#have that experience.... so many moments of the show that just felt like pure celebration of the sheer fact that this was happening | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Note

Hey! I read your Mrs. Strange fic (which was amazing) and was wondering if you could write one for Tony? Where the reader and Tony are getting married and hes absolutely obsessed with y/n. Love your writing!

Hey, love! First of all, thank you so much for reading and enjoying my silly writing! <3 And of course I can write something for Tony. He is actually pretty front and center on my list of characters :3

***

"ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ." | ᴛ. ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ

GIF not mine!

Tony Stark x Navy Pilot!Reader

summary: It's Tony's and YN's wedding day, and Tony can't stop himself from showing everyone that he had been right all along.

word count: 2k

warnings: nothing really, this is just pure and wholesome fluff, some loving bickering, mentioning of pregnancy because I can't help myself, this man deserves anything and everything, not entirely proofread

author's note: This will be a short one, I hope no one is mad about this. I just want to get back into writing, and I think that's the best way to achieve it :3 I still hope you like what I came up with even though I'm not too pleased with it :x Btw: We are ignoring the Coulson-thing. I wanted to have him here, so we have Coulson here. Deal with it.

***

Smiling, YN watched the guests as they enjoyed themselves in the lavishly decorated venue and took a deep inhale of the flower-scented air wafting around her and everyone else. Tony had been adamant in his endeavors of turning every single fantasy and image fragment floating through her head into reality, so everywhere they had gone today, she had been surrounded by the prettiest of flowers and plants—from their apartment in the compound where she had gotten ready with her bridesmaids and hired stylists, to the grand venue they had held their wedding ceremony in and now celebrated the day. A church wasn't even a fleeting thought because neither YN nor Tony believed in a higher being, despite the many impossible situations they had faced and overcome in the past many years. She actually didn't want to think about the many near-death experiences they both had walked past, nor felt YN the need to think about the expenses made for today's arrangement.

They had enough money, yes, but that had never meant for her to spend it as heavily and indulgently as Tony loved to do.

The thought of her newly turned husband dancing through her mind made the commander smile as brightly as the sun outside. With the same smile resting unmoving on her lips, YN started to thank each and every one she saw for coming and wished them a pleasant afternoon while simultaneously heading toward the perfectly stocked bar. Ever since the beautiful ceremony, which had not only moved her to tears but also a certain man who was still in his denying phase, the woman had felt the dryness in her mouth increasing every passing moment, urging her to tend to her needs which had gotten worse rather quickly over the last few weeks.

She would be lying if she said it didn't scare the living daylights out of her.

"Anything non-alcoholic and a glass of water, Frankie, please," YN asked one of the many bartenders Tony had personally handpicked through hours of going through every single resume the wedding planner had to send straight to him. Both women still didn't understand the meaning of it all, but YN soon had stopped questioning her husband's strange behavior towards everything related to the wedding. Softly shaking her head, the bride mumbled a small Thanks and grabbed for the water to at least inhale half of it before she dried out on the spot. It was strange what her body was willing to do and which changes it went through in order to create a welcoming environment for something she had never considered possible for herself.

"Mrs. Stark! Mrs Stark!"

The all too well-known excited voice of non-other than Peter Parker ripped her mind from its spiraling nature when it came to that topic and back into reality where the brunet young man arrived at her spot at the bar, a bright grin on his handsome features and shining eyes—just as usual. Other than Tony, YN never had hesitated to show him affection in any way possible, considering Peter as something close to a son, and she believed he was thankful for that, even though the woman knew that his aunt was perfectly capable of handling those things herself. But gladly, May and she agreed a long time ago that Peter could use more of that loving environment, so YN had made it her duty to do exactly that.

Smiling, the bride softly brushed over his shoulders in order to straighten the black suit he wore—handpicked by Tony, of course—and straightened the tie around his neck. "Is everything alright?" Being part of the superhero business for longer than YN would like to admit, one could never know, especially not when one married Iron Man himself. But Peter only grinned and nodded too fast for her eyes and dizzy head. "Yeah, totally! Mr. Stark sent me here to remind you to drink and stay hydrated, but you obviously already did that, so here are some snacks I brought from the buffet and which are really, really good, oh, and I also found some chocolate at the dessert table, and—..." Softly laughing, YN stopped the flood of words escaping his mouth by taking the plate filled with an assortment of deliciously looking canapés from his hands and gently patting his cheek. "Thank you, Peter. That's incredibly kind and attentive, but you should go and look for MJ. I think I saw her at one of the balconies."

And with that, YN pushed the shy-turning boy in the right direction and nudged him forward. She was nothing but a matchmaker—at least, she tried her best.

But the moment of quietness didn't stay long because suddenly, someone came up to her and cleared their throat to earn her attention. With a canapé in hand, YN turned and smiled widely at the familiar sight of Phil Coulson, but without his accompanying ID dangling at his suit jacket. "Phil! I'm so glad you could make it." Indeed, she was because, during all her time working with SHIELD and even during the aftermath of what had happened in D.C., Phil Coulson had become a somewhat friend to her, which Tony always had disliked, of course. The agent smiled at her and clumsily patted her lace-covered shoulder. "I couldn't miss this, Commander Stark."

A grin tucked at the corner of her mouth at the sound of her title combined with her newly acquired last name, and maybe YN had to admit that it sounded much better than she ever could've imagined. And as if he knew her thoughts, the man of the hour walked over to them and let his arm slowly sneak around her waist to pull her into his warm, inviting side. A loving, lingering kiss to her cheek followed before Tony shook hands with Coulson. "What do you think, Phil?"—YN couldn't help it and rolled her eyes—"The name fits her perfectly, doesn't it?" One of her hands immediately rose to hit Tony against his chest while her husband only laughed, and Coulson slowly shook his head with an amused expression on his face. "I will leave you two to discuss the matter. Tony, Commander. Congratulations."

As soon as her favorite agent had left them to themselves, YN started to chew on the snacks and cocked a brow at Tony. He, on the other hand, only was able to stare down at her, that one particular smile specially reserved for her very person spreading over his handsome features. His arm tightened its hold around her waist while his other hand started to brush over her arm upward, reaching her shoulder and continuing to her neck, so his thumb could caress her cheek. "But, tell me, wife." The man paused for a moment to grin at YN's chuckle. "Do you still think the change of names was such a disaster?" Cocking her head from one side to the other, YN observed Tony's face before shrugging. "I mean, I don't know yet. Barely anyone has called me by it so far. Maybe you should give it a try, and maybe I could be convinced to start thinking it's not too bad after all," she teased him and giggled at the feeling of his lips pressing kisses to hers. He only stopped to whisper soft versions of "Mrs. Stark" against them, grinning victoriously at the sound of her pleased humming and into the kiss she gave him in return. "Watch out, or you might have to call me Mrs. Stark for the rest of our lives."

Now it was Tony's turn to grin his cheeky, teasing grin and nudged YN's chin up, so he could look her directly into her eyes. "I told you it would suit you, Mrs. Stark. And think of the non-existing trouble we'll have when we start thinking about names. We won't have to find one that suits them both." Almost immediately, she could feel the tears—happy ones—welling up in her eyes, and taking a deep breath, YN leaned her cheek into the warm, comforting palm of his hand. She still couldn't believe how her life had turned for the better, and now, they would have everything they ever wanted, everything they had ever talked about when lying in their dark bedroom, watching the slow sunrise through the grand windows when sleep just wouldn't take hold of them. "And," Tony continued with a soft smile as soon as he saw the tears trying to spill out of his wife's eyes, "She needs the Stark name. We can't have her inherit every single penny without wearing the name that's printed on everything she'll own. Imagine the troubles and unnecessary stress she would have to face in that case because she would need to change every single goddamn letterhead. I don't want that for her."

YN still sniffled a bit, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears from falling, and instead concentrated on the growing question mark in her mind. "She?" The woman asked in a hushed whisper, not daring to take a breath, not wanting to risk scaring Tony off. But he only nodded, barely visible, and let his hand wander to her lower abdomen, where a tiny bump had already made its presence known and which would soon be all over the press. "It's not some weird fatherly feeling, I promise. There's only that one image in my head I can't forget. It's stuck like a damned idea, keeping me up all night."

He removed his hand from the position he had learned to love ever since YN had told him her suspicion to wrap his wife in a tight embrace. "So, you want a girl?" Her question pushed him to kiss her again. "I'm sure I wouldn't mess her up too badly." Her hands on his face and neck let him take a deep breath and ground himself. "You won't mess them up, Tony. I know you won't let that happen because you are who you are. You are the best man I ever had the pleasure to meet—well, not from the beginning..." His grumbling only made her laugh. "That's the way to ruin a compliment, love," the Stark returned but let her continue. "No one is born perfect, husband. We both had to develop and grow on this path we decided to walk together, but we did, and now I can proudly say that I married the best man on earth and that he will be such a wonderful father. Because you will be a wonderful father, Tony. They won't miss a thing in their life because you'd be there to fulfill their every wish and hope, even if it meant for you burning parts of the world down."

He could feel his hands shaking as he cupped his wife's face tenderly, seeing the ring she put there only hours ago almost gleaming in the corner of his vision, and knew he finally arrived at the spot he always was meant to be. Here, with this angel of a woman, making him the happiest and proudest man on earth, and letting him feel things he never had dared to hope for. "You will kick my ass if you ever think I mess her up." YN nodded at that and Tony bent down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "And that's why I'm the luckiest man on earth." Because with her, he wouldn't repeat the mistakes his father made all those years ago.

***

Oh gosh, I'm so sorry for this horrible dump of words. The idea in my head was so much better T.T The next Tony piece will hopefully be better. As usual: Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated!

Taglist: @hopefulinlove @seasonofthenerd @onecrazydirectioner @meeksmusic83 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lastwandastan

#tony stark x reader #tony stark xfem!reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x wife!reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fic #tony stark fanfic #tony stark fluff #tony stark

304 notes · View notes

peachymess · 1 year

Text

Listen, at what point do we actually have a legitimate conversation about whether or not to cut the jury? I feel like in terms of ESC, the jury has become one of those outdated aspects that used to have a purpose before the whole of the contest evolved. Like a tailbone or an appendix on a human body.

The way I see it, ESC *used* to be a competition mainly (if not solely) about who could tailor the best song - in terms of musical theory, vocals, etc. Hence why ESC used to be so much stiffer, hence why there was little to no flourish around the performance of the song; it was only about presenting a work and its craftsmanship - to put it up for professional evaluation. I’m actually so old I remember it used to be a topic of contention whether extra effects like lighting, dancing, costumes and video backgrounds was “cheating” - because these things could falsely influence the viewers’ feelings on the musical piece (fun costumes = more entertaining = better song… question mark). In that world, yes, a professional jury was needed to cut through if the public (of amateurs) couldn’t make out the signs of quality on their own. In this world, it makes sense that the public only could speak on what… simply seemed appealing - because that’s only ONE aspect of what’s important for a song to be considered quality, professionally. Art-wise.

… but is ESC only about what song’s objectively better tailored anymore? Is it only about skill and quality at this point? If Europe as a people thought so, why would so many of us be sending easy-to-remember catchy tunes with bleating instruments and funny texts - or dancers with OK voices - when that’s obviously more about fun than skill? And why would we disagree so strongly with the judges on many songs, if we were looking for the same thing anymore? Of course, there’s got to be a certain level of good execution… but is this about “art” anymore? Or is it about what speaks to the people, regardless of whether it’s professionally approved or not? ESC has become something else entirely than what it used to be - a party, a celebration, a night for Europe to come together and have fun and share in their excitement for musical stage performance. We’re not experts on music. We’re music lovers. And I think that’s why the jury’s say doesn’t sit right with many of us anymore. Because every ESC, the people’s hearts tell them what excited them the most - be it show, personality, x-factor, fun, skill, experience in the moment, you name it - and then the jury comes in and undermines what’s essentially this legitimate experience of ours - and it just doesn’t feel right because it’s not what we felt. Take tonight. Of course, many were probably blown away by Loreen’s effortless vocal skills. It’s a complicated song to sing and we can recognize that it takes talent to perform it… but by the people’s vote, I see that more people loved the pure fun of Finland’s easy, charming show. More people had fun with him, than people were impressed by Loreen. Finland - again going by votes - was the star of the show, regardless of objective judgement of skill and art quality.

So… is it perhaps time to talk about what we’re actually seeking to crown in ESC at this point? It’s clear that the people and the jury aren’t going off of the same criterias anymore. So which is it - which are we going for?

If it’s not about what’s objectively “best art” but what’s the “best experience” at this point… then what do we need a jury to hand out “artistic quality”-scores for anymore? Unlike before when we needed them to make an educated judgement, we are now all experts - on what song gives us the best experience.

And as I say that, I think that’s it. Experience. ESC is now about this year’s best experience. That’s why sometimes it’s a funny, catchy song that gets the crown - and the next year it’s a skillful ballad. Whatever flavor it may be, whatever aspect stands out - it’s the show’s best experience that captures our hearts.

… and that’s something that can’t be accurately measured only by going off of the “craftsmanship check list” of the jury.

We need to cut them out - or rework their function. Because why should Finland not win, when that’s who the majority wanted to win?

#esc 2023 #jury #I just really feel for Finland #if it was a fair world he would have won #eurovison 2023 #eurovison song contest

53 notes · View notes

crjupdates · 2 years

Text

How Carly Rae Jepsen Found Strength And Freedom With New Album 'The Loneliest Time': "It's Surrendering To Everything"

On her fifth album, 'The Loneliest Time,' Carly Rae Jepsen dances her way through the "hard-hitting lessons" of life — celebrating growth as both a person and an artist.

Grammys • Lior Phillips • Oct. 20, 2022 • Photos: Meredith Jenks

"Rather than free falling, I'm free-flying," Carly Rae Jepsen says, the warmth of that untethered freedom radiating in her smile. That artistic liberty fuels the pop star's fifth studio LP, The Loneliest Time.

The album weaves in and out of pure danceable joy, but with the lyrical prowess of a pop artist who has fully embraced every emotion she feels — even if it doesn't spawn a feel-good earworm. With a catalog full of delightful hits like "I Really Like You," "Run Away With Me," and "Call Me Maybe," Jepsen felt it was time to stop trying to figure out her place in the greater pop landscape and just chase the songs that felt right in the moment — and that felt true to herself.

But thanks to Jepsen's pop genius, The Loneliest Time still brims with memorable hooks and candid emotional resonance. There's the sweet and earthy "Western Wind" and the sincere soft folk of "Go Find Yourself or Whatever." Add in the epic title track's expansive disco strings and sloping melody, and it feels as if Jepsen has explored the full spectrum of both pop music and human nature.

"I feel a little less constrained by this idea of what type of pop I'm making," Jepsen says with a calm certainty. "My loneliness made me do some of the bravest and craziest and wildest things of my life. And I loved the reactions that it caused, because they're so dramatic, and I felt it was worthy of an album."

With The Loneliest Time, Jepsen isn't denying or rejecting her past, nor is she ignoring it. This isn't Carly Rae Jepsen reinvented, it's Carly Rae Jepsen in this moment. That's a powerful step for any artist in pop, a genre prone to pigeonholing stars, especially after a runaway hit.

Ahead of the album's release, Jepsen spoke with GRAMMY.com about the emotionally empowering process of The Loneliest Time, maturing as a pop star, and building genuine longevity.

youtube

Do you have any tricks for keeping yourself focused and healthy on tour? Personally, I now judge my day by how much water I've had.

So funny, this age that we're in. We've started so many different clubs on this tour. One is Book Club, where we all get ourselves scooched together reading on the bus. We wanna read Dracula for Halloween month!

We also started this thing with me and Josephine, my glam girl, Scott, our merch guy, and Chris, our tour manager, called Water Club. When we see each other we're like, "Have a water". We literally are just helping each other stay hydrated on the road. What does that say about touring in your thirties, that we started a group called The Water Club?

I can only imagine that reflecting on and comparing to how you toured in your twenties is an interesting experience for you.

I've always felt a little like I'm floundering in the good graces of some luck that came my way. That "Where am I?" energy is always with me. But I do feel like this era, being 36 now, and almost 37, I do feel more confident and excited and a little less shocked all of the time. It's kind of registered that this is my life. Which is great.

If anything, I just feel a little bit more purposeful with every decision. A little bit more confident, even with our stage show. I play it like a little boss lady within the group dynamic that we have, where I used to ask questions like, "Why do we do it that way? Could we do it this way?" Having enough meetings to get to the bottom of things that always were big question marks for me. That part's really empowering and exciting.

Lyrically, there is this acknowledgement throughout The Loneliest Time that the softer, gentler version of you is still accessible, even when you're tapping into larger, more powerful emotions. You alluded to intention earlier, which is so appropriate.

Definitely. This album is very much about taking away the things that Scorpios love, the controlling factor or whatever. It is surrendering to everything — whether happiness, love, hardships or grief, taking on the full experience of life and not trying to avoid any of the hard stuff, or fast forward to the good stuff. It's feeling all of the things.

This is what this album really was for me, but that's also very much in line with what my life experience has been over the last few years while working on this. It's a lot of hard-hitting lessons about all of that growth.

Carly Rae Jepsen via Instagram: THE LONELIEST TIME 💌 Oct 21. I’m quite fascinated by loneliness. It can be really beautiful when you turn it over and look at it. Just like love, it can cause some extreme human reactions. Preorder now. 💖🖤🌛🍇

I love that you started the album with "Surrender My Heart". When moments are intense and you surrender to it, things are just so much clearer.

Absolutely. It was a very true sentiment when I first started going to therapy — for a lot of reasons. My whole family had dealt with a ton of tragedy all at once. You know that thing, when it rains it pours. I felt like that really happened to us, and my solution to it was so pragmatic. "I'll go to therapy, she'll tell me how to be tougher in life. I will leave with an extra layer of skin and armor and I'll just know how to handle things because life's gonna get harder. I fell apart, let's fix me." And it was just so enlightening to be there in the room. After one session I was like, "Here, take all my money." [Laughs]

She said, "Maybe you need to soften up. Maybe you have to feel all the things." It's so funny, because I'm sitting there being like, "Wait, I wrote an album about being in touch with your emotions. I should be in touch with them." But no, it's still hard to take it in all the time.

I was kind of avoiding some of the experiences of life. And I don't think that's how you get to feel any of the highs or the lows. Being less frightened of both of those things can make you feel a little bit more stabilized. You continue on without denying any of the highs or the lows as they happen. That's a really huge part of it for me.

I see other people who walk through life just doing things that I admire so much. I have a girlfriend right now who's going through some big grief and every time I hang out with her she's just like, "I'm sad." And I'm like, "Cool, well be sad with me. Let's be sad and have a sad day together." Just seeing her being brave enough to do that makes me feel braver when I'm having an off day.

There's power in not wanting to fix everything at every point. And while I don't necessarily think it stems from control, it can stem from this sense of perfection and ideas that we've all been sold, which you cover a lot in your music — of how things are meant to be, how love is meant to be, and sometimes it isn't.

Yes! I think that tension between how it's "supposed" to be and what it is, there's some real dissonance in there that gets to be worked out. But if you can let go of how it's supposed to be and just be really accepting of how it is, I think you're off to a good start.

Emotion was about fusing together everything you had learned on Kiss and Tug of War, and Dedicated started going into heartbreak and creating that new story. Now that you're on your fifth studio album, where do you feel like you're at now? What was the guidepost for you while writing the album?

Rather than free falling, I'm free-flying! I feel a little less constrained by this idea of what type of pop I'm making. Is it '80s? '70s? '90s? Am I sad or happy? What am I emoting as a message? It's like, screw all of that. At this point, being 10 years into the business and change, I am a woman. There are many different things I feel. I can be very playful, I can be hurt and resentful and confused, and I can also have a disco ballad that's five minutes long, and indulgent, and is my opus. And all on the same album, because I contain multitudes.

I believe that people are ready to expand this pigeonholed idea of what a pop artist can be, which is a genre that's very tricky to break out of the mold of. You can be all of the things. And I've felt that desire in this genre that is so playful in the types of music that you can do.

But I wanna also break the perception of, "Am I the sexy pop artist?" I just don't wanna have to fight that fight anymore. For The Loneliest Time, the main theme of it is just loneliness and how that can cause such extreme reactions within you. Because my loneliness made me do some of the bravest and craziest and wildest things of my life. And I loved the reactions that it caused, because they're so dramatic, and I felt it was worthy of an album.

I was less concerned with, "Are they all gonna fit?" and a little bit more excited that they would be as diverse as they were meant to be — and to let the songs speak for themselves.

youtube

There's this intriguing blend between pure fragility and super confidence. You just sound like you're having the time of your life.

Thank you. I really overwrite. Even last night I was with my A&R talking about what we could potentially consider if we were to do a B-side [record]. And we were laughing, like, "Let's bring up the folders again."

So much thought goes into these things. It's a little bit of a Beautiful Mind mapping. By the time I'm done I'm like, "Oh my God, I seem insane." But it was a method to the madness, and I swear I feel that way every time. When I know it feels done and the order feels good, it was some puzzle I had to unlock. But as much as I'm like, "This is not cohesive," it, to me, is meant to be together.

Maybe I rebel because of having a song like "Call Me Maybe". I've just so desired to be [putting] all of my attention into being an album artist since then, not a single artist. And that's maybe why I put out B-sides that aren't even counted at the label. They're just gifts.

There's something of a gift with The Loneliest Time, too — people are really coming to understand that you want to be understood. I like the immediacy here.

Thank you. You know how you can only gush to certain people about the things that you're secretly really excited or a little proud of? I almost feel guilty saying that word, like it should be shameful. But I'm embracing it. Like, "What am I happy about?" I said it to my boyfriend last night, because we just did the final cut and color [for a video], and I'm like, "It's so lovely."

You can look back on a career with nostalgia, and like Björk said once, "I don't wanna be a nostalgic artist." I really loved that. I love that we're constantly pushing forward, especially for a woman in pop music.

There was a time where I thought, "It's a young woman's game." So for me to be 36, almost 37 and feel like I'm about to put out my favorite video of my career? It's not so much about anything other than the growth. I've learned how to communicate. And to have the trust of a team at the label now.

It took me a long time to have that confidence, but also to feel like I have a team of people who trust that we can do this together. We can find the right pieces. For the first time in a hot minute, I was like, "Well, I don't wanna be stale. I don't wanna just be putting out music because I'm chasing a thing that was a dream when I was a teen. I'm just as invigorated and as excited now. Why not take all the lessons I've learned and keep growing?"

For pop artists that I look at — there's a few, like Cyndi Lauper — but I would love to be a part of that catalog that gets to have some longevity with this thing. That'd feel fantastic. That's my secret goal and I'm saying it out loud to you.

I appreciate that, and when you are having fun — the raw, pure, sugar-rush fun — even in a song that covers really wobbly moments, your artistry has legs. It makes the listener excited for what's to come.

You're so right. Joy is the spot. I had a child come into a VIP Q&A session, and she asked, "Do you write when you're sad or when you're happy?" And I was like, "It's interesting because when I'm sad, I wanna eat a tub of ice cream and do nothing." But I know that there are artists that go to those places they wanna emote to get through. When I get out of my sadness is when I might be able to start talking about my sadness. Then there's a spark, a curiosity I have about it.

I think that's where "Bends" came from. I think that's where "Surrender My Heart" and "Go Find Yourself" [came from]. My creativity is sparked around a really limitless possibility, a free-flying feeling where you're like, "I'm here to catch this feeling in a way and document it." And it does feel quite joyful.

You have this ease and comfortability because you use pop as an escape, to a degree, but you're also not running away from these feelings.

Oh yeah. I think that's a real difference with even how I'm looking at shows lately. It was, "Come to my show. We're gonna forget how scary the world is for a night. I'm here to help you." And now I'm looking at it in the way that I experience the best shows that I go to.

I recently saw James Taylor and I said to my boyfriend, "Just so you know, I grew up on James Taylor, and he's this link between my divorced parents. I'm gonna cry a lot, Maybe I'll be fine." He hadn't seen me cry, so I was thinking it was gonna be super embarrassing if it happened.

I make it through the first half of the set dry-eyed. And then [James] comes out and he's like, "Fire and Rain," "Sweet Baby James," "The Secret of Life." And my neck is wet. It was just a wet neck situation. [Laughs]

[My boyfriend] was putting his arm around me, and James was telling these stories, and by the time it was done, I was like, "I'm so sorry. I can't stop." There was clearly some stuff I needed to feel.

"The Secret of Life" is the last song that my mom heard in the car the day my grandmother died. I wasn't there because of COVID, but I knew that experience. So I got to feel some things in a safe place that I needed to feel, really safely, really comfortably. And it felt wonderful. I had been needing that night. And it was so cathartic that when I left, I felt 10 pounds lighter.

That's what the best, most joyful experiences can make me feel. When I saw David Byrne's "American Utopia," my brain got twisted about what a concert could be. Holy s—, I felt better about life. I thought, "God, I've been looking at this all wrong. I've been thinking my job is to help people escape, but what if my job is to help people feel whatever it is they need to? Or a little bit of both?"

That's where I got the idea for the moon mascot who comes at the beginning of our show on this tour and goes, "Tonight is for you to feel what you need to in a safe place, to escape if you need to." Hopefully it can be that for some people.

Feeling the confidence that you can be the type of artist that you look at and are inspired by, that's the ultimate achievement, right?

It is the best feeling. That's the dream, the goal. Some joy, some happiness, but also some real in-touch-ness with yourself, and maybe some sadness too — all in a cathartic way.

18 notes · View notes

greaterstokesawareness · 2 years

Text

My RECAP: Brian Stokes Mitchell at Lincoln Center Open House weekend, October 29, 2022

[Brian Stokes Mitchell performs at Lincoln Center's Open House Weekend in celebration of the re-opening of David Geffen Hall after renovations. All events during the open house were free and open to the public. Stokes performed a six-song set in the Leon and Norma Hess Grand Promenade. October 29, 2022.]

Links: Lincoln Center Open House website (x), YouTube playlist with my videos of the show (x)

Every new show is my favorite, that's okay right?

Every time I've seen Brian Stokes Mitchell perform in person it has been really special in a new and different way, which seems so unlikely, but I swear it happens every time. This time, the setting was Lincoln Center's Open House in honor of the re-opening of the newly renovated David Geffen Hall. There were free events and performances all weekend long in all of the different performance areas of the new building. Stokes was set to perform in the Leon and Norma Hess Grand Promenade, which is a fancy way to say he was on a little stage in the lobby outside the new Wu Tsai theater on the second floor of the building. Side note: We had already bought tickets to an upcoming performance on November 4th in Worcester, Mass when this free opportunity popped up, but honestly, there was no way I was going to miss a chance to see Stokes sing and I'm so glad I didn't.

A pretty perfect day

It was a gorgeous fall day on the Connecticut shoreline and my best friend and fellow Stokes aficionado and I ate some sandwiches as we waited for the train in the afternoon sun. New York City was slightly warmer; sunny and 65 and perfect. We emerged from the dark and closeness of the subway into the warmth of the autumn sun and smack in the middle of a little farmer's market. 10/10 experience folks. We managed to get into David Geffen Hall at around 3:15 for Stokes's 5:00pm show. There was a fun 3-piece strings band called Time for Three playing in the Grand Promenade when we walked in, they closed their set with a cover of "Stand By Me" that had some seriously cool pizzicato.

When the Time for Three crowd dispersed, we made our way to two chairs right in front of center stage. We had drinks and chatted with the folks around us for about an hour before it was time for the show to start. Stokes was joined by pianist Joseph Thalken and went right into a 6-song set, that lasted just under an hour.

Set list:

I, Don Quixote

Feeling Good

A Wizard Every Day

Wheels of a Dream

I Was Here

Impossible Dream

Some highlights of the highlights

I don't know how this short 6-song set ended up being one of my favorite shows I've ever attended, but it was truly a special little moment in time. A few highlights: first of all, we both felt a bit unhinged about being perceived by Stokes. I don't know if he remembered us from being in the audience (and literally right in the front) at three other shows this year, but it was really fun to get little nods and points during one of our faves "A Wizard Every Day" (x) and during "Impossible Dream." (x) Like please roll the tape, because I took videos of every song and I will be using these moments as meditation and therapy on days when I feel down. They were just pure light. As I've said on here before, Stokes just has a way of making you feel like singing songs at 1,000% just for you is the most important work he'll ever do, you can just feel that and it's really beautiful. Another cool moment was getting to hear him sing "I Was Here." (x) I hadn't heard this song live before and it was so good.

"Well I will not flicker and die like an ember / Too many men flicker and die / I will leave something behind to remember / Somehow I must.."

When Stokes sang these lines with his whole chest it was, oh I don’t even know how to express it, immediate! soaring! towering! I definitely have a new appreciation for that song now. I usually listen to the re-written version that was included in the Lights on Broadway children's book (x), but from now on I'll be giving the original equal listening time.

These were just a few highlights, but I can honestly say every new show I've been fortunate enough to go to has been my favorite including this one. I say this with zero hyperbole, it's been the joy of my life to attend these Stokes shows this year and as I find myself sitting in each different audience, I can feel my mind wrestling with itself, between paying as close attention as possible and wandering off picturing the whole scene from above in sheer awe that I'm even there at all.

When the show ended, we drifted out to the balcony on cloud nine, taking in the early evening city views and further absorbing the show. We decided to forego the subway and walk to a cool restaurant we read about some blocks away. On the way, we happened to pass by the Winter Garden and ended up buying last minute tickets to The Music Man. We got to see Sutton and Hugh in one of my favorite musicals ever, which was just the best possible way to cap off a pretty amazing day. This is honestly what I always hoped being a grownup would be like ♥️

-- DL, 11/8/22, @itslucyhenley

#brian stokes mitchell #lincoln center #broadway #musical theater #greater stokes awareness #greater stokes awareness: my recap #greater stokes awareness: author's note

3 notes · View notes

lipstickontheglass1985 · 2 years

Text

mcrwarsaw crowd my beloved stranger bestfriends i miss you every day......

#didnt experience this kind of energy in the audience anywhere else so far and idk if i will anytime soon #like i feel like most of us went there not because we thought it was Cool or whatever but because we genuinely wanted to #have that experience.... so many moments of the show that just felt like pure celebration of the sheer fact that this was happening #and that we werr around to experience it #if i overuse the word experience here its cause im tired sorry </3 #it was such a joyful atmosphere and i just miss it so much... i miss the genuinity and i miss people not caring about being instagramable #ok rant over im getting emotional #thots

3 notes · View notes

broadwayandnetflix · 3 years

Note

i have a request for bo burnham!!:) maybe like the reader and bo watch the special when he gets done editing it and doing all the other stuff he has to do for it, and he records her reaction to the whole thing and that’s how he announces the special?? i know that’s weird but it’s been stuck in my head, so you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!

Test Run - Bo Burnham x Reader

Warnings: Language

Theme: FLUFF (angst if you like squint)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: y’all I wrote this so fast, like kachow. I hope you enjoyed it, and got a break from all of the angst. but angst is still good. but this fic is not me fangirling over inside. never, couldn’t be me. I hope you enjoyed the fic though @bos-a-feminist I had sm fun writing it.

It had been late one evening when Bo had practically burst into the door of your bedroom. You sat puzzled as you gave the man time to catch his breath, as he gave you an eager look.

Trying not to giggle as Bruce yipped at Bo’s feet in pure excitement, it seemed he too was trying to figure out what was going on.

“What? Are we finally gonna have sex again?” you say humorously, causing the man to break composure for just a second.

“No! I mean what the fuck? Yes, yes, and to answer your question, yes. But not right now.”

You giggle as he looks at you with an expression you couldn’t fully decipher. In any constellation, it had been months since you had seen the man this energetic.

Usually, when Bo would come back from his long days in the guest house, he’d tend to be exhausted. Often just giving you a quick kiss before collapsing onto the mattress.

His blue eyes softening towards you as he extends his hand for you to take. Which made you realize that there was an ounce of seriousness in his actions.

Your hands fitting perfectly in his as he pulls you up from the bed, one hand making sure to hold the small of your back.

“Where are we going?” you breathe out.

Bo remained silent, but you found out soon enough as he led you outside to the guest house.

You had stopped dead in your tracks, causing him to do the same. Eyes widening as you realized what was gonna happen, turning to Bo and giving him the biggest grin you could muster.

From the minute he had set foot in the guest house to begin his special, he had been very secretive about it. Something about how it helped him to create something that no one really knew about.

I mean, you had some idea when the UPS trucks kept delivering camera equipment. Or when he had asked if he could take some of your clothes. Other than that, though, top secret.

It had been about roughly a little over a year when he had started the special. A year of emotions and hard work, and by the looks of it.

It seemed as though he had finished.

“Wait are you doing what I think you are doing?” you say, looking at him expectedly.

“Shit babe you catch on quick. Yes, if we are on the same mindset. I think we are, now hush, or I’ll never get to show you it.” Bo instructs before leading you inside.

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to expect. The last time you had seen the guest house had been roughly two years ago. Now? It looked completely different.

Wires and different camera equipment lay waste on the floor, making it almost a hazard. Other lights of various types and sizes filled the room like mini metal trees. It looked disorganized and yet organized at the same time.

Yet Bo walked through the maze of equipment with ease, almost as if it wasn’t even there. You smiled before tiptoeing to the clearing that Bo had made for you.

“Yeah apologies, I wasn’t expecting company.” Bo smirks as you break into laughter.

“It looks…well it looks well used.” you reply, getting comfortable on the chair he had provided.

In front of you sat a projection on the wall of what seemed to be an editing software. You looked back at Bo with an eager grin; he gives you a slight wink.

Anticipation settling in the air as you watched him mess around with the monitor. Until his cursor finally presses on a folder and a video screen pulls up.

You half expected him to sit beside you. Still, instead, he remains behind the computer, amongst his sea of technological instruments and cameras.

“Y/N, I’m showing this to you. Simply because you deserve to see why I’ve been so busy for like a year or more. Plus, you mean the world to me and I wanna know your input.”

Bo says softly. You can detect a hint of nerves in his actions and tone; you practically melt, realizing that was he anxious. Regardless you knew without a shadow of a doubt you were gonna love whatever he puts out.

You open your mouth to reply before he presses play, and an eerie ringing fills the room. Music filling your senses as the special, titled Inside, plays before you.

The next hour or two fills you with a multitude of emotions that you can’t quite place. It seemed like Bo was making you laugh seconds ago, and now you can’t help but feel tears well up in your eyes.

Cinematically it was stunning, breathtaking even. It was hard to believe that Bo had turned the little guest house into a studio. Or at least to the extent that it became, with its gorgeous displays and production.

Performance-wise, it was a completely different ballpark. Bo fucking delivered in more ways than one, whether in humor or just pure raw emotion.

Acting or not, it broke your heart to see the man you loved so dearly in the state that he was in. Of course, you could tell something was up even then when he was filming, but he never gave away the extent of it.

Just hearing him cry made your stomach twist in knots; you wanted to comfort him. Only to be reminded that it was just merely a video of him.

Even at the moment, it took you everything not to look back at Bo; you knew how much he valued your attention. Plus, you wanted to experience the special in full, just as you would if he were on stage.

The special wasn’t the same as his others, but it was well needed for a time like this. It felt personal and introspective, but it was also oh so clever and in-depth. You adored it and the time and effort that he had put into it.

As the credits rolled out and you saw an acknowledgment for your name, your heart soared.

You knew that the two of you had worked hard to be there for each other the past year. Especially with everything that was going on and Bo working most of the time.

To know that you had helped him in any shape or form. It just meant a lot, in more ways than he’d ever know.

The lights in the room flickered on as if he had made a make-shift movie theatre. You wiped away any stray tears, and before he could even say anything, you ran into his arms.

Bo jolting back in surprise before accepting the embrace and holding you tighter into his chest. His head resting gently on top of yours due to his taller stature.

“God I love you so much, more than you’ll ever know. I seriously don’t know if I would’ve made it out alive this past year if I didn’t have you.” he croaked into your hold.

It took you a second to realize that the man was crying, and you pulled away to meet his eyes. Your fingers brushing away his tears before reaching up to give him a kiss.

His figure bending down just a tad to meet your lips as he kisses you back sweetly. It’s light and yet so filled with passion for making up for what time that had been lost.

Yet as he looks down at you, a smile etching across his lips. As he asks you about what your thoughts are on his special, he already knows your response.

Unbeknownst to you, he had recorded your entire viewing experience. Of course, if he were to ever share it anywhere, he’d ask your permission, but it was apparent.

Even as you told him how much you loved it and how much you enjoyed it. You knew that he knew that you understood the special the way he had intended it.

It was one of the many things that made him adore you endlessly. You meant the world to him.

“We should celebrate babe! Maybe order a pizza or something.” you exclaim, arms still wrapped around his neck in your embrace.

“We definitely should, but what pizza places are open at this hour?” Bo smirks as you give him a slight frown.

“I don’t know, that’s a good question.” you hesitate.

“Actually I do know one place that’s really good and delivers.” Bo whispers seductively up against your ear.

You giggle and gesture for him to continue as he swiftly pulls away from your hold. His hand outstretched for you to take once again as he leads you towards the house. Or, more importantly, towards your bedroom.

“Me.”

——————————————————————------------------------------------

Bo sat anxiously beside you as his fingers lingered over the ‘post’ button on his different social media accounts.

The post in question was a video that he stitched together of you watching the special. With your consent, of course.

It had been edited together to be vague enough that he wouldn’t spoil the special. But nonetheless, it was sweet, and he totally made sure to include you tearing up in it.

You made it a priority to tackle him for that one.

The video was sweet and short, but it got the intended message across, and you personally loved it, just like you loved Bo and the special.

“Any-day now Robert.” you tease as you hold his one hand in yours.

“Do you think that they’ll wanna watch it?” he whispers quietly.

“Of course they will, it’s you. Baby you are so talented, your fans will be so excited.” you reassure.

Bo sighs before squeezing your one hand tightly before pressing the button. And letting Inside out into the world.

#@broadwayandnetflix #bo burnham x reader #bo burnham #bo Burnham x you #2021 #fluff #Fanfic Request #inside #make happy #words words words #what

407 notes · View notes

mountswhore · 3 years

Note

hey! see u were taking requests so i wanted one with mason related to "london boy" by taylor swift? maybe reader is a singer or something like that?

one of the best taylor swift songs imo, so of course!

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲 — mason mount

summary: mason shows you around london during your break, and now you don't think you can ever go back

notes: requests are open again! my asks are open.

Leaving your hometown in New York to visit the world was one of the hardest things you had to do. But you had your dream job, now it was time to follow it. Your recent album was a success, pouring your heart into it as you recovered from your breakup. Your fans had watched your relationship build, and then break apart. Hearing your side of things through 14 songs. Awards, interviews, and traction had come from it, earning you a world tour. It was a scary thing to do, considering it was your first international tour.

“I just want to come back to New York already, I’ve not been on this tour long.” You complained to your sister, curled up in a hotel bed in London. Your first destination was the UK, and there was nothing worse than being homesick.

“Quit being a baby, the UK is so nice.” Your sister replied, chuckling shortly afterwards. “Me and dad visited Manchester, I think? Very nice looking, at least where we stayed.” You sighed, knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You loved your cosy apartment in New York, you were even starting to miss the constant traffic sounds and arguing in the early hours of the morning.

“I guess, and I know London is nice, at least. I think I’m gonna interact with some fans,” you decided, pulling the duvet further up your body, “speak tomorrow at sound check.” You ended the call, liking some tweets and replying to a few things, eventually tweeting something of your own.

“Happy to see a lot of my UK fans tomorrow, can’t wait to scream my feelings out with you,” Declan read out, giving Mason a cheeky look. The pair of them were in Mason’s living room, enjoying their evening of FIFA. The boys had spoken about you plenty of times, in interviews too, Mason declaring you as his celebrity crush.

“Shut up already, she probably doesn’t even know who I am.” Mason stated, resting his arm over his eyes to conceal the blush on his face. Him, Declan and a few other boys were going to your concert tomorrow night, some of the WAGs suggested it as they loved your music.

“You think she’s not going to notice a blue tick in her dm’s? It’s worth a shot.” Declan encouraged his friend to shoot his shot, close to grabbing his phone and doing it himself, but instead he was watching Mason bashfully scroll through your twitter replies. “Do it, or I will.”

Mason sighed, clicking the reply button and typing out a reply, handing the phone to Declan to review. ‘Can’t wait, wanna see you.’

“Perfect,” Declan mumbled, pressing the reply button for him. He knew Mason never would, he just saved him 20 minutes of back and forth debate. Handing Mason his phone back, Declan smirked as he watched his friend's face change from fairly embarrassed, to shocked.

“There’s no fucking way you sent that.” Mason remarked, refreshing his phone to see his tweet attract likes. “You dick.”

Declan just laughed as Mason had turned completely red, watching the likes and replies collect under his tweet. Moments later, you’d appeared in his dm’s.

‘I recognise you.’

It was an ominous message from you, one that had you pacing and replaying the creepy message over and over again. But Mason smiled at the message, all ounces of worry leaving his body as he replied to you.

‘Oh yeah? From where?’

‘Actually, I think I recognise your teammate, Pulisic. He’s all my brother talks about sometimes. But all I know is that he plays for a soccer team.’

He laughed at your reply, Declan watching over in pure disbelief.

‘You have a lot to learn about the UK, and luckily I know all about it.’

‘I’ll hold you to that, come backstage after the show, bring whoever you’re with. I’m in London for the next few days before my next show, maybe you can show me around.’

“There’s no way you’re flirting with Y/N Y/L/N within two minutes of replying to her tweet.” Declan stated, Mason smirking at his best friend before sending another reply.

‘Bet.'

Your show was now over and you were anxiously waiting for the boys to be escorted back stage. You didn't know much about football, especially over here, but you knew the boys that were coming back stage were professionals. You'd learnt their names, Declan, Jack, and Mason. Jack and Declan brought their girlfriends along, but Mason was 'painfully single', as he put it.

Finally, as you sat down in your chair to relax, you heard a knock at the door. It was them. They had all filed in, the two girls in shock that they were meeting you. You'd given them all a hug, and gotten to Mason. He looked down at you as you pulled him in, squeezing you tightly before letting you go again.

"Did you guys enjoy it?" You asked, ushering them to the couch for them to sit down. You wanted them to feel as comfortable as possible, rushing over to your dressing room fridge and pulling out some drinks.

"It was amazing," Sasha gawked, still in awe over seeing you for the first time, "we saw you have one in Birmingham in a few weeks, so we're going to that one too." You blushed, returning to your seat opposite the couch.

"That's so sweet! I'm sure I can get you some good tickets, I'll dm you on Instagram or something." You suggested to her, Sasha eagerly nodding her head. You conversed with the group of five, Mason giving you a particular look that you had mirrored back to him. You planned on getting his number, and making sure he showed you around London.

Soon enough, the group was heading back to wherever they were staying, as it was beginning to get quite late. "Thank you guys for coming, and I'm so glad I met you."

Mason stayed behind, folding his arms and sharing a smirk with you as his friends voices trailed down the hallway. "So, about this bet."

"Yeah," you replied casually, grabbing your water bottle from the table and taking a sip, being in the presence of an attractive man again was giving you quite the nerves, "I'll take your number, because I'd love to get to know London." He nodded, grabbing his phone from his jacket pocket and handing it to you.

"Perfect. See you."

You and Mason had planned your first meeting in a pub. It wasn't the classiest of places, but your plan was to get to know the UK. Mason had ordered you both a drink, guessing what you like and nailing it when you went in for a second sip and shoved a thumb up.

"So," he began, fiddling with the coaster his beer sat on, "how long are you in London for?"

"Just until Thursday, Friday morning I'm heading to Manchester." You stated, realising you only had four days with Mason, including today.

"Well, we better make the days count then." Mason declared. The pair of you spoke about his career as well as yours, talking about how different school was for the pair of you. Mason had stood up, holding his hand out for you to take, and you'd accepted it without complaint. He led you out of the pub and through the town center, gazing at the stalls set up around you. The weather wasn't so different to New York, both constantly dreary, but you were liking London so far.

On your second day together, you'd taken a cab to another town, this time to just experience the busy streets. To Mason, this was normal. For you, it was only familiar. New York was one of the busiest cities in the world, but London was different, better in every other way. You'd finished your day together, stomachs full of pub food, and in the back of a cab, rain pattering on the windows. You'd shuffled closer to Mason, placing your hand on his and squeezing. He looked at you briefly, smiling his usual smile, before quickly looking out at the street in an effort to hide his tinged cheeks.

Day three, the weather was too bad to do anything. But Mason kept you company in your hotel room. He'd taught you a bunch of British slang, laughing as your accent completely butchered them all. You'd shown him a snippet of your new song before room service had arrived. And the night ended with the pair of you collapsed in your bed, tv playing in the back ground, but your eyes on each other. It was like pure magic, the long-awaited feeling of his lips on yours. You'd been thinking about it all day, missing every opportunity until now.

Your final day was the worst. You both knew it was coming, you wouldn't see him until you had a break, and he had one too. You both had stupidly busy schedules, as well as living in different countries. Maybe one day you could bring him to New York, show him your side of life. And maybe one day you'll branch out and move here.

Mason had helped you carry your things out of your hotel room, which was taking you to Manchester. Your manager had texted you to be in the car before 3, which meant you had just 10 minutes until you had to say goodbye to Mason for a while.

You were stood in the foyer of the hotel, waiting for the car to arrive. You'd secretly hoped it didn't, you wanted to stay with Mason for a while longer, but you couldn't. Duty called.

"Thank you for showing me around London," you spoke, looking up at Mason, who was hiding his deflated feelings, "I really enjoyed it, I might even prefer it to New York."

"That's a given. I'm here." He joked, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. These four days had been immense fun for him, different to how he usually spent his days. Different than night at home alone, different than a night on the town. Was it too soon to say he missed you?

Mason looked down at you as you clung to his side, hoping he felt the same way you did. And he did, you just didn’t know that. His fingers slid across your jaw slowly, pulling your chin up to look at him. It was an intense moment, so many different emotions. He’d leaned in and kissed you, it was his parting gift. To say that he’d see you soon enough.

“Enjoy Manchester, I’m sure I can fit another show in somehow.” Mason spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” You spoke, the car pulling up outside. He’d dragged your suitcases out to the car, popping them in the boot for you. Finally, he stared at you through the window, which you quickly rolled down. “I fancy you, is that the right term?”

Mason laughed, head tipping back slightly. “Yeah, it is. And I fancy you too.”

#mase #money mase #mason mount one shot #mason mount request #mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

163 notes · View notes

shadowsinger11 · 4 years

Text

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley oneshot #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins #fred and george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #james phelps #oliver phelps

2K notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 4 years

Note

and, if Albedo have his own personal botanist, what about xiao have his own personal chef, or something like that? the reader working at wangshu inn as the chef or maid 👀 (this the request... If you want to make something from this absurd idea 👀👀)

Hehe I like your thought process, anon. Albedo and Xiao really just: 😏👉👉 *finger guns* 👈👈 😑 for having reader assistants in my masterlist huh.

Making this solely a personal chef/maid thing would defo make this response hella short so I added in more info and background just like I did with Albedo's, so I hope you guys end up enjoying this one too!!

It isn't an absurd idea, but I sure as hell made an absurd answer to it kek

Xiao's Devoted "Chef"

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant

Background (let's gooo)

The arrival of the Adepti Yaksha in Wangshu Inn was really something I've been intrigued about for a while now, but I won't make much assumptions here because his banner is coming and more info would be given to us.

Xiao had long since been residing in and spends a majority of his time in this Inn yet its owners, Verr Goldet and Huai'an, barely knows anything about the adepti or his lifestyle.

So on a sunny, quaint day like any other where calmness passes through the lands without worry, they expected the Adepti to resign himself to a moment of peace and rest too.

So color them surprised when they save the familiar silhouette of the adepti ascending to the top floor. Porcelain white skin and clear tank top glittered with fresh blood as a broken and bruised figure lays unconscious in his arms. The couple was thankful that there were no customers out and about that day, because it would be a disaster for an audience to witness such a thing. Also bad for business, but they'll hold that in at the back of their mind.

Skilled workers were quick to work with their seemingly extensive experience with such a protocol. As they tended to the victim, the Boss stayed behind to tend to and inquire with the Adepti. Yet such a conversation between them came out strained:

There were no visible wounds that require immediate medical attention but there was a look in his eyes that feels much more broken than anything they can fix. Verr's hands hover over him in an attempt to urge him to clean up his still bloodied form. His amber eyes that were usually sharp looks through a distance light-years away.

"Xiao," the woman started and the eyes snapped out of its reverie, subtly looking around to ground himself. "What happened? And are you okay?"

"Their- the parents died from a Hilichurl ambush, I was only able to save the child," his crossed arms gripped at his forearm in the realization of his utter mistake. "32 seconds."

"32 seconds?" The Mondstadtian offered a fresh set of hot towels he had taken, and he had flinched when he saw the carnage that stuck close to his skin.

"I was 32 seconds late."

Your parents were adventurers who brought you with them as big fans of traveling and nomadic lifestyle, no set home yet freely living by. You were in your younger teens and you'd clarified you had no other family to go to.

The death of your parents came as an obvious shock to your young self yet you grieved in silence and sobs, as the only person you trust hovers next to where you rest in silent contemplation.

Verr knows that look, and it was something she hasn't seen on the Adepti before. Of pure guilt and a sense of responsibility.

That night you rested surprisingly nightmare-free as your savior stands his ground next to where you rest.

Present Times

The couple had adopted you into the Inn family without a second's hesitance and you were thankful for them as you were to Xiao. You were no heavy expense or disadvantage and that made it all the more easier to adapt into your new lifestyle.

Despite no words or explanation, you were perfectly aware of the deeds your savior had done to save you and keep you alive, and with that you had sworn to serve him until the end of your time. A life for a life, equivalent exchange.

Coming into terms with being in Liyue and the Inn, your life choices were meddled with commerce and the importance of livelihood. You were young but your guilt of being under the care of such people forced you to take on any and every responsibility you can handle.

Despite your background you were expertly skilled with cooking. Your mother and father always taught you the importance of a meal for adventurers whenever you'd camped out. And your special touch on dishes that saves adventurers had drawn in many appetites.

Business boomed and the Inn wasn't just famous for being a temporary residence, but a sanctuary that offers tastes paired with the divine sense of Celestia. You became Wangshu Inn's Head Chef, with your sous-chef Smiley Yanxiao.

At times where Xiao is forced to make rounds to seize looming threats, he'd find himself picking fresh and healthy ingredients he'd find on the way back and present to you for new recipes to experiment on.

But you also pride yourself with a different title, or titles: The Adepti's Personal Chef, Tender of the Yaksha, Adepti's Devotee.

This title was emphasized by the Sigil of Permission sewn into an armband hanging by your right arm, something you proudly wear even beyond the walls of the Inn.

You found out the Adepti's favorite during your daily visit and breaks, usually done so by hanging out in the balcony with him with a brand new recipe you recently made and wanted to test out.

While he sat parallel to you, he eyed the transparent syrup and the gelatinous substance in the obvious curiousity he shows for all your new creations, silently awaiting your opinion by watching your expression: whenever you show even the slightest distaste, he'll pointedly ignore his curiousity and the dish altogether. And if you express such pride and achievement, his interest will get the better of him, if you haven't offered the dish quickly enough.

"What is this?" He'd finally ask after your delighted moans, indulging on your own creation.

"Mmm, Almond Tofu... do you wish to try it?" Without an answer he'd pick up the only spoon on the plate and tasted it himself. And just like that, he'd froze, eyes full blown in surprise and awe.

"Do you like it?" He can only hum in response as he scarfs down the plate by himself, chewing respectfully yet with a hint of vigor in every scoop. "It tastes... like dreams..." the way he looked at you, with eyes possessing such childlike wonder, you couldn't help but fall.

After that, Xiao had requested a daily plate/offering of it. It became a routine to the point that all workers heard of the favoritism and are encouraged to learn the recipe. But it's usually your dish that is served, unless special occasions calls for someone else.

There has been an influx of dormers and adventurers recently as citizens around Teyvat flock to the Liyue continent in hopes to watch the most extravagant celebration of the new year, the Lantern Rite Festival.

Your best efforts manning the kitchen together with Yanxiao took gruelling hours just to prepare for the dinner's first course even with hours of prep time available. Even both bosses had to lend some hands as your sous-chef can barely keep up with your stride. And after the dishes are finally distributed to the dining hall, you were already set in cleaning up the kitchen, and before you knew it-

"It has been an hour."

"It was a busy day, I'm sorry, Xiao." You could only muster a mumble in guilt as you kept your head down on the usual table, refusing to look at the disapproving expression he definitely wore, except he doesn't. His face has the slightest hints of worry and wonder at your deflated composure.

But his focus now was on the food he has been craving the whole day, already digging into his dessert. And you just tried your hardest not to fall asleep on the cold, wooden tabletop. Until your tummy rumbled through the silence.

A hum. "You haven't eaten?" You shake your head as you lift your head, gazing at the cute sight of your guardian tilting his head to the side in slight distaste for your lifestyle. You open your mouth to retort until you felt the cold utensil touch your bottom lip. "Here, I saved you the last bite. After this, get yourself a meal and retreat to your quarters, I don't want to hear any excuses." He softly urges a little push with the spoon so you get the hint, and you wrap your lips around it, chewing and gulping down cold dessert. He offered his favorite food, used the same spoon, and spoon fed you with it—

"Wha... don't- don't bite the spoon," you squeeze your eyes tight from the embarrassing thoughts in your head.

When people wish to have an audience with Xiao, most of the time they head to you for guidance after inquiring with Verr. They require a sigil of permission, and most of the times, your own sigil has been under fire a lot in their desperation.

An old merchant who desperately wants to hire the adepti to aid his caravan with personal security once tried to claw at your armband, but a split second after the tip of his fingers had touched the cloth, he was blown away to the nearest wall.

"What-," a pressure on your left shoulder pulls your other against a lean chest, protectively squeezing as a polearm materialized in front of you. You can feel the ragged vibrations of the Yaksha's unusually heavy breaths, his amber eyes sharp and dangerous, dilated like a predator.

"What gives you the idea that you had the authority to lay a hand on my assistant?" Black and teal embers conjure around you two as a dark shadow slowly creeps up from the ground. "That is their sigil of permission; I want nothing to do with you mere mortals."

If not for Verr and the other staff, things would have gone gruesome and unsightly for the business. Yes, business. Everyone disliked the guy enough to care more about the Inn than his actual well-being. When he'd come to, he was forced out of the Inn (he would have done so himself anyways as he was already traumatized).

"Sir Xiao, why did you do that?"

"He didn't have a Sigil, he was pretty much asking for it. And why have you gone formal?" You pouted at him and his only response was a quirked eyebrow. Walking over to stand behind him, you slowly wiggled your arms through the gap between his waist and slack arms, finding it easy enough with how thin his waist is as you wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed from the secretly ticklish feeling before letting down his guard in your arms. This was one of your leeway as his most devoted follower. Your constant exposure with the aid of the divine sigil has made you immune to the negative effects of Adeptal energy, enough to make him nigh worry about your safety around him anymore.

And him letting you hug him like this... let's just say it's from your mannerisms of comfort when you were still young and around him.

"Take an indefinite leave," Xiao broke the silence a few minutes after, forcing you to crane your head to the side to look at him. He meets your gaze with an amused glint. "You have no debt to pay here, you shouldn't be holed up in a place like this."

"It is true that me leaving wouldn't have majooor repercussions, but what's with the sudden idea?"

He huffs. "You're my only follower and yet you divide your attention serving temporary mortals that will pass by without remembrance. And besides," you tense at the sight of an upturn on the edge of lip, pearly whites subtly peeking, "personal does not mean sharing."

You were an adventurer at heart and it's time you indulge in that glorified life of excitement, with your guardian by your side. It was the only gift he can come up with for your undying devotion.

Holy - I had to cut this thing A LOT because I wrotE A HECKIN LOT WTF?! It's not even done in my mind, my goodness, there should be an adventuring unit here too but hhhh I got too conscious of the length sksksks I'm so sorry! P-Part 2-?

I enjoyed writing this a tad bit too much sksksks but now that the second to the last installation of this even is published, the next request should be the last one! And that means I'll have to stop the poll and start working on the requests for the 100 followers one! So if you haven't voted there, you should before it's too late!!

#exile.flower #exile.goblet #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact xiao #xiao #xiao x reader #i. fucked up #why do i always go haywire when given a simple prompt #i think this went too far hmm #followers special #gender neutral

818 notes · View notes

tibbinswrites · 3 years

Text

Day 3 - Rainbows

They were everywhere. Plastered in shop windows, strung up across the street, at every booth and stall. It seemed like everyone they passed was rainbow-coloured in some kind of way. Clothing, bags, hair, even beards. Flags waved proudly above and around them. People were smiling, laughing, kissing, holding hands. Like Dean. He clenched on so tightly to Cas’ hand that he almost felt the bones grind beneath skin. He expected Cas to say something, but he didn’t, so Dean held on.

It was his first pride. At forty-one years old he was at an event that was full of young people who’d already figured themselves out. Sam (with glitter on his face) looked down at him with a soft expression.

“We can go, if it’s too much.” he said quietly. Whatever was showing on Dean’s face was apparently so pathetic that Sam didn’t have the heart to mock him.

It was too much, and Dean wanted to go. He wanted the quiet of the bunker, of the Dean-cave, where he understood how everything worked. There, neither Sam, Cas or Jack cared that he was broken. They loved him regardless, and Cas let Dean love him too, in a way that he hadn’t thought he was allowed to.

Jack, immediately distracted by the colours and sounds, rushed off towards the nearest stall, chatting animatedly with the… guy, girl? Person, person behind it, who had a multicoloured mohawk and a yellow, white, purple and black striped shirt. They looked briefly taken-aback at Jack’s overly-forward approach (and probably thousand questions), but responded just as eagerly. Jack was beaming. Eileen (with her own glittered face) followed him after a moment and Sam turned to look with a soft smile before turning back to Dean, his ‘whatever Dean needs’ face replacing it.

“I’m fine.” Dean lied, hoping that his shirt was thick enough to hide the sweat he could feel building down his back and under his arms. “Besides, Jody’s brood will be here soon, it’ll be good to see them.”

Sam paused for a moment but nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“That’s what Cas is for.” Dean muttered.

Sam’s smile was fleeting but warm. Eileen called his name and Sam turned to see his fiancee wink at him, holding a free string of condoms. Sam flushed red and went to join her, pressing a kiss to her glittery cheek and signing something back which made her laugh.

Jack was darting from stall to stall, apparently interrogating everyone, but in such a disarming, truly curious way that nobody seemed to be taking any offence.

Cas remained by Dean, letting him crush his hand, standing stock-still barely inside the cordoned off entrance.

His mouth felt dry and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t belong here. Everyone else looked so comfortable. There were couples everywhere, of all kinds, thruples too. There was even a string of six that all kept trading kisses and fond looks to each other. Even those on their own looked relaxed. Either waiting for friends or making new ones.

There were drag queens in the most flamboyant, ridiculous and amazing costumes. Huge feather boas, sequined everything and more glitter that Dean had ever owned (which was, admittedly, not much) on every exposed inch of skin.

“How about we go get a burger?” Cas said after a while, pointing at a food truck that looked a little quieter than most of the other, closer, places.

Realising that he’d spent a good long while lost in his own panic, not moving, he figured he should do something other than loiter by the entrance. This was Cas’ day too and he probably wanted to go enjoy himself with everyone else.

“Yeah,” he said, so, his feet feeling like lead, they made their way over to the truck and got a burger and bottle of water each. There were a couple of park benches set up nearby, so they sat there, next to each other, and ate. Letting go of Cas’ hand was more difficult than he’d expected. It had taken him months to get comfortable with the idea of holding Cas’ hand in public, weeks more to get comfortable with the practice. Cas winced as the pressure was finally released. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Cas shook his hand out before digging into his burger. Between mouthfuls, he went on, “We all convinced you to come here because we thought it would be good for you to break down some of the stigmas you’ve held for years about why you can’t be like one of these people,” he gestured around them, “but I don’t think any of us ever thought to ask if you were ready. This is clearly difficult for you. I’m sorry we pressured you into it. If you want to just sit here and wait for Claire and everyone to come before heading back to the bunker for dinner, that’s perfectly okay. None of us are going to judge you. This is a big experience and we’ll take it at your pace.”

“I love you.” Dean said immediately. That was his gut reaction to a lot of things Cas said, and if Dean had learned anything over the past year, it was that Cas always appreciated hearing it. Even now Cas’ eyes crinkled warm, and the edge of his mouth curled up.

“I love you too.”

They finished their burgers in silence and Dean, bolstered a little by Cas’ reassurance, began to really look around at what few booths he could see from where they sat. One of them was for struggles with high school, another was selling flags, another was about the history of Pride. He was curious about that one, he admitted. He didn’t know much about this community he was supposedly a part of. The kind of community that was so vastly different from the one he’d been raised in. A community that John had scoffed at, disrespected, with only Dean to hear him most of the time. But shifting his gaze from the stalls to the people, he had to admit that it was less overwhelmingly rainbow than he’d first thought. There were people in biker jackets and boots, people his age looking similarly nervous, without an angel of humanity to hold their hand. A teenager who looked close to tears carefully glanced around before darting into the high school booth. There were people on their own, some with an air of defiance, others completely comfortable, still others with a cloud of sadness over their heads; here, but with no family who could, or would, join them.

It was an odd thing to take comfort in, the pain of others in this place of joy and self-love, but this more than anything reminded him that they were all just people. People with their own struggles and burdens. People came to Pride anyway, either in defiance of everything that tried to tell them to disappear, or to find comfort in those with similar stories. He wondered how many people out there had fathers who forced them away from their family to try and ‘fix’ them; he wondered how many were in their forties and only just now ready to admit that maybe they weren’t the person their father had wanted them to be, that that person actually went against the values they’d been taught, and the ones they’d figured out for themselves. He was so used to feeling alone in this aspect of his life that it hadn’t even occurred to him that there would be others. He saw a man who must have been in his eighties holding his partner’s hand and brandishing a sign with fervour. Never too old to come out, and he couldn’t help but smile. He nudged Cas and pointed. “Guess that applies to you too, huh? And I think I’m slow. It took you millennia.”

Cas smiled at the men and then shook his head. “It took me millennia to find you,” he said pointedly. “Gender and sexuality was not something I ever thought about before. They don’t mean much to me. And it’s fascinating to see a celebration that both says ‘these things don’t define us’ and ‘these things are important’. It’s all about being comfortable with yourself and fighting for the world to learn to be comfortable with you too.”

“Kind of the meaning of pride, I suppose.”

“Whoever said that was a sin was sorely mistaken.”

“I mean, Pride of the seven deadly was a huge asshole.”

“Hubris is not the same as pride. I’ve always thought that sin should be renamed.”

“Take it up with Chuck,” Dean said with a grin which Cas returned.

“Thankfully, he has no more say in it than I do.”

“Let’s go look in that history booth.” Dean said suddenly, already standing and holding his hand out for Cas to take. Research was always the best first step after all. And if it was right next to the stall selling pink, purple and blue pins, then that was just pure coincidence.

#suptober21 #day 3 #rainbows #pride #destiel #supernatural #fanfic

91 notes · View notes

hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Confessions: A ‘Favourite’ Extra

Summary: beatrice graduates and dad!harry is not invited

Warnings: angst!

Word Count: 3305 words

A/N: this is part of the ‘Favourite’ universe :D this scene takes place sometime between the first and second part! please read them before reading this.

Part One | Part Two

_____

Graduation.

Through Beatrice’s 18-years of living, she did not think that the celebration of liberation would be so sour. The day started off like any normal day. That is, except, she did not have to deliberately avoid the areas of the house that her dad, Harry, was in. It was strange that she had to feel uncomfortable in her own home.

For this special event, Beatrice had initially bought only three tickets for Ruby, Caleb and her mum, Y/N. Her dad had a packed schedule of promoting his newest album anyway so Beatrice thought that it wouldn’t even matter. She didn’t think he would want to come anyway. If Beatrice knew anything about her father is that he never really cared much about what went on in her life.

Beatrice supposes that it was okay. She had a whole lifetime to get used to it. A full lifestyle living on the edge because she didn’t know when her dad would clap-back with an insult for no reason. However, it didn’t mean that the spike in pain hurt any less. Don’t get her wrong; she was grateful for Y/N being around and involved. But Beatrice sometimes wondered how it would feel like to be wrapped in a fatherly embrace or be guided with wisdom and courage.

She really couldn’t remember the last time Harry did anything that made Beatrice feel like his daughter. Aside from the family photos they took on during the holidays or when celebrating whatever work achievement he managed to snag--that was the only time where Beatrice would feel Harry’s hand resting on her shoulder.

___

“Can I get one?” Ruby asked, tugging on the coloured strings of Beatrice’s cap. Her small body was being held by her older sister while Y/N took photos of the three siblings.

“Caleb, put your phone away please,” Y/N requested, shaking her head at the way the young boy groaned. Nonetheless, he followed the instruction.

"You’re lucky I love you or I would not have shown up,” Caleb grumbled, offering a sweet smile afterwards to suggest that he was joking. The three siblings posed for the camera, Beatrice trying hard not to let Ruby tilt her square cap.

Between a plastered smile, Beatrice replied, “Probably why dad isn’t here,”

Caleb widened his eyes significantly. Though, it seemed conspicuous to Y/N who was busy figuring out how to brighten the screen.

“That’s not true, sissy. He’s just busy,”

Beatrice chuckled, shrugging off the comforting hand of her younger brother, “Always busy but never when one of you have something going on,”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“Yeah, sure,”

Caleb frowned at her response, focusing her attention on Ruby’s babbles. He almost spilled the surprise that their dad was going to watch Beatrice cross the stage. Caleb knew how his sisters felt about Harry and he hoped that his appearance would help patch things up between them.

Caleb walked over to Y/N, “Are you sure that Dad’s coming?”

Y/N nodded, “Yes, he said he’s looking for parking now,”

Caleb bit his lip nervously, “Do you think she’ll be surprised?”

——

“Graduate with honours, Beatrice Y/LN,”

Applause filled the venue as Beatrice walked up the steep steps of the stage. A shy smile was placed on her lips when she caught sight of the projector screen showcasing her achievements for her senior year.

In the audience, both Harry and Y/N were confused as to why Beatrice used her mother's name to be announced. The cinch in Y/N’s brow smoothed out when the principal continued speaking. Harry, however, couldn’t help the questioning frown.

“Top Chemistry. Top Biology. Overall Best Science Student. Gold Volunteer Badge. Level 4 Music Theory. Beatrice has been excelling both academically and musically while serving the community,”

Beatrice squinted at the bright lights, placing her diploma and speech on the podium. She had never been good at public speaking. However, her announced name gave Beatrice newfound confidence. It’s just her. All her achievements wouldn’t be credited to her father just because he was Harry Styles.

“Hi, uh,” She cleared her throat, “I’m Beatrice Y/LN and I’m very honoured to be standing in front of you today,”

Her speech was short and to the point; thanking her fellow classmates even though there were very few to thank personally. There were a few jokes in between and some nostalgic memories about various school events throughout the year. Beatrice mentioned remarks to her teachers who helped her achieve high grades. Lastly, she thanked her family for supporting her

“I’d like to thank my family. My brother, Caleb. My sister, Ruby and my Mum. You guys have been so wonderful to me and I hope that I made you proud,”

Y/N was tearing up with a hand clasped over her mouth. She could not believe that her oldest daughter was off to university in a few weeks. Beatrice’s work ethic was unmatched and it showed in her getting the recognition that she deserved.

There was a pregnant pause before applause filled the space again. Despite switching her name last minute, everyone in her school knew that Beatrice was a Styles kid. They were probably waiting for her to mention him in her speech. But Beatrice felt no need to mention the man that had done nothing for her. He wasn’t even here.

“Thank you and congratulations, everyone!”

Harry slumped lower in his seat. He could feel Y/N’s worried eyes and Caleb’s observant gaze inspecting his face.

____

Beatrice stood beside her family, watching Harry a few metres away who was currently busy attending to the fans that recognized him. Even with his graying hair, many parents greeted him with a reminiscing statement about how they ‘saw him in concert back in the day’, to which he would chuckle at and proceed to converse for a few minutes until their child--Beatrice’s age--tugged them away.

All that Beatrice wanted to do was to get home and interact with her online friends. She had mentioned that she was graduating today and they were all very proud of her. Beatrice would rather take the peace and quiet of her own room than a bustling party.

“You’re invited,” Emma, a popular girl, stated while handing her a piece of paper with all the details of the party. Beatrice mumbled a hushed ‘thanks’, despite knowing that she wouldn’t even attend it in the first place.

“Are you going, Tris?” Y/N asked, holding Ruby’s hand so the youngest child would not get lost in the crowd.

Beatrice shook her head ‘no’, explaining that there was no point.

“I don’t know anyone there anyway,”

She was kind of a loner, but Beatrice was happier by herself anyways. “Besides, I don’t think dad will agree. It’s way past curfew,”

Y/N nodded in understanding. The curfew set for their eldest child was at nine in the evening. Y/N was sure that Harry would be lenient to let Beatrice go; it was her graduation after all. Sooner or later, Beatrice would be leaving for university.

____

Beatrice should be grateful. She should be happy, yet somehow those emotions were non-existent to her brain right now. She should be smiling, eyes brimming with tears because her dad actually cared to throw a party for her. But all she could feel right now was a pure disappointment and agonizing anger because Beatrice knows that he was trying to make up for years of mistreatment.

At this moment, the rowdiness of the party only proved that Harry really did not know anything about Beatrice. She did not know over half the people here, aside from the few relatives they see during the holidays; her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. The rest were recognizable from Harry’s industry. Beatrice swore she saw Lizzo sipping a cup of liquor in their kitchen.

Aside from the initial greeting of ‘congratulations’, paired with the large banister taped on the foyer of the house, this party wasn’t much of a celebration based on Beatrice’s milestone in life. If anything, it looked like a regular get together for celebrities and industry people. Frankly, she had no interest in interacting with them. As rude as it may sound, the swirling turmoil of emotions beginning from her stomach made Beatrice push past the packed crowd with a tight-lipped smile in order to get to her room.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, especially knowing that these people in her house absolutely adored Harry. They saw him as a family man, loved and appreciated by his kids. It wasn’t a complete lie, per se. Beatrice just didn’t have much experience to confirm that he was, in fact, a lovable and caring person.

If she had to put a finger on it, Beatrice was feeling utter disgust. She was disgusted because Harry was the perfect person in their eyes when everything he had shown her was that she was someone that didn’t deserve any of his attention. It felt like this was a celebration of her dad’s façade--he was not actually proud of her. He was just making it seem like he is so he wouldn’t be perceived as the dead-beat dad.

A knock at her door sounded. It was almost as if Beatrice could sense her dad’s presence without turning around to look at who just entered the privacy of her room.

“Tris?” Harry whispered, hesitating on mumbling the nickname. He had never done it willingly before, much less not as bitter as the previous times.

Beatrice swore that she could practically see the venom slithering on his tongue every time he said her name. But maybe that was just her skewed perception.

The chair that she was sitting on creaked as she shifted her weight, leaning her elbows on her desk.

“Why did you even throw a party, dad?”

It was merely a genuine question that held so many underlying meanings. Why now? Why not earlier when there was still hope to fix whatever sort of broken and fucked up relationship they had with each other?

Harry fully stepped into the room, observing the walls decorated with art and artists whom he recognized were his friends. He didn’t realize that she was a fan of Florence Pugh.

He cleared his throat with a fist to his mouth, “I wanted to celebrate your graduation,”

Beatrice internally rolled her eyes, “Did you really? Because you haven’t been there when I needed your help with my homework or assignments or anything. Now, suddenly you want to act like you were a big part of how I achieved my accomplishments?”

It was a sour realization. It was accurate that Harry refused to help her with schoolwork. He swore that he was busy looking over new options for his upcoming projects. Retrospectively, he might have subconsciously spewed out excuses so that he wouldn’t be able to help his dear daughter.

Beatrice sighed, flattening the balls of her palms against the edge of the sleek wood, pushing the rolling wheels of the chair back. She stood up.

“Just admit it. You threw the party because you felt guilty and you think that somehow, everything will magically be okay between us?” Beatrice shot him a questioning look, chest-puffing when Harry’s lack of words confirmed her theory.

Beatrice propped her feet in the middle of her room, twisting her body so that her back was facing away from the closed-door; from him. She breathed heavily through her nose, lungs rising up and down as she gathered her thoughts.

Unbelievable.

Harry stood with his arms by his sides, staring at his daughter with curious compassion. He did not know what to say, nor did he know how to act because he didn’t take the time to get to know her. He didn’t spend time with Beatrice; nurturing, caring, calming or comforting her because he simply couldn't get over the fact that she was once a person that caused calamity in his life.

“Tris,” Her dad spoke, earning a pinch of her facial expression from the familiarity of the nickname. Yet, it was unfamiliar because Harry used it mundanely.

Beatrice cut him off, “I’ll be leaving for university in a few weeks. You can quit pretending like you care. You say this graduation party is for me but I don’t even know most of the people here!”

The volume of her voice reached a threshold that should warn both of them to keep quiet. However, Beatrice knew that with the hustle and bustle of the celebration going on downstairs—no one would hear her honesty except for her and Harry.

Harry blinked twice, mouth dropping slightly agape. Why did he throw this party? He knew his intentions; he was proud of his daughter. He wanted to show her off to everyone he knew about how intelligent and well-rounded Beatrice was.

The girl continued speaking as if reading Harry’s train of thought.

“This is for you,” She spoke bitterly as if her tongue was left with an odd taste in her mouth. “Showing off a ‘trophy’ daughter who graduated with honours but that doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing I ever do will match what you’ve done.”

The accompanying laugh—albeit, sarcastic— left Harry confused.

“What? No, this is for you. I’m proud of you,” Harry quickly disagreed with Beatrice, gesturing his large hands in a wave to emphasize his words.

She turned around with gentle disbelief; her features were hardened yet Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with hope. She wanted so badly to believe her dad, but his lack of attentiveness to her led Beatrice to roll her eyes at him instead.

“Cut the crap, Dad,”

“Language,” Harry added, pursing his lips when Beatrice scoffed.

“I can’t believe this,” Beatrice muttered, she stared at the ground as if picking out the words to say.

As bad as it sounded, she wanted to hurt her dad the way he did to her. Years of being treated like an unwanted child slowly built up inside of her and Beatrice wanted the pain to end.

“You wanted to be everything so bad that you forgot to be my Dad,”

“I am your dad, Tris,” Harry watched as she walked over to her desk. Fingers cascading the glass picture frame which held a still of their family.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Beatrice turned around, throwing the edged frame on her bed in a fit of anger.

Harry’s brows shot up to his forehead, watching his daughter’s eyes well up with tears.

“You are my dad but you’ve never been one to me! Why is that? Huh?” Beatrice pressed, crossing her arms and digging her fingernails on the skin of her bicep.

“I’m sorry that I took those opportunities away from you. You got movie deals, You had an album coming out. Tours, shows, money—you had everything and I ruined it, didn’t I? As you said, it would’ve been better if I wasn’t born,”

Harry was no stranger to not interrupting someone when they spoke. However, he couldn’t let Beatrice believe the words she spoke.

“Don’t say that! That’s not true,” He stuttered over his words, heart-shattering under the weight of Beatrice’s truthfulness. Sure, he had everything, but it didn’t mean that he was satisfied.

“But you thought about it right? You wondered how different it would be if I wasn’t born at the wrong time. Maybe you would’ve loved me more—like you do Caleb and Ruby,” Beatrice smiled sadly.

She was glad that at least her siblings would not have to experience the searing pain of being unappreciated. They did not deserve to be seen through like a ghost.

“Maybe you would’ve paid more attention to me. Maybe you would have cared that I was hurting every time you showed me nothing but disdain,”

Beatrice used her forearm to wipe away the tears beginning to soak her reddened cheeks. She sighed, plopping down at the foot of her bed, watching Harry look at her with an unreadable emotion on his face.

“You know, It’s not my responsibility to ask why,” Beatrice whispered. Though, she wondered what would have happened if she did question her dad why he looked at her as if she was a burden in his life.

Beatrice’s monologue crescendoed as utter pain cracked her voice every now and then. Her figure slouching as she truly experienced what it was like to let go of the turmoiled affliction soaring through her body.

“I’m your child! You’re the one who’s supposed to be looking out for me. You’re the one who’s supposed to show me what love is supposed to feel like. I’ve always wondered how you’d react if I came home with a boyfriend like all the movies and books talk about. But, all you’ve shown and made me feel was my first heartbreak when you’re supposed to be the one nursing me from it,”

At that point, Harry could not remain the eye contact he shared with his daughter, gazing down at the floorboard in shame.

“You were supposed to scare guys off because I’m your eldest daughter. You’re supposed to protect me from everything that could hurt me, even when it’s irrational because that is what Dads do,”

That same bitter laugh that pierced Harry’s ears earlier echoed again.

“But I guess you never really wanted to become one to begin with. Or maybe just not with me.”

Harry took a few steps back. Her words figuratively churned and twisted his gut. He caught his balance on the doorknob that moved feverishly under his weight. Sure, he didn’t want to be her dad at first. And he had many chances to fix a strained relationship, but he never took them. So really, he had no shield at denying the truth. He was simply a father who failed to be the dad to Beatrice.

“I-I do! I want to be--if you'd let me,” He hated the way his voice became weary.

Despite their differences, Beatrice and Harry both mutually hated the way his tone pinched. The way he had to plead and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness when it seemed to be too late. This could have been avoided if Harry took the chance to become the dad that Beatrice deserved to have. The dad that her siblings--Caleb and Ruby--saw and spent time with while Beatrice watched behind, wondering why she was never treated the way they did.

“For years, I wondered what was wrong with me. I listened to the music that you liked. I asked mum what you enjoyed doing because you never talk to me. I wanted you to see me as a daughter instead of this--this invisible speck that you shrug off your shoulder every time I needed you!” Beatrice cried out, hugging herself for comfort.

The worst part was that she could see Harry’s legs buckle in hesitation to come closer to her or not. He shouldn’t even have to think to comfort his daughter, but he did.

“I wanted you to like me as if I even have to do that in the first place! You’re my dad, don’t you get it? Because I didn’t. I spent so much time being the perfect child in hopes of you giving me an ounce of your attention aside from the face you put on when I walked into the room. Why did you have to treat me this way, huh?”

Tears spilled from her forest-green eyes, identical to Harry’s glazed ones. His mouth parted in retaliation. As if he was plopped in quicksand, Harry had no idea how to defend himself.

“I know that you didn’t want me in the first place but--,” Beatrice sniffled, wiping the salty liquid to her damp temples, “I just wished you treated me like I wasn’t a burden to you,”

_____

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #Harry styles fan fic #Harry styles fanfiction

642 notes · View notes

opalesense · 4 years

Text

the last appointment

zhongli & gn!reader

3.4k words • ~25 min. read

summary: as a studious and credible fortune teller in liyue, you discover something about your last client of the week that completely derails your outlook on life.

warnings: liyue arc spoilers, little bit of existential dread, slight mention of family member’s death

notes: might make more parts to this idk? just kinda wanted to dip my toes into genshin writing for the first time!!

LIFE IN LIYUE HARBOUR seemed to be repetitive and mundane. For the past few years, you would wake up, open your fortune telling shop, analyze the futures of your clients using your geomancy, possibly take a stroll around Liyue when you needed to run errands, and then call it a day. You performed the same routine constantly, sometimes travelling beyond the harbor to collect crystals and magical supplies for your shop, but rarely did anything truly change in your routine. If something was off in the slightest, it was never too exciting to note.

As anyone would have suspected, you were tired of your state of limbo in life. Other vision holders seemed to be going on adventures, travelling with companions and exploring the vast mountains and valleys of Teyvat. Other vision holders seemed to be fighting against evil, helping citizens, and saving the world from imminent dangers. You could even recall a recent event where the Qixing had evacuated the harbor to defeat a terrifying sea monster. The Jade Chamber had been sacrificed for the safety of the people of Liyue, and yet here you were, playing with a bunch of rocks for a living. Despite being able to grasp the glowing Geo vision that held your coat together, you could not grasp why you felt doomed to tend to this shop for the rest of your days.

You didn’t know where or how to “start” your life. The small, inherited establishment from your late aunt was located in the small alley of Chihu Rock, practically out of sight from most of the foot traffic in the harbor. Not many people came to visit, though your name was still decently known. In fact, most of your appointments were simply previous clients from your aunt, regulars that relied on her readings for years and believed you were the next best thing after she passed. Especially considering you were the first vision holder in your family, it made your credibility even stronger.

You still remember how you got your vision. The morning after your aunt had passed, the elemental gift somehow made its way into your hand as if the timing was meant to be perfect. You didn’t celebrate such a special and momentous occasion with pride or joy. Your face stiff with tears, you instead reflected on why you received your vision at that moment in the first place. With the shop doors closed upstairs, you gripped your vision and did what you felt needed to be done. With your family’s legacy and tradition on the line, adventuring like other vision wielders was not a priority at the time.

But after years alone of research, a social life consisting only of interacting with customers, and a constant state of grieving the experiences you could’ve had in your youth, you were now in your late twenties and closing the shop for the day. Your last appointment was either extremely late or not showing up at all and you were tired of working today, just like every other day. Regret gripped you tightly as you wondered how you managed to get yourself in such a boring, slow burning loop.

That is until the shop door opened, eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden noise, shattering the previous thought. You accidentally dropped the basket of cor lapis you were refilling and immediately knelt down to pick up the precious pieces that thankfully hadn’t cracked on the way down.

“Hello, [Y/N],” the tall figure practically glided through the doorway, “My deepest apologies for being late.”

He closed the door behind him, “...and for startling you, it seems.”

You sighed, checking for any scratches on the gems and sighed again with relief based on the good results. You grinned to hide the fact you had just been in deep thought. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Zhongli. It’s kind of you to stop by at the very least, even if you’re late.”

Mr. Zhongli was one of your aunt’s longtime clients. Since you were a child, your aunt had always described Mr. Zhongli as a complex yet thoughtful man that had always shown kindness to your family for many years. When Mr. Zhongli learned of your aunt’s death and began to receive readings from you instead, you quickly realized what your aunt meant by calling him complex. Mr. Zhongli was truly a tough nut to crack in every single reading, his sessions taking longer than most other cases. That is why Mr. Zhongli would always offer to take the last spot of the day at the end of every week as to not trouble any of your other clients.

As you took a few of the best cor lapis from the basket, you could see Mr. Zhongli’s acts of kindness and thoughtfulness unfold in front of you. He seemed to carry what was now clearly a gift basket at closer inspection.

“This gift is for you,” Mr. Zhongli took a few steps forward to set the basket on a countertop. “I brought you your favorites. Slow cooked bamboo shoot soup, qingxin, glaze lilies, and all the crystals I could find… needless to say, let this be a token of my appreciation for your patience and hard work from our last few sessions. I know I am not the easiest to read, but you truly have a talent.”

You were speechless at the gesture as your eyes sunk into the intricate detail of the handwoven basket and decorated items inside. No one had ever done something so kind for you in so long. It was astonishing enough that he remembered your favorite soup that you mentioned only once a few months ago, let alone your favorite flowers and crystals as well. “Thank you so much, Mr. Zhongli! I’m at a loss for words – this is so thoughtful of you!”

“I even brought you that Rex Incognito series you had mentioned, although, I am not sure why you would need to read the series when I am fully capable of educating you on the history of Rex Lapis myself,” he flaunted, taking his seat on the cushioned chair in front of the reading table.

“Now, Mr. Zhongli...” you picked out some prithiva topaz from another basket, following the usual protocol you had with such a personalized, frequent client like him. The required materials for his readings were imprinted into your memory like carvings in stone. “You know I don’t want to burden you with my curiosity. And with such an intriguing topic like Rex Lapis... once I start asking questions I’m afraid I will not stop.”

“I have all the time in the world,” he got comfortable in his seat as you sat yourself across from him, “I truly think it would benefit you to discuss the history of Rex Lapis with a learned scholar such as myself. We can even have some tea as we discuss.”

You chuckled at his eagerness. He seemed more forward than usual. “You are too kind, Mr. Zhongli. Perhaps I’ll take that offer someday, but at least let me put those books to good use first. Maybe I won’t need to bombard you with questions if I’m already well briefed on the subject.”

He sighed happily. “You make a good point. And you will enjoy them, I’m sure.”

You settled into your seat as you arranged the crystals between the two of you. “The usual for tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

Your hands meticulously placed the last crystal in its spot on the surface. You closed your eyes and hovered your hands above the rocks, clearing your mind to make way for the usual reading: a reflection on the past, any significant events of the present to focus on, and some insight into the future. You held this hand gesture for awhile, letting the energy from the rocks lift into the air and envelop your gloved palms. When you felt there was enough energy to work with, you opened your eyes to reveal the manifestation of his thoughts in front of you, able to take its physical form using the powers from your glowing vision.

No one had ever taught your this skill, not even your aunt. If you had to bloat your own ego, one could say you invented this Geo fortune telling process yourself. The process indeed came to you naturally, a true display of pure talent.

You slowly lifted your hands to allow the visual manifestation to settle on the table among the gems so Mr. Zhongli could watch his reading unfold in front of him as well.

“Let us analyze the past first,” he spoke, already knowing the routine without you needing to ask him where to start. You slowly waved your hands as if you were digging a hole in sand on a beach, the manifestation displaying ambiguous patterns that wouldn’t make sense to any commoner’s eyes but could be interpreted easily by yours.

Two pairs of focused eyes fixated on the picture as you spoke your mind out loud. “You have recently given up something extremely important to you, it seems. I see you handing over something… small, physically, yet unbelievably significant and personal. I can’t tell what it is exactly, only that it glows like the sun with its energy. But you have handed this important object over to a very... evil... figure?” you cocked your eyebrow, confused. “You seem to be brooding over the fact that its aura is dark with malicious intentions.” You hesitated, “Well, that can’t be right, can it?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, that is indeed what happened recently. But it had to be done.”

“Didn’t we talk about a similar situation in a previous reading? If I remember correctly, I thought I had advised you to not give up whatever that object was.”

“I am aware of the consequences that will follow. Especially with your future guidance, I’m sure the events following this one questionable decision will unfold in a better way soon enough.”

“I will always be here to help you, Mr. Zhongli. But please be careful in the future with these decisions. The importance of this object seems to be off the charts.”

He nodded. “It is as you say. Please, have faith in me now. I cannot change what happened in the past, after all.”

You hovered over this image of the sacrifice. You couldn’t make out what this object was, no matter how close you tried to inspect it. It had the likings of a chess piece, but surely this wasn’t simply a chess piece, was it?

“Let us move on, if that is alright with you,” his low voice cut the silence.

You wiped the image from your mind and waved your hands again, as if you were slowly putting the sand back into the hole you dug before. If the last image wasn’t enough bad news, this new one that formed was even more painful to witness.

“You have been grieving your losses very recently,” you said gently. “Your mind is currently weighed down by your past. I see you looking out at the sea in deep thought. There are flashes of…”

You stopped as you inspected the graphic images that suddenly appeared beyond your hands. You gasped at the terrifying horrors.

“What is it?” the low voice tried to search for understanding of what you were seeing. Even though the image was clearly laid out in front of him, it was still too ambiguous to tell when he lacked your years of experience.

“There are flashes of war,” your breath stifled as you watched his thoughts splayed out in images of lifeless bodies and destruction. “Very graphic details of war and death. Mr. Zhongli, I believe this image of suffering has been weighing over your mind like an anchor in the sea.”

He paused to process your comparison. “That is... a very good way to put it.”

“Though, I believe that despite the sorrow that emanates in this image, you are in a state of relief and tranquility. It seems you are grieving, but you are simultaneously at peace,” you hesitated again, “Yet I wonder what these graphic images of war are meant to represent. Surely we are not in an actual war, are we? Perhaps you are at war with your past, wanting to move on but haunted by your memories?”

Mr. Zhongli unfortunately knew the images you were seeing were, in fact, real events he had experienced in his life time and the truth was that lately he had been reminiscing on these events. Mortal life is kind to humans for them to be blissfully unaware and carefree of these harsh realities, he internally commented.

He still put your analysis into thought, though.

“I am haunted, indeed. I have been attempting to come to terms with my troubled past, just as you advised me only a few weeks ago. I have tried to follow your guidance, and although they resurface what I have been trying to repress, I believe I am coming to peace with what happened.”

You grinned. “That is very good to hear, Mr. Zhongli. I believe you are currently making good progress when it comes to moving on. Just remember that it is okay to remember your sorrow. Let your emotions pass through you instead of repressing them or rushing to move on. It is okay to take your time and let the thoughts bubble inside of you for awhile.”

He closed his eyes as you continued, letting your advice seep in. You continued. “Imagine the stillness of the sea. Many creatures and lost remnants take their place in the depths of the waters, but on the surface we see constantly moving yet serene waves wash over what is hidden below. Your memories are there to stay, Mr. Zhongli. But your present self, the surface of the water, can peacefully coexist with whatever is hiding deep within. Let these thoughts weigh you down momentarily, but rest assured, you will find balance and acceptance in due time.”

His eyes fluttered open as he reflected over your words. You always seemed to know what to say. “Your words have truly resonated with me, [Y/N]. And you are absolutely correct. I have been fighting these memories to avoid the pain, but it had not dawned on me that sorrow is... what I am meant to feel, not push away. I suppose your advice has put my mind at a bit more ease, and I suppose I am focusing too much on when I will be able to move on rather than allowing my thoughts to coexist for a moment.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you grinned with the relief that washed over his face.

“Shall we move on?” he offered.

You got to work on the last segment of the reading. If manifesting the other images didn’t take long enough, reading one’s future always took the longest. Interpreting an event that hasn’t happened yet always made you a bit nervous with your words. You never wanted to let a client down with an inaccurate reading.

On the contrary, this reading, despite taking quite awhile to appear on the surface on the table, was very clear.

“That is undoubtedly an image of me,” your eyes glazed over the facial features of the person in the manifestation. “I apologize for the delay, Mr. Zhongli, I must have accidentally let my thoughts seep into yours–“

“Do not fret, I believe this is accurate,” he interrupted. “Keep going.”

Your perplexed expression remained as you continued the reading. “I am admittedly stumped. There is nothing left in this image. I suppose it is simply me standing in what looks like some ruins. I am holding a staff, or some kind of long object.” You paused to think out loud. “Why am I in your reading? What could this possibly mean?”

Mr. Zhongli chuckled as you thought out loud. “Perhaps this is a good time to tell you why you are in my thoughts.”

“I’d love to hear it, I have never appeared in someone’s reading in my last decade and a half of experience. This is quite unique.”

He folded his hands in his lap, “For some reason, I have had this strange vision of training you. I’m not sure why, since you don’t seem like the fighting type, but there is some voice inside me that is telling me you are destined for something great and i need to take some part in it. What do you think, now that you see this vision as well?”

Your eyebrows rose in shock. “Training me? I guess this does relate to something I have been pondering as of late. I do not want to lay out my troubles on you though, my job is to interpret your life, not mine.”

“Our lives have clearly intertwined in this vision,” he insisted, “Please do not hold back for my sake. I have the time.”

You thought for a moment. How could you form the words without seeming too selfish? How could you maintain professionalism by talking about your personal problems?

“I am not the fighting type, Mr. Zhongli. Though, lately I have been quite depressed about the fact that I am not doing as much with my vision as other vision holders are. My life is uninteresting. The truth is that I am a simple fortune teller that plays with rocks. I hope you can understand why I am failing to interpret this reading,” you apologized. “It’s because this doesn’t seem characteristic of me at all. And with all due respect, after giving you readings for years, I would have never guessed you were versed in combat to train me!”

He chuckled. “I respectfully disagree. To tell you the truth, your talents surpass the abilities of many other vision holders. Not everyone can read thoughts or tell the future. Now that I mention it, I know of one talented astrologist in Mondstadt, but think about that. You are one in hundreds of thousands in Teyvat,” he reassured. “You did not receive your vision for no reason and I truly believe you are destined for something big. I regret not being able to realize this before.”

“How are you so sure of this? I would love to believe you, but I’m afraid I am not destined for much, really. Again, I am simply a fortune teller. What could I possibly do for Liyue other than read some rocks?”

He sighed and connected his palms with yours, interrupting the reading and wiping the manifestation off the table. The hovering crystals dropped onto the surface, making you gasp at the sudden sound.

“I am not who you think I am,” his amber eyes finally met yours for the first time this evening, which sent a chill down your spine. “Promise me you will not fret, for what I am about to show you may shock you.”

“What do you mean? What are you doing, Mr. Zhongli?” you slightly panicked as he firmly grasped your hands.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in golden light that emitted from the seat across from you. Scattered, distorted images of a mystical dragon, a devastating war, and seven seats in Celestia flashed across your eyes as you stared at the beams of light. Death seemed to swallow you, but not take you. The baskets of crystals around the room shook with the surge of energy. The world seemed to destroy itself then remake itself over and over again within fleeting moments. These thousands of years of memories made your body tremble. It all happened within fleeting moments, and after a few seconds of your senses being overwhelmed, you finally pulled yourself together and connected the dots.

His expanded knowledge of Liyue’s history. The sudden gift of your vision immediately after your aunt passed. Grieving his losses and having flooded thoughts of war and death. Offering combat training. Remembering your favorites the same way he would remember Liyue’s customs and traditions. His glowing amber eyes alone.

Mr. Zhongli was the God of Contracts and overseer of Liyue. Rex Lapis, a being that lived for millennia, sat in the seat across from you. He had been posing as a mere mortal for years, taking readings as if he were any normal customer. The realization shook you to your core as you sat there bewildered, grateful, and horrified at the same time.

He let go of your hands after seeing that the information successfully processed in your mind. He saw something in you that was yet to be awakened, where the sky was the limit under your own expectations. This daydream of his was no simple vision – it was a calling. Internally, whether you agreed to it or not, he vowed that he would not leave your life until your true destiny was fulfilled.

He would see this vow fulfilled by offering you a contract that would change the course of your life forever.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #rex lapis #mine #boom #genshin impact x reader

288 notes · View notes

babbushka · 4 years

Text

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :)

Available on AO3

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

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine.

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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

Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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

His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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

The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway.

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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

Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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

Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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

The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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

Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

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

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target.

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

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

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

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

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!” ---------------------

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

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #adam driver fanfic #adam driver #adcu #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman fanfic #5k follower celebration #my writing #fairytale au #storybook au

152 notes · View notes