Relf and Chris Dreja. The chairs were arranged in a circular formation, so each person could talk to the other with ease.

“Tell us about yourselves!” Paul initiated, “I think Y/N should go first though, because you haven’t said too much yet,” he laughed at the last part. Y/N giggled (a little too idiotically for her own liking), but she felt herself become starstruck at how her name sounded coming from one of their voices.

Y/N clenched her cold, clammy hands in her lap as a method to ease her anxiety before starting with a smile. “Well, I’m from Saint Albans. This is our fourth time, I believe, coming to see a Yardbirds gig. Carolyn and I came to see you with Eric Clapton once, and then this is the third time with Jeff.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I guess I see where your favor lies in terms of guitarists,” Jeff responded playfully.

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N laughed, “I will admit that I love what you’ve done with the body of work. Clapton was a blues purist, which I respect, and he’s great, but I think your playing is much more interesting and unorthodox.”

Paul, Jim, and Jeff all raised their eyebrows at Y/N’s comment. They were impressed with how she understood their musicality.

“Are you a musician?” Jim asked Y/N.

“Not in your sense of the word,” Y/N chuckled, “But I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, so I understand music. Probably more than your average female audience member,” she added with a grin.

“That’s so cool! Are you classically trained, or is it just a hobby?”

“Classically trained,” Y/N admitted to Jim shyly.

“Oh wow, so you’re the real deal,” Jeff added.

“I’m not a professional, so I’d say no,” Y/N laughed.

“You probably know more about music than all five of us combined!” Paul said.

“Well, I know that you know much more about the blues than me!” Y/N answered playfully.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Paul smiled at Y/N. She cursed herself in her mind for feeling weak at Paul’s simple sentiment, but tried to keep her composure as best she could.

The four of them, especially Jeff and Y/N, began to bond over their love for different musicians. Y/N expressed her love for Chet Atkins and his fingerpicking style, Scotty Moore’s lively soloing style, and Robert Johnson’s slide technique and open tunings, rendering the three men shocked at her knowledge on the subject. Y/N loved how easily Jeff could make her laugh, and how interested Paul and Jim were at whatever she had to say, significant or insignificant. Chris Dreja, who was in a little group with Keith and Carolyn, occasionally spaced out of his conversation to hear what Y/N had to say.

They bonded for about an hour and a half about everything and nothing, until Y/N abruptly realized that Tommy was probably waiting for a while outside for her and her friend. She apologized to the band profusely for such a sudden departure as she and Carolyn walked towards the door.

“Say you’ll come visit us again after the show?” Jeff called to Y/N as she turned towards him in the doorframe.

“Absolutely,” she smiled brightly.

---------

Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @y0uth--anasia @reincarnated70sbaby

[blanknamed]

trial and error pt. 2 [senku x reader]

NOT ME FORGETTING TO POST CHAPTER TWO LMAOOO SORRY HERE IT IS THO

SHIPPING: SENKU X READER

PREMISE: [Name] had always known Senku was a little bit of an oddball but that’s what made him so interesting to her as children. Now in the Stone World, he’s only even more interesting what with his claims about shooting up to a million years worth of technology back, but some things never change with him; specifically on the concept of love. As a way to get him to think about it as something other than “disgusting feelings” she proposes for him to think of it differently, though it seems to be going in a direction she never expected.

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

{–*–}

CHAPTER TWO: CONTEMPLATION

How did I get myself into this situation? [Name] asked herself desperately, watching Ruri shuffle around her hut, staring at the dresses given by the village women lined up neatly on the floor. She held up a blue dress [Name]’s way, who only stared at the shortened skirt. Just the look alone was enough for Ruri to understand that she didn’t like it, causing her to giggle at the reaction.

“You don’t seem to be happy about this even though you were the one who gave Senku the idea.” Ruri stated as she kneeled behind her to start braiding [Name]’s unruly hair.

“Just because I gave him the idea doesn’t mean I wanted to be his little test subject.” [Name] groaned. An unreadable look passed Ruri as she watched the younger girl’s growing discomfort. If she was even more redder, she would’ve matched what she had looked like a few hours ago.

“Huh?” [Name] asked as she stared at Senku, who only looked at her pointedly. Quickly, blood rushed on every part of her face as she started stutter. “Wha--I--you did not just say what I thought I heard you say.”

“What part did you not understand?” Senku asked dismissively, talking as if he hadn’t just asked out his childhood friend on a date. “I might as well take you on one to get good feedback. No one else gives any as specifc as you.”

Feedback.

Feedback.

The word kept repeating in [Name]’s head, almost making her dizzy. What did she expect, though? She told him, a scientist, to treat it like an experiment. Test a hypothesis. She was pretty sure he only wanted to take her in particular because (1) he wanted good feedback, like he had said, and (2) if there was even a slight chance he was going to take another girl on a date, Senku was going to force [Name] to come along to examine and analyze. Which was, by common sense, not really going to be a date.

“Oi, you don’t say that to a girl, especially if you just asked her out.” Chrome called out, punching Senku on the shoulder. “Not to mention isn’t that a breach in--what was it? Ethnics? Right?”

“Ethics.” Gen corrected before nodding in confirmation, looking at the two friends. “There’s a lot of things that could go wrong because you’re not following the right rules here, Senku-chan. Wouldn’t it be better to just pair up two different villagers who are single and see how romance can be attainable from there?”

[Name] could see slight movements from her side, where a few of the younger villagers turned a hue of pink as they glanced at one another, probably thinking about the prospect of being one of Senku’s experiements. Seeing that the benefits outweighing the negative prospects (not getting injured in any way possible, no one being able to see them except possibly Senku, and the prospects of a lover), it looked like a few of them were already making the decision to be part of it.

But this was Senku. He wasn’t about to play matchmaker if he himself couldn’t even find a reason to think that love wasn’t some illogical construct to fill up human loneliness. She wasn’t the only who was thinking that, though, as Kohaku spoke up.

“But this is about Senku thinking he can’t have those types of feelings so its gonna have to be him.” She replied blandly. “[Name] was probably chosen because he wants her to be there to watch him for any signs, regardless if its here being taken on a date or not.”

“That and she proposed the idea so she’s going to do it.” Senku piped up, sending [Name] a teasing grin.

[Name], burning even redder, stuttered some more. “You-You’ve got to be kidding me Senku. This must be some type of joke. I only said that to make conversation.”

“It was an interesting conversation and a weird statement that I wanna experiment on. Nothing less expected from you, though, [Name].” Senku replied as he kept slurping at the last of his ramen. “Besides its not like you have anything to do tonight.”

“Yeah, but--wait, tonight? Don’t you have get things in order--start out a claim, set up the experiment?” [Name] rambled, now even more confused. 

Kohaku met Chrome’s eyes with a deadpanned expression. Leave it to [Name] to treating it like an actual experiment and finding the faults. Though, Senku wasn’t usually one to leave out so many variables that could ruin the experiment.

“These are special cicumstances; have you ever participated in your own experiments? Adjustments will be made, yeah, but we might as well start it today and talk about it during the date. Just meet me by the bridge tonight. We’ll go to the field, go on a date, and then you can report to me anything you saw. Sound good? Cool. Now lets get back to work.” Senku said, standing up dusting off his pants, leaving a bewildered [Name] and possibly most of the village in his wake.

If it hadn’t been for a few of the village women, [Name] wouldn’t have been pulled out of her daze and internal panic. She’s had crushes on boys, yeah, but going on a date? Not really. She was too busy with school and helping her mother out at the store. There were a few times where she had almost gone on a one, but something always made her call in for a raincheck and then never proceeding afterwards.

But here she was 3,700 years later, sitting in a priestess’s hut, getting ready to go on a date with the world’s biggest asshole.

Kohaku had been the one to think about bringing the younger girl up to Ruri, explaining what had went down. Surprisingly, the village priestess was the least bit shocked about the events, deciding to (calmly) agree anyways to help relieve some of the immense stress [Name] was feeling. At the mention of Ruri helping created some domino effect with the village women, all offering to help [Name] get ready, much to her dismay.

“Its not like Senku’s gonna make the effort to dress nicely. I swear he wouldn’t have showered if I hadn’t made Chrome and Kinro drag him to the river a few days ago! Not to mention he’s only doing this to prove a point; that’s why he’s rushing it so quickly. So I really don’t think all of you should be treating this as anything special.” [Name] tried to reason as she watched the women pull up rope-like jewelry up to her body.

Kohaku scoffed. “Its not like boys know how to take care of themselves in the first place. I’m pretty sure one of the men in the village has his head screwed on properly or most likely Gen is gonna make him dress up just a little bit. Not to mention if this is an experiment then he’s most likely not trying to botch it to just prove a point.”

“Then why was he being so… So…” [Name] trailed off, not quite putting a word on it.

“Adamant?” Ruby offered as she held up a pretty necklace with a jewel attached to it.

“Excited?” Garnet said next as she pushed her chin up to spread something on her mouth. Lipstick? [Name] inquired. I guess the need for makeup never changes after so many years.

“Not really excited but--hold on, didn’t you three want to go on a date with Senku? I thought you’d be mad or something.” [Name] stated, clearly remembering the usual formula of girl’s behaviors during the modern era. It usually involved in some type of “she said he said” situation, where rumors ensued. At the very least, the three sisters should have been upset with her for Senku’s selection in dates.

Sapphire shrugged as she plucked at [Name]’s baggy dress. “We were for a few hours, but we might as well help since you look like you don’t know the first thing about going on a date.”

“Wha--Hey!” [Name] retorted, offended before backtracking. I mean, it’s not like they’re wrong.

“Maybe he actually likes you.” Kohaku suggested as she sat across from [Name]. Silence filled the room as all the girls stared at them. A moment passed between the two girls as they looked at one another until [Name] bursted out laughing, almost smearing her cheek against the lipstick hovering in front of her.

“Not possible. I’m pretty sure he sees me more of a germ than a person. Not to mention he’s never really found the girls in his own grade--the ones older than me--attractive so what’s the likely chance he sees me that way?” She asked when she stopped. She recalled a rumor swirling around the school about Senku rejecting over 10 girls during Valentine’s Day, all of them varying in popularity and looks. 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, [Name]-san.” Ruri commented as she held another dress up to her, this one looking a little more decent. “You’re easily one of the prettiest girls here.”

“Don’t make me laugh again…” [Name] mumbled to herself, flinching when she felt Sapphire poke at her waist once again. “Oi, why are are you poking me?”

“I’m trying to see what your shape is like so we can let you try on one of the dresses.” Sapphire replied, pouting. “Why do you have to wear such baggy clothes?”

“Practicality.” Was the only response [Name] gave as she tried to keep still when makeup was being put on her.

“That’s a lame excuse. I bet you’re just hiding the fact you have small boobs.”

“My boobs have nothing to do with my clothes. Besides, small boobs or not, it shouldn’t matter what people think about them--!” [Name] yelled out, embarrassed, as a dress was thrown onto her lap.

It was blue, like most of the villager’s clothing, but it seemed more simple and less body-hugging like most of the clothes. It flowed down near the bust, where it had folded nicely around it to adjust to anyone wearing it. The sleeves were puffy and ended where her biceps began, looking kind of like neatly made muffins. Instead of a rope, a thin piece of cloth of the same color was tied to the front, giving a nice, simple finish for the clothing.

If Mom was still alive, she’d probably be looking at how well done this dress was with just a simple loom and needle. [Name] thought as she marveled at the tiny needlework near the waist, creating tiny little flowers near the top. Looking up, she met Ruri’s gentle smile. “That should fit you since one of the village women is identical to your body shape. Now, lets get you dressed; you have to meet up with Senku soon.”

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