#i actually have no clue who the first band is

[bastardsofravenkroft-blog]

asking the mutuals if they get it...

guns and roses is not the cure??

[tiredandoptimistic]

What I think works so well about Clary and Isabelle's friendship is that they're very similar people, but they present themselves just differently enough to appear alien to each other. Both of them were the only girls in a group of boys (Isabelle was raised more or less isolated with Alec and Jace, while Clary doesn't seem to have any friends other than Simon and to a lesser extent his band), and they responded to this in very different ways. Isabelle basically committed herself to her role of "the girl" and always performs extreme femininity, while Clary attempts to sink into the background as "one of the guys." Both of these behaviors can be seen as rebellions against their culture. Isabelle comes from the very misogynist world of Shadowhunters, where women are respected as warriors but expected to act in a masculine way in order to earn that respect. She rejects this, and proves her place as a brilliant fighter while maintaining her fun and glossy feminine traits (compare her with Jessamine Lovelace, who was seen as silly and frivolous for her feminine interests). Clary on the other hand is a child of the nineties growing up in NYC. As a teenage girl in the early 2000s, she would have been surrounded by "not like other girls" philosophy, and hyperfemininity would be both pushed on her and demonized in popular culture. Because of all the pressure placed on gender roles and her lack of connection with other girls her age, it's no surprise that Clary would develop a certain bitterness towards people who perform gender in a way she won't.

With all of that out of the way, we get two teenage girls who have no fucking clue how to handle each other. They're both jealous of how the other one fits in with the guys in a way they can't. Obviously any friend group is made up of friendships which fit together in unique ways, but Clary and Isabelle both see themselves as The Girl, and thus are worried that the other one will make them redundant (Clary gets along with Jace, so will he still need Isabelle? Isabelle and Simon are getting along, will this take away Clary's place as Simon's most important person?) Of course this isn't something that will actually ruin their friendships, but Clary and Isabelle don't know that. Instead they need to learn how to engage with each other, and I enjoy that TMI actually shows them having those conversations. They're trying, but it doesn't all happen at once. Clary still has bitter thoughts about Isabelle's femininity, and she also looks down on other girls like Maia.

Speaking of Maia, there's a really good moment in COA where Clary starts grumbling to herself about how unfair it is that a werewolf can be pretty, and that Maia should be gross and hairy. She then catches herself, and literally thinks "this is exactly why I don't have any female friends," showing that thanks to Isabelle she's learning to recognize her internalized misogyny. She can hang out with other pretty girls, and it doesn't decrease her value as a person.

It's just so nice seeing a character whose internalized misogyny is actively acknowledged by the narrative and treated as a flaw she must overcome. So many female protagonists in the early 2000s (and other decades) had the hyper-femme "best friend" who they hated, but even though that's how Clary sees Izzy at first, she's able to look past it and see the ways they click together. The two of them don't become besties immediately, but they're at least able to get past that first layer of hostility.

[fatliberation]

Freddie Mercury was bisexual though

Nope, this is false! 🏳️‍🌈 Freddie was gay, there’s a lot of misinformation out there about his non-existent affairs with women, and much of it can be chalked up to a shit biographer named Lesley Ann Jones (aka my arch nemesis).

I've been deeply fascinated by Freddie Mercury and studying his personal life for years and years so excuse the following infodump (or jump in for a queer history lesson!)

Contrary to popular belief, Freddie was an out gay man. “Gay as a daffodil, my dear!” He’s clearly stated his sexuality in a handful of interviews; “I’ve done all that but I’m gay. Mary was my last woman.” (This interview was removed from youtube but you can find it mentioned in Freddie Mercury: A Life, in His Own Words which is a compilation of his actual quotes from interviews over the years.) Those statements got buried from the media in favor of promoting his more promiscuous quotes like "Darling, I'm doing everything with everybody." (Journalists LOVE to include this quote when talking about his AIDS...) He did purposely retain an aura of mystique around his sexuality, especially because it was much safer (trendy, even) for musicians to flirt with bisexuality than to be homosexual back then.

Here's a quote from Peter "Phoebe" Freestone, Freddie's personal assistant of twelve years, close friend, and "agony aunt" in his memoir, Freddie Mercury: An Intimate Memoir by the Man Who Knew Him Best:

"When the interview appeared, it was half the length that he imagined it would be. When confronted, Judy Wade said that it would have been impossible to have printed the whole text. She said she was holding back for his benefit, not for hers. Admissions such as, ‘I'm just going for a line and I'll be back in half-a-minute,’ would not have done anyone any good. However, she was fully prepared to underline in her second sentence that admission of being a fully 'out' gay man, although this does not lay the later myth which was popular which claimed that Freddie had never admitted his gayness."

Freddie's close friend Thor Arnold, a gay man and member of the "New York Daughters" (Freddie's gay friend group in NYC, of course Freddie was "mother!") corrected misinformation when fans on the Queenzone forum argued that Freddie was bi:

"Freddie NEVER tried to hide to his friends that he was TOTALLY gay. In his industry, he had to hide it to some extent although as I have said before, he certainly gave clues. This is the same man who came up with the name QUEEN for his band. This is the man who dressed very sexually, ambiguously 'glam' up until 1980. This is the man who threw an Easter bonnet party and had us all create Easter hats. This is the man who used the term darling (or Dahling) more than he used proper names, and renamed his friends with old actresses names (…) I've never seen Freddie look twice at a woman but I have seen him look 3 or 4 times at an attractive man and say, 'Thor, Thor... Oh just look at him... Just gorgeous. I'd love some of THAT' We were genuine friends of Freddie and he would never hide that he was really bi. FREDDIE WAS A GAY MAN through and through...everyone...please get used to it."

LAJ, the biographer I previously mentioned, worked VERY hard to straight-wash Freddie in her book by erasing his gay relationships. She was obsessed with his relationship with Mary Austin and is the main reason modern journalists consider Freddie to have been in profound, romantic love with her his whole life. In reality, they dated for a few years in the 70s and remained close friends after they split up (because Freddie was having affairs with his boyfriend). However, he did rely on her as his "beard" to keep up with appearances for the press.

LAJ completely skipped over Freddie's first official boyfriend, saying it was "a covert fling with a young theatre." His name was David Minns. Freddie loved him so much he left Mary to be with him. They were in a serious relationship for three years.

If you're a Freddie fan, you're familiar with Mary's story of him coming out to her, saying "I think I'm bisexual," and her response, "I think you're gay." This story is probably not the truth. Mary has been very inconsistent with her story of how Freddie came out to her.

Another version she told for BBC Radio:

"I don’t know what sparked the conversation. But I remember standing in the kitchen and he was trying desperately to articulate how he was feeling, and his lifestyle and I just said, 'so you are telling me you're gay?' And he just smiled and 'we'll take it as a yes, you know, we'll leave it at that.' And that was it, it has been a long road getting to that point."

Honestly, I am a bit mistrustful of Mary Austin's intentions in general. If you're curious as to why, this post is a good primer on the ways she might have betrayed Freddie's wishes, namely being cruel to his chosen family after his passing.

Freddie only had one other girlfriend before Mary in college, Rosemary Pearson. When asked about Freddie on ITV's This Morning show, she said that he was more interested in her male friends than in her, and she suspected then that he was gay. This was in the 60s.

LAJ refers to his relationships with women throughout her book, but she doesn't list any names. That's because they don't exist. I could name at least seven of Freddie's boyfriends off of the top of my head. Minnsy. Joe Fanelli. Tony Bastin. Vince the Barman. Bill Reid. Winnie Kirchberger. And of course, his husband Jim Hutton, whom he spent the last six years of his life with.

There is one name that LAJ has chosen to platform and exaggerate her importance, and that's German pornstar Barbara Valentin. If you've heard of her, you might think she had a relationship with Freddie in the 80s, you might have heard the story where he had wild threesomes with her, that they lived together, that he even proposed to her. Not one word of it is true. Freddie hung around Barbara during his time in Munich because she was his 'in' to gay clubs and cocaine dealers. She also served as his English translator and conveniently, another beard for the press.

Not a single person in Freddie’s life has ever corroborated that Freddie and Barbara were anything but friends. As for the claim they lived together, according to Peter Freestone:

“In the event, Freddie never actually lived there although Barbara fulfilled a huge role in Freddie’s life at that time… Freddie became very disillusioned when with more and more frequency articles were appearing in the German press’s gossip columns… about the relationship between him and Barbara… After one article claiming to have knowledge of him and Barbara getting married, Freddie concluded that it could only be Barbara who was providing the information.”

(He was actually living with his Bavarian boyfriend of the time, Winnie Kirchberger.) Freddie stopped seeing Barbara after he found out she was gossiping about being his lover and these stories started appearing in the newspapers. Barbara continued these lies after Freddie's death, making up ludicrous lies like how Freddie tried to kill her by smothering her with a pillow?? She also claimed that he put her at risk of contracting AIDS by having sex with her after his diagnosis in 1987, which is the lie that burns the most. Freddie stopped having sex altogether before his diagnosis because he was terrified of contracting it. Before there was any information of how it was transferred, he showered compulsively. There is such a fucked up narrative that Freddie threw caution to the wind and wasn't careful during the epidemic, that it somehow fits this twisted narrative that his death was a result of his immoral lifestyle. That's the pervasive homophobia that stained the Bohemian Rhapsody biopic.

LAJ is one of those biographers who publishes their books after the celebrity has died, so they wouldn’t be able to deny the information being written in the book. So if there's anything to learn here, is that you can't always trust a biography!

Anyway, Freddie was gay as a daffodil my dears, and he deserved better.

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

[pucksandpower]

What Happens in Vegas

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the morning after the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you wake up with one new wedding ring and zero clue about what happened … or who your husband is

You wake up with a pounding headache, the sunlight filtering through the curtains feeling like daggers in your eyes. Groaning, you roll over and glance at the clock on the nightstand.

12:37 pm.

Far later than you would normally sleep, but given the circumstances, not entirely surprising.

The night before was the Las Vegas Grand Prix and things had gotten a little out of hand afterwards. Okay, more like a lot out of hand.

The details are fuzzy but you vaguely recall dancing on a table at some point and did someone get pushed into the hotel fountain?

Ugh. You make a mental note to apologize to whoever ended up taking an unexpected late-night swim last night.

Sitting up slowly, you rub your temples, trying to ease the jackhammer currently going off in your head. Getting blackout drunk maybe wasn’t the most professional move, but hey, what happens in Vegas and all that.

You stumble into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on your face. As you reach for a towel, the glint of metal on your left hand makes you pause.

No. It can’t be.

But there it is, a simple gold band around your ring finger.

A wedding ring.

Your wedding ring, apparently.

“What the hell?” You mutter, staring at your reflection in disbelief.

You rack your brain, trying desperately to remember what happened last night. But it’s no use, the details are lost in an alcohol-induced haze.

You married someone last night. In Vegas. While ridiculously drunk.

This is bad. Really bad.

Your career, your reputation, everything is on the line here. Who knows what kind of scandal this could cause if word got out? You need to figure out who you married and do damage control, fast.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm the rising panic. Freaking out won’t solve anything right now. You need answers and sitting here panicking won’t get you any. Time to do some investigating.

You quickly throw on some clothes and head downstairs to the hotel lobby. The drivers had agreed to meet for brunch today before getting thoroughly wasted last night. Maybe one of them knows something.

As you step out of the elevator, you immediately spot a group of your friends chatting in the lobby. Max, Charles, Lando … the usual suspects.

Lando is the first to spot you. “Well good morning, Mrs. Lando Norris,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You freeze. No way. There’s no way you married Lando. The kid is like a little brother to you. An obnoxious, hyperactive little brother. But Lando just laughs at your stunned expression.

“Kidding! You should see your face right now,” he giggles. Little punk. But at least that rules out Lando as your surprise husband.

You roll your eyes and shove Lando playfully before turning to the others. “So, crazy night last night, huh?” You say, aiming for nonchalance.

Max shrugs. “I mean, it’s Vegas. Things do tend to get wild.”

“Right, wild,” you echo. Time to cut to the chase. “So wild that I ended up getting married apparently.”

You hold up your left hand, wedding ring glinting in the light. The others stare at it then at each other, puzzled.

“Wait, you actually got married last night?” Charles asks incredulously.

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Yes! And I have no idea who I married. Come on mates, you must remember something from last night that can help me figure this out.”

But their faces are blank, everyone shaking their heads. Useless, the whole lot of them.

You turn to Max, who averts his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

“Max, come on. You always know everything that happens on these nights out. Help me out here,” you plead.

Max shuffles his feet, not meeting your gaze. “I mean, it was pretty crazy. I was very drunk too,” he mumbles.

You sigh in frustration. Clearly you’re not getting anywhere with this group. You need to try someone else, someone who maybe left the party early last night.

You recall Fernando complaining about the horrible music at one point. Bingo.

“Alright, I gotta go see if I can find someone who can get me answers,” you announce. “You drunkards are no help.”

As you turn to leave, Charles calls after you, “Let us know if you find out who the unlucky guy is!” This earns snickers from Lando and Max.

You shake your head and head out to find Fernando. That Spaniard better have some useful information or there will be hell to pay.

One thing is certain, you will get to the bottom of this. You need to find out who this mystery husband is, sort out this mess, and most importantly, get this ring off your finger before the media catches wind of your drunken Vegas wedding.

This is going to be one hell of a day.

***

After leaving the unhelpful group in the lobby, you set out to find Fernando. The Spaniard has always had a keen eye for details. If anyone saw what happened last night, it would be him.

You find Fernando sitting alone at a table in the closest coffee shop, sipping an espresso. He looks irritatingly fresh-faced and put together given the wild night you all had.

“Well good morning, chiquita,” he says with a smirk as you plop down across from him. “You look like you had quite the night.”

You scowl at him. “No thanks to you. Leaving the party early again, I see.”

Fernando shrugs. “What can I say? I’m getting too old for these Vegas nights out with you crazy kids.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Oh yes, grandpa, you’re soooo old at 42. Anyway, I need your help figuring something out.”

You hold up your left hand, the wedding ring glinting under the lights. “Any idea how this might have ended up on my finger last night?”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, looking far too amused. “Well well, our little Y/N got married in Vegas. Who’s the lucky man?”

You huff in annoyance. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out! I don’t remember anything from last night. But I woke up this morning hungover as hell with this on my hand.” You waggle your finger for emphasis.

Fernando sits back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, interesting. And you say you remember nothing?”

“Nothing!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Everything after the third tequila shot is a total blank. Please tell me you saw something that can help me out here.”

You give Fernando your best pleading puppy dog eyes but the Spanish driver just shakes his head.

“Sadly, I did not witness this alleged wedding. I turned in early, unlike you wild youths.”

You groan and let your head fall to the table. “This is bad, Fernando. Really bad. I could lose my seat over this if the team finds out I pulled a stunt like this. I need to figure out who I married!"

Fernando pats your head condescendingly. “There there, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Your secret is safe with me.”

You peer up at him suspiciously. “Just how secret is this? The smirk on your face makes me think you know something.”

The smirk widens. “Maybe I know something, maybe I don’t. But I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.”

“Nando!” You smack his arm as he laughs. “This isn’t funny! Just tell me who I married!”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P obnoxiously. “It is too entertaining watching you squirm.”

You let out a frustrated growl. “You’re the worst. I don’t know why I bothered asking you for help.”

“Because you love me, that’s why,” Fernando says with a cheeky wink.

You can’t help but smile a bit at that. You’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the menace.

“Ugh fine, keep your secrets,” you concede. “I’ll figure this out without your help.”

You start to stand up but Fernando stops you. “Leaving so soon? Stay, have some breakfast with me. You’re going to need your energy today.”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food so you sink back down into your seat. “I guess I could eat something while I plot my next move.”

A waiter comes by and you order a massive plate of food to soak up the alcohol still swimming in your system. As you tuck into your meal, you notice Fernando watching you from across the table, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he says. “Whoever you ended up marrying ... they are a very lucky man. Underneath this hungover mess, you have a good heart. Don’t be too hard on yourself over one wild night, eh?”

You pause mid-bite, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Nando. That really means a lot coming from you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand briefly before returning to his coffee. The playful twinkle returns to his eye. “Even if you did get married like an idiot last night.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks. Way to ruin the moment there.”

Fernando shrugs, unrepentant. “What can I say? I live to annoy you, little sister.”

You finish up your meal, feeling slightly better with some food in you. As frustrating as that encounter was, at least you can count on Fernando to keep this quiet. Time to go gather more clues.

You stand and point an accusatory finger at Fernando. “This isn’t over. I will get to the bottom of this mystery marriage!”

Fernando just smiles enigmatically. “I have no doubt. Good luck, Mrs. Whatever Your New Last Name Is.”

You stick your tongue out at him maturely and flounce away. That man is infuriating. But the quest continues. Time to find the next driver on your interrogation list.

***

You decide to try your luck with Daniel next. The Aussie partied hard but he’s also a notorious gossip. Maybe he caught wind of something that can point you in the right direction.

You find Daniel lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, basking in the Vegas sun like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

So unfair.

“Hello there, sunshine,” he drawls as you walk up. “Don’t you look fresh as a daisy this fine day.”

You glare at him from behind your own sunglasses. “Stuff it, Ricciardo. I’m only here because I need information from you.”

Daniel gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! Here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” you roll your eyes. “When you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

“A pain in that fine ass of yours? Perish the thought!”

You smack him lightly upside the head and he chuckles. “Alright alright, what do you need from old mate Daniel?”

You plop down in the lounge chair next to him and hold up your left hand. “I need you to tell me anything you know or can remember about how this got on my finger last night.”

Daniel lets out a low whistle. “Well tickle me pink and call me Sheila, Y/N’s gone and got herself hitched in Vegas!”

You shush him frantically. “Keep your voice down! The last thing I need is for this to get out.”

Looking far too delighted by the situation, Daniel leans in conspiratorially. “Right, top secret and all that. Who’s the lucky fella then?”

You sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Everything after we moved on to OMNIA is a total blackout. Please tell me you know something.”

Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let me think here ... I may have some recollection of the night’s events.”

You perk up. “Yes? Go on then, tell me!”

“I do seem to remember ...” he pauses theatrically, “... that I was your very own ring bearer for the occasion!”

Your face falls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

Daniel grins cheekily. “What can I say, it was a beautiful ceremony. I was truly honored to be part of it.”

You smack his arm. “You’re no help at all! Come on, I’m desperate here.”

Daniel laughs and puts up his hands. “Alright, alright, I’m just having a bit of fun with ya. Truth is, I was as pissed as the rest of you lot last night. Don’t remember much myself.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Daniel must take pity on your crestfallen face because he places a hand on your shoulder. “Chin up, Y/N. So you got a little wild in Vegas, it happens. I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.”

You nod but can’t keep the worry from your face. “I know, it’s just ... this could really screw things up if anyone finds out. I don’t even know who I married!”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’ve got the Honey Badger on the case!” He proclaims cheerfully. “I may not have the details but I’ll sniff around and ask some questions on the down low.”

You smile gratefully. “I appreciate that. Hopefully someone around here knows something.”

Daniel pops to his feet and offers you a hand. “Too right! Now come on, up you get. Let’s go scrounge up some greasy food and hair of the dog for that hangover, eh?”

You let Daniel pull you to your feet, feeling bolstered by his positivity.

As you head towards the sports bar in search of a burger and fries, Daniel slings an arm around your shoulder. “Cheer up! This’ll make for one hell of a story someday. It might even become a Grill The Grid trivia question.”

Despite everything, you have to laugh. Trust Daniel to look for the bright side.

But you still can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You married someone last night. For real. It’s not just some random hookup you can laugh off. There’s a living, breathing person out there who you pledged your life to and you don’t even know their name.

What kind of person did drunk Y/N choose as a life partner? Are they worried about this too? Or are they some opportunistic sleaze looking to take advantage of you?

You shake your head, realizing Daniel is watching you with a quizzical look. No use speculating. Just keep searching for answers, one driver at a time.

***

After saying goodbye to Daniel, you set off in search of Lewis. As the life of every party, surely he has to know the details of your wild night.

You eventually track him down just outside the hotel, walking his beloved bulldog. Lewis grins when he sees you approaching.

“Ah the bride awakens at last! We were wondering when you’d emerge,” he says with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes. “News sure travels fast. I’m guessing Nando blabbed?”

Lewis shakes his head. “When you have an impromptu wedding in the middle of a rager in Vegas, people are going to talk.”

You wince, dreading how far word of this has already spread. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you need information.

“About that ...” you say. “I don’t suppose you happen to know who I ended up marrying last night?”

Lewis’ grin widens. “Now what kind of best man would I be if I spilled the beans?”

You stare at him in shock. “Best man? You were there?”

“But of course!” Lewis declares. “Had to lend my impeccable fashion sense for your dress. Pulled some strings with a stylist I know and got you all hooked up last minute.”

Your mind is reeling. You got married in an actual wedding dress? This just gets worse and worse.

You wrack your brain trying to picture it. But you have zero memory of any dress. Lewis must read the confusion on your face.

“Don’t worry, I had it safely delivered to your room after you started taking it off in the middle of the club. Though I’m guessing you were in no state to keep track of it,” he chuckles.

You shake your head, still stunned. “I didn’t see any dress in my room. What did you do with it?”

Lewis taps his chin. “You know, I did pop in this morning to check on you but you were still passed out cold. So I had the dress boxed up and sent off to be preserved and framed as a gift.”

He crouches down to scratch Roscoe behind the ears. “That’s from me and this good boy right here. Couldn’t let such a work of art go to waste!”

You’re touched in spite of yourself. “That’s really sweet, thank you. But I would really rather just know who I married right now.”

Lewis stands back up and wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, where’s the fun in that? This is the most entertainment we’ve had all season!”

You groan as Lewis laughs. “Come on, Lew. Have mercy and put me out of my misery here.”

But Lewis just zips his mouth. “My lips are sealed! Don’t you worry though, he’s a great guy. You’ve got my stamp of approval.”

You cross your arms in frustration. Of course Lewis would drag this out like a sitcom. But his clue gives you pause.

“He’s a great guy,” Lewis said. So your mystery spouse is someone Lewis personally knows and actually approves of. That narrows it down a bit.

Lewis gives you an apologetic smile and checks his watch. “I’d best be off. But don’t worry, you’ll figure this out!” He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he saunters away with Roscoe in tow.

You watch them go, mind spinning.

Lewis doesn’t just compliment anyone. So apparently drunk Y/N didn’t marry a total disaster. That’s something at least.

You absently twist the wedding band around your finger. You wish you could remember anything about him, about what happened between you.

Did you have a beautiful ceremony? Exchange heartfelt vows? Share a magical first dance as spouses?

You shake your head ruefully. If so, what a shame not to remember any of it. Here’s hoping that this “great guy” turns out to be someone who can make you fall in love all over again ...

***

You decide on a new approach — find the person who actually married you and your husband last night. Whoever officiated the ceremony must know the identity of your mystery groom.

The only problem is, you have no idea who that could be. It’s not like Vegas chapels employ actual priests or judges to perform marriages. It was probably just some random person licensed to perform marriages.

You start making the rounds of the chapels on the Strip, showing your ring and asking if anyone remembers you coming in during the night. But you have no luck — most of the chapels you try to check in with aren’t even open yet, catering to the drunk impulsive crowd that comes out after dark.

After hours of fruitless searching, you plop down on a bench in front of the Venetian, racking your brain for what to try next.

A group of women in matching Bride Tribe shirts walk by, laughing and chatting in that way only tipsy daytime bachelorettes can.

One of them pauses as they pass and calls out to you. “Hey hun, you look down. Guy trouble?” She gestures to your ring.

You debate waving her off but then reconsider. Maybe a bachelorette party would know their way around the Vegas wedding scene.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you reply. “I’m trying to find the person who married me last night but it was a bit of a ... wild impromptu thing. I don’t even know where it happened.”

The women gasp excitedly. “Oh my god, a drunk Vegas wedding? That’s epic!” Says the one in the rhinestoned Bride To Be sash.

“Epic disaster more like,” you mutter but can’t help smiling. Their enthusiasm is infectious.

The bride puts her arm around you. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll help you sort this out! I know all the best chapels.” She turns to her posse. “Ladies, let’s help her track down her mystery hubby!”

You find yourself swept up in the bachelorettes’ mission to assist you. After barraging you with questions about the wedding (“Please tell me you at least had a cute dress?” “Oooh was it Elvis themed?”), they decide that the most likely chapel was The Little Vegas Wedding Chapel off the north end of the Strip.

You all pile into their pink party bus and soon pull up at the aforementioned chapel. The receptionist greets you with a smile. “Welcome ladies! Who’s the lucky bride today?”

The girls nudge you forward. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Well actually, I’m trying to find out if I was a bride here last night.” You show her your ring. “I don’t remember much but I know I got married. I was hoping you might have a record?”

The receptionist types away on her computer, then frowns. “Hmm doesn’t look like we had any late night weddings yesterday. Our last was at 10 pm.”

You sigh but thank her anyway. So much for that idea. At least the bachelorettes are still upbeat as you climb back on their bus.

“No luck there but it was still a fun adventure!” The bride-to-be seems to have all the enthusiasm in the world.

You nod, grateful for their attempts to help. As the bus starts moving, the bride gasps.

“Wait, girls, I think I know where we need to go!” She turns to you excitedly. “There’s this little all-night chapel down on Fremont Street. Our friend Val got married there on a total whim a few years ago and she said it was fabulous!”

A chorus of squeals greets this news. You aren’t sure this is a solid lead, but hey, it’s not like you have any better ideas.

“Alright, let’s give it a shot!”

Twenty minutes later you’re climbing out of the bus in front of a small chapel with a neon 24 Hour Weddings sign. Taking a deep breath, you push through the door into the kitschy Vegas-themed space.

At the front counter is an older man in an Elvis costume that must be at least a size too small. Bingo. You hurry over and show him your ring.

“By any chance did you marry me and some guy last night?”

The Elvis impersonator peers at you for a moment before his face lights up in recognition. “Well slap me sideways, you’re the lovely lady I helped get hitched last night! What a shindig that was!”

Your heart leaps. Finally a lead! “Yes that was me! Do you by chance have a record of who I married?”

Elvis frowns. “You mean you don’t remember the young fella? He was real handsome, said some mighty sweet vows if I recall correctly.”

You shake your head in frustration. So close and yet so far.

Elvis pats your arm. “No worries darling, old Elvis remembers. I gotcha hitched to ...”

You lean forward eagerly as Elvis taps his chin, racking his memory.

“Now let’s see ... young fella you married. He was oh ... a bit taller than you I’d say. Had one of them European accents — German, Swedish, or somethin’ like that. Brown hair I think. A pretty good lookin’ chap. Dressed real sharp too.”

Your heart sinks as Elvis delivers the extremely vague description. Brown hair and a little over your height? Well that only narrows it down to about half of the paddock!

You groan and smack your forehead in frustration. So close! Elvis gives you an apologetic look.

“Aw shucks, wish I could tell ya more little lady. But I was croonin’ so many love songs last night that all you couples started to blend together.”

You force a smile, knowing he did try his best. “That’s alright, I appreciate you checking for me.”

Back outside, you fill in the eager bachelorettes on Elvis’ less than helpful clues. Their excitement deflates a bit.

“Dang, that could be like, anyone!” One says, voicing your thoughts exactly.

The bride-to-be squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t worry hun, we’ll keep thinking! Your mystery man is out there somewhere.”

You give her a grateful hug. “Thanks ladies, for all your help today. I should probably get back to my hotel and keep investigating.”

The gaggle of girls walks you back to the bus, firing off more wild theories about your potential groom.

“Oooh what if it’s that sexy Spanish driver … Alfonso?” Suggests the bridesmaid named Amy.

“It’s Alonso,” you correct with a laugh. She may be way off but you appreciate the enthusiasm.

As you say goodbye to your new friends, your mind is spinning once again. So Elvis confirmed this wedding really happened, though his clues weren’t particularly enlightening.

But he did say one thing — whoever you married gave sweet vows. So apparently in your drunken state, you picked someone who could be sincere and romantic.

That has to count for something, right?

You glance down at the wedding ring on your finger, the physical reminder of the huge secret you’re unraveling. Did you really promise to spend your life with someone here of all places? And do they plan on holding you to that promise?

Your gut twists with anxiety but also a trace of curiosity. Who is this mystery man who can make drunken Elvis shed a sentimental tear?

Whoever he is, you’re going to find him.

***

Exhausted after a day of fruitless searching, you decide to head back to your hotel to regroup. You slump down onto one of the plush couches in the crowded lobby, mind still spinning over the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in.

Who exactly did you end up pledging eternal devotion to in your drunken stupor last night? So far your quest to unravel this mystery marriage has led nowhere.

But you can’t rest yet. You need answers.

As you sit there contemplating your next move, your phone starts blowing up with Twitter notifications. You blink in surprise. Must be big news dropping for this much activity.

You open the app and nearly swallow your tongue when you see the top trending hashtag: #Y/NMaxWedding.

Your stomach drops to your feet.

No no no, this cannot be happening!

But with a sense of impending doom, you click on the hashtag. Immediately you see the bombshell that has sent your world into a tailspin.

It’s a tweet from a fan account, featuring photos they somehow obtained of a Clark County Nevada marriage certificate between you ... and Max Verstappen. Your teammate.

You stare slack-jawed at the images of the official document signed by you and Max as spouses, clear as day. Your drunken Vegas escapade isn’t a secret anymore. It’s public record, blasted all over social media.

Numb with shock, you scroll through countless tweets analyzing, freaking out over, and cracking jokes about you and Max’s surprise nuptials. Some fans are outraged. Others seem delighted at this bombshell gossip.

You groan, head in your hands. This is an absolute disaster. What was merely a drunken mistake is now immortalized online. There’s no hiding it or hoping it will blow over quietly.

You married Max freaking Verstappen in Vegas. The sometimes arrogant and standoffish but always crazy talented driver you’re teammates with. No wonder he was acting so squirrelly this morning when you asked about the wedding.

Some logical part of your brain knows you need to talk to Max, start figuring out what to do for damage control. But the overwhelmed emotional side just wants to crawl under a rock and hide.

In a daze, you make your way up to your suite. Once inside, you toss your phone onto the bed, not even bothering to read the likely hundreds of texts blowing it up. You are in no state of mind to talk to your manager or team right now.

Collapsing onto the couch, you stare blankly at the wall, feeling numb. Despite all your investigating, a part of you still hoped that maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe the ring and certificate were just part of some elaborate prank.

But there’s no denying it now. You’re well and truly married to Max Verstappen.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. Of all the drivers, of course you had end up with him. Max, your fiercest rival, constantly pushing you to be better. The teammate who drives you crazy but also loves to compete with you and rile you up.

God, your friends are never going to let you live this down. Married to Max. It’s like some cheesy fanfiction brought to life.

You glance over at your silent phone. The logical part of your brain knows you need to call him. You’re going to have to talk about this and figure out what the hell to do next.

But the overwhelmed part wants to put that conversation off indefinitely. You need time to process the bombshell that just upended your life before you can face Max.

Your inner debate is interrupted by a knock at your door. You freeze. No doubt it’s the Red Bull PR team come to scold you or paparazzi looking for a comment on your no-longer-a-secret marriage. Well you have nothing to say to them!

“Go away!” You yell but the knocking persists. With an irritated huff, you wrench open the door, fully prepared to give whoever’s there a piece of your mind.

Instead, you come face to face with the person you least expected but probably most needed to see. Max stands in your doorway, sheepish and awkward.

For several tense beats, you just stare at each other, the weight of this life-altering moment hanging between you.

Finally Max breaks the silence. “So ... quite a day, huh?” He gives an uneasy chuckle.

You continue gaping at him, stunned into silence. Max shuffles his feet, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Can I uh, come in? I think maybe we should talk.”

Wordlessly, you step aside and let him enter the suite. Max perches on the edge of an armchair while you sink onto the couch. More tense silence.

Max clears his throat. “So I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

You nod mutely. Max sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, Y/N ... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But I woke up just as confused as you this morning. Wasn’t totally sure it was even real.”

He hesitates then continues softly. “You were pretty out of it last night. We all were. Getting hitched was obviously crazy but I guess it seemed fun in the moment.”

You shake your head, finding your voice at last. “This goes way beyond fun, Max! We’re married! Actually married!" Your voice edges up hysterically on the last word.

“Yes it was a ... crazy night,” Max laughs nervously.

You scoff bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. I’d say a drunken Vegas wedding to my teammate counts as more than just crazy!"

Max winces at your tone. “Look Y/N, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. But we were all wasted last night. I didn’t even remember at first—”

You cut him off sharply. “Well I don’t remember any of it! As far as I’m concerned, this so-called marriage never even happened.”

You begin pacing. “We need to get this annulled immediately before things get worse. It was clearly an idiotic mistake.”

Max frowns, looking hurt. “Whoa, no need to be so harsh. It may have been drunken impulse but ... maybe it was also fate.”

You stop pacing and stare at him incredulously. “Fate? Are you insane?”

He stands and steps towards you. “Hear me out. We’ve been teammates for years now. Maybe deep down we both wanted this.”

Your jaw drops open. Max keeps going.

“I know it’s crazy but what if this marriage was meant to be? We owe it to ourselves to give this a real shot before bailing.”

You gaze at him in disbelief. Is he seriously suggesting ...

“Give this a real shot?” You repeat faintly.

Max takes your hands earnestly. “Yes! We’ve always made a great team on track. Just imagine how great we would be together off track too.”

You open your mouth to argue but Max presses on. “Plus, my children need a mother.”

You yank your hands back in shock. “Children? You have kids?”

“Well, not human kids,” Max admits sheepishly. “But my cats, Jimmy and Sassy! They need a maternal influence.”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with Max’s ramblings. Is he pranking you right now?

He fixes you with his most charming smile. “Come on, wifey. Just give it a chance! We’re clearly compatible if drunk us wanted to get married.”

You stare at him like he sprouted a second head. Max gazes back hopefully. His smile really is kind of adorable ...

No! Snap out of it! This is crazy.

But he does raise some valid points. And backing out now would cause an even bigger scandal ...

You slump down onto the couch with a groan. “Fine! We’ll stay married for now. But we explain to the team it was just drunken foolishness.”

Max pumps his fist. “Yes! See, we’re already compromising with each other. It’s like we’re meant to be husband and wife!”

That finally breaks through your haze of shock. Oh god ... you have to tell Christian Horner that you married Max Verstappen.

***

You take a deep breath as you stand outside Christian’s hotel suite, arm raised to knock. “Ready for this?” You ask Max.

He grimaces. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

You steel your nerves and rap sharply on the door. After a moment, it swings open to reveal Christian mid-yawn.

“Y/N, Max, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks curiously.

You shuffle your feet, not sure how to start. “Uh, hey Christian. Max and I have something we need to discuss with you. Mind if we come in for a minute?”

Christian narrows his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. “What’s this about? I just got off a conference call with the factory team in Milton Keynes and I was finally planning to try my luck with the slots downstairs.”

You perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair while Max stands next to you stiffly.

How do you even begin to break this kind of news to your boss?

“So Christian, funny story ...” you start lamely.

Max jumps in, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. “We got married last night.”

Christian’s eyes widen comically. For a long moment he just looks between you two like you each have three heads. Then he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

“Good one guys, you almost had me there! Trying to pull one over on your poor old team principal, very funny,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes.

You give a weak smile. “No uh, we’re actually being serious. We got married for real last night.”

Max nods. “It just sort of ... happened.”

Christian collapses onto the sectional, looking between you in shock. “This would be a great time for you to stop with the prank.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Max says solemnly. “We were drunk and it was all really quite fast ...”

“No no, this must be some kind of joke!" Christian protests, though he’s starting to look uncertain. He grabs his phone off the coffee table. “Let me just check online, there’s no way ...”

His voice trails off as he scans his phone screen, eyes going wide at the headlines. With a low groan, he collapses back into his armchair.

“It’s true? You two actually ...” He drags a hand down his face. “Please tell me this is all some elaborate hoax the internet cooked up. Please tell me that two other people named Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N happened to get married in Vegas last night.”

You shake your head helplessly.

Christian drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Unbelievable. Two of my drivers running off and eloping in Vegas! The media is going to have an absolute field day with this.”

He fixes you both with a stern glare. “Do either of you have any idea the position this puts the team in? The scandal it could cause?”

You hang your head, properly chastised. Max speaks up tentatively. “We’re really sorry, Christian, it was incredibly stupid of us. But it’s done now so we just have to deal with it.”

Christian sighs heavily. “You’re not wrong. The last thing we need is more media drama so we will have to get out in front of this.”

He pauses, regarding you both shrewdly. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll pursue an annulment right away and we can pretend this never happened?”

You glance at Max, who takes your hand and shakes his head. “We’ve talked it over and want to make this work. It happened for a reason.”

Christian makes a strangled noise. “Make this work? You plan on staying married??” His voice rises in pitch, verging on hysterical.

“We want to try,” you confirm, squeezing Max’s hand.

Christian looks desperately between you two once more before his eyes roll back and he slumps over in a dead faint.

You and Max rush over in concern. “Christian!" Max taps his face urgently. “C’mon, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, Christian’s eyes flutter open. “Wha ... what happened?” He mumbles.

“You passed out when we told you we’re staying married,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian groans, covering his face with his arm. “God help me, this is a nightmare ...”

You have to bite back an inappropriate laugh. Seeing your usually unflappable team principal so flustered would be funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Max helps Christian sit up and hands him a glass of water. “Sorry for springing this on you. But we’re going to make the best of it.”

Christian fixes Max with a weary look. “Just promise me no more reckless surprises from you two.”

You and Max raise your right hands in unison. “We promise!”

Taking a deep breath, Christian straightens his shirt and smooths his hair, regaining his composure. “Right. Well this is certainly an unexpected development. But the show must go on.”

He adopts his usual businesslike tone. “We’ll need to draft a press release announcing this immediately and get ahead of the media cycle. No commenting publicly until we strategize.”

You both nod obediently. Christian checks his watch. “I needed to get our PR team on the phone five minutes ago. You two, order room service and lay low until you hear from me.”

He ushers you politely but firmly out the door. As it shuts behind you, you turn to Max with wide eyes. “Well ... that could’ve gone worse?”

Max winces. “I thought Christian was going to burst a blood vessel at first. But it seems he’s taking it in stride.”

You both burst into slightly hysterical laughter, the stress melting away.

Looks like you have a marriage to figure out how to actually make work.

***

One year later

You take a deep breath as you knock on the door to Christian’s office, Max by your side. It’s time to break some more big news to your team principal.

“Come in!” Christian calls.

You enter to find him sitting at his desk surrounded by the usual organized chaos of strategy plans and data analysis.

He looks up, blinking in surprise. “Y/N, Max, what brings you by?”

You glance at Max, who gives you an encouraging nod and tentative smile. Turning back to Christian, you clasp your hands together nervously.

“Hey Christian. So, remember last year in Vegas when we promised no more reckless surprises?”

Christian’s eyes narrow warily. “Yeeesss ...” he draws out.

You look at Max again who blurts out, “Well we have another surprise coming your way. You’re going to be a grandpa!”

Christian’s jaw drops. His gaze darts down to your still flat midsection then back up to your nodding, beaming faces.

“You ... you’re ...” Christian stammers, looking like all the blood has drained from his face.

You take pity and confirm it for him. “Pregnant, yes. Surprise!” You add with an awkward chuckle.

For a few long moments Christian just sits there, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. Then, his eyes roll back and he topples forward, head thunking down on his desk.

You and Max rush forward. “Uh no, I think we broke him again,” Max winces, gently shaking Christian’s shoulder.

After a few tense seconds, Christian stirs with a groan. “Oww, my head ...”

“You passed out when we told you about the baby,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian blinks blearily up at you both hovering over him anxiously. “The baby ... so it’s really true then?”

You place a hand on your stomach. “Yep! There’s going to be a little Verstappen running around in around seven and a half months.”

Despite his obvious shock, Christian manages a weak smile. “Well how about that ... we’re expanding the Red Bull family.”

Max claps him on the back. “I know it seems a bit crazy but we’re thrilled.” He squeezes your hand and smiles softly.

Christian lets out a long breath, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Well, I appreciate you both coming to me first this time. We’ll need to strategize how to share the happy news.”

You can’t resist teasing him gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our best to avoid making you faint again in the future.”

Christian levels a stern finger at you both. “See that you do. My heart can only take so much.” But his mock glare melts into a warm smile.

You exchange a grin with Max.

It turns out that sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas … but neither of you is going to complain about that.

[nightmare-niko]

Just The Two Of Us, 깊어져가는 Moonstruck [Jake Sim x fem!reader]

Just the two of us. 깊어져 가는 moonstruck. Oh, you make me go crazy over you, you, baby. Let me hold you close. 떠오른 달 그 위로. 이 밤을 날아 crazy over you, you, baby

Warnings: friends to lovers, I wanted to be pretty long and super cute. So of course I'm gunna write insp by my favorite song on my favorite album favorite band!!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: completely oblivious dummies, tooth rottingly sweet, self-indulgent, I need Jake so bad

You turned over in your bed— Exhausted after a grueling all-nighter with your best friend Jake. The sunlight peaking through your blinds is harsh on your tired eyes.

What time was it? How long have you been sleeping? Where was your phone?

Blindly, you pat around on your mattress in search of your phone. Instead of your soft mattress and plush blanket, your hand collides with something.

You jolt up in your bed, "what the hell Jake?” you whisper. " how did you get in my bed?!”

The boy groans, "You know I can't sleep alone Y/nie~”

You laugh, "That is so not true-- you sleep alone in your dorm.”

"Not my fault you don't like sleeping over my place.” he doesn't open his eyes, rolling from his back to his side.

"Why would we hang out there when I live alone?”

"I basically live here,” He mumbles.

"Yeah… for free,” you deadpan.

He sighs, "Yeah but you love me.”

You poke your finger into Jake's side, "You eat all my food and hog my bed.”

"You have the best snacks,” he shrugs, finally opening his eyes to look at you. "What time is it?”

"I have no clue… I think you're lying on my phone… “

Jake shuffles around in place, fishing your cell phone from under his Torso. He examines the screen, rubbing his eye With his free hand. "Shit it's 12:30, we should- Like- get up and start our day.”

Your eyebrows furrow, "it's winter break— what are we gonna do?”

Jake pauses, thinking way too hard about the question. "We could like… Go to mine and play video games...?”

"We always play video games…“ you pout, laying back down in your bed, facing Jake.

"Then what do you wanna do, baby?” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Shamelessly— you lean into his touch, the warmth of his hand brings goosebumps to your skin, "I don't know, what haven't we done in a while?”

"Wanna go to the arcade?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion, "You gonna win me something?”

"You know I am, baby.”

~

Jake didn't bother going back to the dorms to get ready for your 'date’. Like he said, he basically lived with you. Which meant he kept half of his wardrobe at your place. You made sure to dress in your cutest winter clothes. Totally not because you wanted to look good for your best friend for which you have absolutely no romantic feelings at all. You told yourself that you just wanted to ensure your fashionable best friend didn't out-dress you— But who were you kidding? Everyone knows that you're bullshitting with that excuse.

Of course, you had a massive crush on your best friend. But you didn't exactly know if Jake felt the way you felt. Sure he flirted with you like crazy— and you always flirted back. He calls you baby for crying out loud! It wasn't normal for just friends in any way shape or form. But it was your normal.

You couldn't remember the last time you went to an arcade, but you definitely remember that it was with Jake. You two went everywhere together! That's just how best friends work.

~

You arrive at the mostly empty arcade, a lot of the students that went to your university went home for winter break. That meant that the popular spots were usually nice and empty for the two of you.

Jake throws his arm around your shoulder, "What do you wanna play first, baby?”

You hum, “air hockey?”

"Loser buys dinner?”

“oh you're so on!” you run ahead of the boy to get ready to demolish him in air hockey.

You weren't so sure if Jake was actually bad at air hockey or if he was just letting you win— Either way, it was great for your ego seeing the score in front of you reading a Wild 15 to 5.

“I don't know why you always insist on making bets on games you're bad at,” you tease, leading Jake over to another game.

“Maybe I just like spoiling you,” he shrugs, putting coins into the machine.

"Well, you could spoil me without embarrassing yourself.” You mindlessly begin to play the game before you.

He laughs melodically, "I'm not embarrassing myself, baby. I just like seeing your face when you win.”

You gasp shyly at the comment." Why are you flirting so suddenly?" You hit him across the arm.

He laughs cutely, "I'm always flirting with you, pretty"

"Oh my gosh, take it easy lover boy-" You walk away from Jake to find something else to play, and to hide the embarrassing blush on your face.

You only do a little bit of walking before you lay eyes on the claw machine section of the arcade. With a sparkle in your eye, you approach the machines Full of adorable stuffed toys.

"Do you want me to win you one?" Jake throws his arm over your shoulder again.

"You can try~" You tease.

He puts his hand out in fake offense, “You have no faith in me, I’m hurt.”

"I have plenty faith in you Jakey," reassure him.

"How about you try to win one of these?" You point to one of the cute puppies within all of the other small stuffed toys in one of the machines.

“Alright, bet— sit back and watch a masterwork." Jake dramatically cracks his knuckles and stretches before trying his hand at the game.

After Jake's fifth try with no success, you began to realize that maybe your initial lack of faith was Valid. He groans in frustration— Claiming that the game was totally rigged and unwinnable.

"It's a claw machine, Jake- there's only one goal...” You giggle at the way he’s pouting at not being able to win you a toy. "Here, let me try."

You push him away and Start up the machine, the song begins to play as you carefully maneuver the silver claw right above the toy you want. Jake watches intently as you push the red button. effortlessly— the claw grabs onto the plush, picking it up and moving it to the drop spot.

Jake's jaw drops as you triumphantly hold up your new puppy plush.

"I'm beginning to think you're just really bad at games...”

"I am not! You're just lucky!" He's pouting so hard you're worried his face is going to get stuck that

“Oh sure… lucky.” You tease. "So, what are we gonna name our son?" You ask, absent-mindedly playing with the plushie's soft ears.

Jake hums, "Maybe... Jake jr?"

"Ah yes, naming him after the one who didn't catch him.” "On c'mon, he looks just like me! Why wouldn't he be Jake jr?!" Jake takes Jake Junior from your hands, posing the toy next to his face to show their similarities.

You pull out your cell phone, giggling as you snap photos of Jake and your new son.

“Now I really gotta win you something” He pouts again as he scans around to find the perfect toy for you. He gasps as he presses his face into the glass of a different claw game. "There she is look!'" Jake exclaims, pointing to a cute bunny plush. "It's Y/N junior!"

You follow where he’s pointing, a tiny brown bunny plush with a ribbon around its neck sits cutely on top of the others. “Now all you gotta do is catch her."

"That's why you're gonna help me!"

With your combined forces you managed to win the rabbit in only two tries. Immediately you take selfies with your new children.

•

"Ooh! Jake let's do the photo booth!” You take his hand in yours as you pull him into the booth with you. As the two of you cram into the confined space you tug the curtain closed. The comforting scent of your best friend's cologne infiltrates your senses. Boy, he was closer than expected-- and so beautiful. You try to push away that thought— starting the timer for the camera. “Let's do a cute one first!”

"Psh— I'll be in it, it'll already be cute."

You roll your eyes as the counter ticks down. Jake throws a finger heart while you cup your hands under your chin cutely. The camera flashes and you begin to think of another pose to do before the camera goes off again. Jake scoots closer to you, gently putting his arm around your waist, He smooshes the sides of your faces together, putting half of a hand heart on his cheek. You mirror him, winking for the picture.

For a moment you can’t help but wonder if Jake could hear your heart pounding loudly in your chest from the proximity. You just have to hope he can't.

"Hey-" Jake calls to you softly, moving your chin gently to look at him. Blood rushes to your face in record time at the proximity. The faint countdown for the final photo is drowned out by the erratic thumping of your heart. You panic internally as you watch Jake close the distance between you.

He kisses you so gently, Freezing in place so the photo captures the moment. He pulls away slightly - but you can't wake up from this dream just yet. You take Jake's face in your ars and Kiss him once more. You swear you are in heaven, Your best friend just Kissed you!

The realization hits you like a freight train, causing you to pull away in shock.

"You just kissed me!" You exclaim.

Jake laughs at your red face and shocked expression, "You kissed me back!"

“Of course I kissed you back why wouldn't I kiss you back?”

“I don't know! maybe you weren't into me like that,” he shrugs.

“Oh, don't be dumb, of course I'm into you like that Jake.”

“Well, now I know! c'mon, let's look at our pictures.”

Yourusername

liked by s1mjak3_ and others

Yourusername: Aracade date with boyfie🤍🤍🤍

s1mjak3: The claw machine goat fr fr🤪🤪🤪

s1mjak3

liked by Yourusername and others

s1mjak3: Us when we dominate the arcade😎😎😎😎

Yourusername: you mean us when i dominate the arcade and you just watch...

s1mjak3: dont be a hater wtf😒😒😒😒

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[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hey! I wanted to see if you'd want to do a band!au with marauders . I was watching the kool kids maneskin, Tokyo concert, I couldn't help but think how problematic it actually could be. Something happens maybe someone makes the fem!reader uncomfortable and stuff goes down, everybody's like she's too arrogant and disrespectful and so on. How the marauders defend and comfort her etc with some fluff. Thanks!

You're Strong

Platonic!Marauders x Reader (Minus Peter)

AN: I love this request sm

Cw: 3704

CW: use of {Y/N}, Sexual Harassment, Victim blaming, sexual innuendos, a lot of cussing and shouting

Latex and a shitty cologne seemed to cling to your nose like a taunt, even in the supposed safety of your dressing room. You clung to the small vanity top, trying to rid your nostrils of the foul odor that seemed to cling to you like an unwanted memory.

This wasn’t your first time experiencing something like this, but it was the first since you joined the band.

Back in college, James had gotten on his hands and knees, begging you to fill in for Peter on guitar after their falling out. At the time, you and the boys ran in the same friend group but never really collided- except for Remus, who would write his songs with you.

James didn’t have a clue who you were until Sirius told him you were the one who taught Marlene how to strum. It took some convincing, but after some gentle prodding from Remus and downright devious tactics from Sirius, you finally caved. One song. One gig.

You should have known that wouldn’t have been the case. The moment your first performance was a hit, they practically hounded you around the clock to join them for more. Eventually, after a few failed guitarists, you agreed to go on tour with them.

Never once in the six weeks you had been on the road did you feel unsafe. It was your main concern. You weren’t scared of the boys, but traveling to a new city every night as a girl was a nightmare. You voiced your concerns to them, and they swore they wouldn’t force you into something dangerous. They were always with you at every point- one of them tied to your hip from the moment you exited your hotel room to the second you entered it.

But tonight was different. The moment you stepped on stage, you could tell it wasn’t like your normal performances. The producers had sprung something on James last minute, and you could hear him arguing from behind the curtain while you and Sirius exchanged worried glances.

When James came back, he was red in the face but greeted the crowd with his bright smile. You relaxed slightly, falling into the rhythm of the performance. Then, James introduced two more bands to the stage local to the area. Not just their instruments, but their bloody groupies as well.

The stage was suddenly flooded with people. Men and women danced, far too close. You looked to Remus in a panic, trying to keep your strumming even on your cues. Sirius seemed shocked but into the act, and James continued singing as if nothing was wrong. But for you, the stage had become a personal hell. The noise was deafening, and the people were too close- men grinding on you, women making crude remarks that only worsened your anxiety. It wasn't something you hadn't experienced before. But your boys were there. And they were doing nothing. Sweat and cheap plastic glitter assaulted your senses, making it hard to breathe.

The mix of sounds and overwhelming amount of strangers in your safe space made the stage feel like a claustrophobic nightmare. You tried to focus, to keep playing, but each note felt like a struggle. The safety you had once felt with the band was slipping away, replaced by a rising tide of panic.

Then, a husky smell hit your nose. This cologne you couldn't place, and the smell of burnt latex, as a man walked behind you and grinded on you. But he didn't pass by after, no, he stayed and pressed his entire waist against your back. You felt like you could heave, but instead of sobbing like you wanted to, you lashed out in anger.

You turned and practically snarled at him, your shouts barely audible over the music. “Piss off!”

“Woah, woah woah, no need to be so feisty.” He chuckled as he passed, muttering a simple, “Fucking prude.” as he went.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline surging through your veins like wildfire. The blaring attack of music, shouting, and laughter melded into a disorienting blur. Your vision tunneled, and it felt like the walls were closing in. You tried to focus on your guitar, to find some semblance of normalcy, but your fingers were trembling too much to play properly.

James, always the charismatic frontman, seemed to notice your distress. He made his way over to you, still singing, his eyes filled with concern. He offered you sympathetic eyes, but even then, in his understanding you were even more upset. How dare he not warn you?

James’s presence, usually so comforting, felt like a betrayal tonight. You wanted to scream at him, to demand why he hadn’t given you a heads up about the chaos that would unfold on stage. But you knew this wasn’t the time or place. Truly, you didn't know if he knew either.

Your breaths became shallow and rapid, your chest tightening with each passing second. The stage lights felt unbearably hot, and the noise seemed to amplify, each beat of the drums pounding in your skull. You almost snapped at Sirius, as he slammed the instrument worked in tandem with your throbbing head. The people on stage began to mutter and laugh, you didn't need to hear what they were saying to know it was directed at you.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to keep playing, though your notes were shaky and uneven. You could see Remus and Sirius exchanging worried glances, sensing the shift in your usually electric energy. James, ever the performer, managed to keep the crowd entertained, though his focus never strayed far from you.

But it was too much. The world around you felt like it was spinning out of control, your vision blurring with unshed tears. Your hands felt clammy, your grip on the guitar slipping. The overwhelming sense of panic clawed at your throat, making it hard to breathe.

The second the fifth song ended, you shoved your strings at one of the other band members before walking off stage. You couldn't do it. You couldn't even think clearly on that damn stage, let alone play. The need to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe, was overpowering.

You made your way backstage, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. The noise of the crowd and the band faded into the background as you found a secluded corner, sinking to the floor. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to ground yourself, feeling the cold, hard floor beneath you.

As you sat there, the adrenaline began to dissipate, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted. The panic attack had taken its toll, but in the quiet of the backstage, you could finally start to piece yourself back together.

You stormed off to your dressing room where you were now, finally allowing yourself to break down.

You had never had a panic attack so publicly before. Replaying the memory only made it worse, as embarrassment took over the panic remembering how harshly you reacted. But why did you feel guilty?

Suddenly there was a firm knock on the door. You looked at the clock and winced. Did they stop the show early? Fuck.. your poor fans.

You didn't answer, you never did. Walking over to the bathroom to splash water on your face as you heard the door open.

“The hell were you thinking, James!?” Sirius’s shouts filled the room and you shook your head, cleaning off the makeup you now made a mess of.

“I didn't know it was going to happen! They sprung it on me too, Pads!” James shouted and Remus huffed.

“You should of said no, James.” Remus scolded and James waved his hand dismissively.

He walked up to your bathroom door and knocked, leaning his ear against it. “Hey, you good in there, {Y/N}?” He asked cautiously.

You schooled your expression once more before you swung the door open. Looking at the boy in front of you, his sweaty body covered in glitter and giving you a startled look. “Since when did the stage becomes a fucking rave!?” Your voice was loud and you tried to sound angry, but you were on the verge of tears again. Clueless as to why this seemed to affect you so much.

James's eyes widened as he saw the raw emotion in your face. He took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I know, I know. It was a mess. I'm sorry, {Y/N}. If I had known, I would have stopped it before it started. Just- they were already in the back when Gideon told us, said it was a deal the producers made to get this place more attention, ya know?”

“Oh sob off with that crap! She's fucking scared, man!” Sirius snapped behind James and Remus scoffed.

“And you're not making it much better, Sirius.” Remus huffed before turning to you with gentle eyes. Ones you were used to, ones that always meant safety. You walked over and sniffed a bit, coming undone easily. Especially when he pulled you into a hug.

Remus rubbed your back and let you ruin his new shredded shirt. His bandaid covered hand slipping behind her head to let you muffle your sobs into his chest.

Eventually, your sobbing stopped, and Remus found himself inspecting you. “Hey..” He whispered after a moment of exchanging looks with the boys. “You're alright, pretty girl.” He cooed and you slowly smiled.

He took the chance to take a peek at you, only to see you smiling brighter at his glance. They had a way of soothing your more erratic emotions, so easily.

“Is she smiling?” James called out in a teasing tone. You rolled your eyes and pulled away from Remus with a sniffle.

“You guys always call me that.” You huffed and Remus laughed. “What? Pretty girl?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the lingering tension. "Yeah, 'pretty girl.' It's like you think I'm some delicate flower, I'm a big girl.”

Sirius grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning. "Well, you are pretty, and you are our girl. Even if sometimes you're abusive." He cheeked and you shot him a glare.

“See? My groupies would have lost their shit at that line. I just get death glares.” Sirius dramaticized as he looked at James who snickered.

James gave a fond sigh, shaking his head. "Well, to be fair, Pads, it just shows {Y/N} has standards."

At that, you laugh and Remus smiled at you. “There she is.”

“Oh stop that.” You gave a small nervous smile and pushed his face to look away. He laughed before he kissed your calloused palm, turning to face you. He gave you one last comforting squeeze before letting go, his eyes still filled with love and gentle concern. "Seriously though, {Y/N}, we never want you to feel like that again. We need to make sure our performances are safe for everyone, especially you. Trust me, we were shit without a guitar.”

You rolled your eyes fondly but let his words seep in. Knowing he truly meant them.

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded with the boys around you. "I appreciate it, really. Just... next time, let's make sure there are no surprises, okay?"

James nodded earnestly. "Absolutely. No more surprises. We'll make sure everything is run by you first. You're part of this band, and you deserve to feel safe and respected."

Sirius threw an arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze. “Yeah, I mean, if you weren't here we'd just be a bunch of dudes jerkin it.”

You gave him a slack jaw at his crude remark, before Remus rolled his eyes.

“Something tells me you wouldn't mind that, Sirius.” James laughed and you quickly shooed Sirius’s arm off of you.

“You two talk like virgins and it's starting to become sad.” You huffed. “But I'm ready to go back on stage. It's been a hot minute now.”

James barked a laugh and you looked at him surprised. You hit his chest and he held your hand with a playful wince. “Sorry, sorry, just trying to imagine going back on stage after Sirius busted that bastard’s lip. I don't think the show is still on.”

“You did what!?” You exclaimed in shock, turning to Sirius. He didn't look even the least bit guilty, just grinning ear to ear like some damned cat. He shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? No one messes with our girl and gets away with it."

You shook your head, a mix of disbelief and amusement. Not to mention the endless about of affection and safety you felt. "Sirius, you can't just go around punching people."

"Well, I can and I did," he replied with a wink. "He deserved it. Dudes still lucky he has a heart beat."

Remus sighed, though a small smile played on his lips. "Let's just make sure we handle things a bit more diplomatically next time, yeah?"

James chuckled, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “I'm sure {Y/N} has no problems with it-”

Before the quips could continue, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Sirius huffed and turned to slam it open. “What?!” He boomed and came face to face with a very angry producer.

“The hell are you all doing in here mingling? You have a crowd out there waiting to watch you play!” He boomed. Despite yourself, you suddenly clamed up. Oddly, you were unable to speak. Even as you tried to force yourself, the words felt like they were trapped in your chest. Your breathing increasing.

“We had an issue with a guy on stage-” Remus started and the producer scoffed. “Yeah, we all saw it! That's no excuse! These people paid good money-”

“I-I'm not going back out there.” You finally stammered out. He scoffed at you and Sirius tightened his jaw.

“I'm sorry, princess, please continue to believe the world revolves around you. But do that on the stage?” He pushed and you choked out a scoff.

“He-”

“Isn't that what you kids do? You party hard you have fun, can't blend those two together?”

The producer’s words cut through the air like a knife, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your hands trembled as you tried to pull yourself together, but the panic was threatening to overwhelm you again.

Sirius, however, was having none of it. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "Listen here, you pompous ass. She was sexually harassed on stage, and you think she should just suck it up and keep playing? How about you show a bit of human decency?"

The producer sneered, clearly unimpressed. "This is a business, Black. If she can't handle the heat, maybe she shouldn't be on stage."

Remus stepped in, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Sirius’s fury. “Sir, I think that a discussion needs to be had about our safety on stage before any of us return to it.”

“I refuse to work like this.” You challenged again and the Producer scoffed.

“Listen, kid, everyone deals with stuff like this in show biz. Don’t be arrogant.”

You took a shaky breath and tried to still the next shiver that rocked through you. Again, your words were gathering in your throat like film. “No-”

“Kid.” The producer spoke more sternly this time.

James had been standing quietly, his fists clenched at his sides as he listened to the exchange. But the producer's dismissive attitude was the final straw. He stepped forward, his usually bright and cheerful eyes now dark with anger.

"That's enough!" James's voice rang out, startling everyone in the room. He pointed a finger at the producer, his hand shaking with barely contained fury. "How dare you speak to her like that! She's not just some performer you can push around. She's our friend, our bandmate, and she deserves respect! If you want this fucking band to work how about you worry about that freak in the back with the bloodied nose? Get him the fuck outta here!”

The producer opened his mouth to retort, but James cut him off, his voice growing louder. "You think this is just showbiz? You think it's okay for someone to be harassed and then forced to keep performing? What kind of person are you? I promise you, if she wasn't overwhelmed enough as it is-”

"James-" The producer began, but James wasn't done.

"No. You don't wanna listen to her, you're gonna listen to me. We've put up with a lot of shit from you. But she is where I draw the line. Is that understood?”

James's outburst left the room in stunned silence. The intensity of his words hung heavy in the air, and even the producer seemed momentarily taken aback. But the anger in James's eyes was unyielding with that fire and familiar protectiveness he held for everyone, but it seemed to be focused purely on you.

The producer, clearly flustered, tried to regain his composure. "Look, James, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, you don't understand." James interrupted, his voice steady but seething with controlled rage. "This isn't just about being upset. This is about basic human decency. You don't get to treat her like that. Any of us! If you can't guarantee our safety and respect, then we're done here."

Sirius had a moment where he stared awestruck at James. Clearly proud. “What the big guy said.”

Remus nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the producer's. "James is right. This isn't negotiable. If you can't ensure our safety and treat us with respect, we're not stepping back on that stage."

The producer, now visibly shaken, tried to salvage his authority. "Okay, okay, let's not get hasty here. I-I'll talk to the guy and make sure he's removed from the venue. We can... we can make some adjustments."

James took a step closer, his demeanor still tense but slightly more controlled. “Good.. bloody good, yeah.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “Now-”

“Get the fuck out!” Sirius shouted over James as his tone turned polite.

The producer mumbled something under his breath before he gathered what little pride he had and ran off.

You stood there shaking slightly, taking deep and steadying breaths when the door closed. James looked back to you and his eyebrows knit together with worry.

“Hey, sorry.” He cooed and muttered your name. Walking over only to give a soft ooph as you crashed into his chest with a tight hug.

This felt right. This felt safe.

It hit you why everything was crashing on you so hard. You have always been so strong, so determined, so ruthless. When the boys came along they smoothed out your edges with so much gentle care you forgot at times you needed to protect yourself.

Though, relying on them wasn't something you found unpleasant. You had been so strong all the time you forgot what it felt like to rely on someone. Let alone three practical guard dogs.

“I'm sorry you had to do that.” You whispered and James absolutely melted at the tender tone.

“Nope. You're not allowed to apologize for that.” James whispered and pulled you close and firm against him. You hummed and nuzzled your nose into his neck a bit. Not embarrassed to come undone in his arms.

“I'm still sorry. I hate to see you so upset…”

James sighed, his voice softening. "Seeing you upset is what makes me upset. Still debating going to give him another piece of my mind. I mean, who the fuck talks to someone like that?"

“James.” Remus warned and he huffed, nuzzling his nose into your hair. Finding comfort with you so close.

Safe.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let the emotions overwhelm you again. Sirius and Remus moved closer, forming a protective circle around you.

Sirius placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his earlier anger now replaced with concern. "You're alright, yeah? Come on, I hate seeing pretty girls cry.”

“Fuck off.” You choked out and Remus chuckled, rubbing your back.

Sirius gave a small, genuine smile. "That's the spirit. Just wanted to see a bit of that fire back."

You couldn't help but laugh through your tears, feeling the warmth and safety of your friends surrounding you. Remus continued to rub your back soothingly, his touch grounding you in the moment.

James pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "You don't have to be strong all the time, {Y/N}. We're here for you. Always."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know. And I appreciate it. I really do. I just... I wasn't expecting any of this tonight."

Remus gently wiped away a tear from your cheek. "I sure hope you weren't. It shouldn't have happened." He muttered, a bit guilty. Having seen it all go down and fighting every bit of himself not to move. You seemed like you had it handled- he didn't want to make a mockery of your strength. But when you left crying he almost screamed.

Sirius clapped his hands together, his usual mischievous grin returning. "Alright, sad sacks, enough of this sappy shit. Let's regroup, grab a drink, and figure out our next move. And if anyone else messes with our girl, they’ll have to answer to us. And I'm feeling high strung after Jamie’s lil proformance."

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of strength and determination. The boys had your back, and you knew you could face anything with them by your side.

James nodded, his eyes still filled with concern but also a glimmer of hope. "Let's take a breather, all of us. We’ll decide what to do next, but for now, we need to make sure you're okay."

You took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the night slowly lifting. "Thanks, guys. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Remus gave you one last comforting squeeze before letting go, his eyes filled with love and gentle concern. "You won't ever have to find out."

[inkblotsinkblots-alt]

My experience with [band]

My experience with [band] and [band]'s management starts in April 2022. I had emailed the band's business email that used to be in their bio in December 2021, and in April 2022 I got a response. I had been asked if I was available within the next couple of weeks to come down to Brighton and do a photo shoot with the band. Management really liked my work, and wanted to work with me. I was asked to provide my rates and any expenses that would incur. I had asked if I would be at least credited for these images on social media (tagged etc ...), and management said that they could not commit to that at that time. This photo shoot did not happen.

I worked with [band] for the first and only time in January 2023 and photographed / videoed their set.

I was completely blindsided by the fact that this could’ve been a huge opportunity for me, and it could change my career completely. When I got the email inviting me to work with the band, I screamed and actually worried my parents for a few minutes. I agreed to terms that I shouldn’t have (not a full written agreement, but various statements in emails). In hindsight I had no clue what some of them meant (and I think the band’s management knew that).

There was no formal contract, only emails. The band would own my photos 'in perpetuity' and when I asked what that meant, they (management) said that 'the band have the freedom to use them however they please'. Making money off of my photos, and putting them on merch that they would then sell out of, was not mentioned. I was under the impression they would only be using the photos on social media as I did not get any clarification, even though I asked for it. I wanted to press for a more detailed answer, but I was afraid that I'd lose the job.

This was never about the money that I'd potentially make from having my photos on merch, it's that I didn't even know it was happening. I was also 'allowed' to upload '3-4' photos to my social media from the gig, even though they were my photos. I was stupid enough to agree with this. Again, I felt as though if I challenged this I would lose the job.

At the end of the show in January 2023 I was promised at least a couple of shows on the upcoming tour, as '[I was] great to work with. Such a pleasure.' I have no evidence that I was offered shows during that tour as it was said to me in person. I was then let down at the beginning of March (after multiple follow up emails) with 'I don't think there is the additional need for your services also' when I asked about discussing the tour. I was devastated.

I was offered photo passes* to subsequent Manchester gigs and I took them as they had no strings attached, and the band would not own my images (that's why you've seen a lot of them on my socials).

I met a bunch of well-known creators, musicians and photographers while working with [band] and they were all so very sweet. Some of which I am still in contact with today, and some I am good friends with. I am very grateful for this.

I fully support Shelby, she is so incredibly brave for talking about her experiences, and it's because of her bravery that I felt confident enough to share my experience - although very different in nature.

I fully believe that [band]’s management wanted to take advantage of fans who wanted to photograph [band]’s gigs. And pay them as little as possible with no consistency in pay between photographers or how many photos they were allowed to post. (This is my own opinion)

I am not the only one that has had a negative experience with [band] and their management as a photographer / creative, but those are not my stories to tell and if they want to comment then they will. Please don't speculate on who these people are or harass them on social media, they have every right to not want to talk about their experiences. Please respect everyone involved.

Massive love, take care of yourselves.

am

(*Photo passes are offered to press photographers and non-touring photographers. They shoot the first three songs from the photo pit and then leave. Either to go into the crowd for the rest of the gig, or leave the gig entirely.)

please do not edit this post or reblog, do not take screenshots and post this on twitter or any other social media platform, thank you.

[ozzgin]

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

[kissesfordaryl]

Hey there ^_^ This idea has been eating away my brain for a good while now and you're the only male writer I know, UGH I LOVE YOU

May I please have your headcanons on how Daryl would be like with a metalhead bf who's really intimidating and looks like he came straight outta hell but is actually super sensitive and sweet? Such as first impressions, how Daryl feels about his kindness, etc.

Thank you!! Xx

daryl & his metalhead.

note: honestly had to do a lil research beforehand bc i dont wanna do any metalheads wrong😭 AND HOPEFULLY I DIDNT!! 😕 lmk (n ilyt)

daryl sees you and automatically assumes youre the quiet type- a lone wolf even. you dressed in dark colors and occasionally band tees(which he had no clue of), towered over almost everyone, wore your dark hair long, and didnt warm up to many people. he doesnt go out of his way to talk to you, until youve come up to him.

"y'wanna go on a run with me?" hes staring up at you in disbelief, turning his head left and right in search of backup. youve practically cornered him on the streets of alexandria, big pleading eyes staring at him.

"yeah!" youre nodding a bit too enthusiastically for his liking, "its just... im looking for some parts. my guitars broken, so. but i wont be in the way, i promise!"

he scoffs, and doesnt believe you for a second. but the next morning, hes taken you and one car.

he realizes that every assumption hes made about you is 100% wrong. hes always categorized you as emo in his head, but you were quick to inform him the differences between being emo and being a metalhead. hes quiet for most of the ride, but surprisingly asks you a few questions here and there. his second assumption is that you were quiet. jesus, you could talk his ear off. but in a good way he thinks.

the run is unsuccessful, but daryl gifts you a little pin with a guitar on it. youre enveloping him in a hug, and hes reluctant to return it.

back at home, he pays more attention to you. he gets defensive whenever someone makes a judgmental remark about you, claiming that you're different than what everyone thinks. carol teases him about it: "didnt realize you knew him so well." and yeah. maybe he did. maybe he wanted to. "so what?"

he finds himself coming around to your house more often, letting you teach him how to make dinner and listen to you play(he found your missing part on a run with rick). he enjoys it more than he thought he would, and you joke around and say hes halfway to being a metalhead like you.

"youve already got the hair down." hes sat down at the couch, and youre coming around to sit next to him, a hand reaching out to feel his hair. "we're basically twins."

he huffs, turning away to hide his blush. "it aint like that. just grew out over time."

"well good. i like it."

hes grown attached to you, always spending his free time with you. that also means hes grown protective of you. he constantly lectures you on how you shouldnt just let people say whatever they wanted about you- and that if you wouldnt step up, he will.

you take in a stray cat, and daryl practically has a heart attack seeing how gentle you are with it, pampering it and laying it against daryls chest.

he lets you do stupid shit to him all the time, like dress him up in your clothes or do some light makeup on him. to show your appreciation, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. he freaks the fuck out and has to get carols advice.

your first kiss is all thanks to your lighter: its just you two outside the walls, and hes forgotten his own. youre leaning in close, the fire right underneath the cigarette. your hand is quick to steal it from his mouth, fingers brushing against his mouth. before you can blow the smoke out, hes on his tippy toes and leaning in. the way the smoke blows into his own mouth is the hottest thing youve ever seen.

hopefully didnt butcher this🤞🤞 btw this is such a cute idea im in love

[winterdaphne2]

Gay Easter Eggs in BBC Sherlock

(I trust the above requires no explanation.)

Perhaps someone has done this before, but I wanted to put together a compilation of gay easter eggs in the show that I’ve seen other people point out and/or have thoughts on myself. So here it is!

When I say “easter eggs,” I’m thinking of small clues that the show creators included in the set designs, music choices, and other details of the show to reference that Sherlock and John are in love. I’m thinking of things you could miss at first, especially little clues that often require a bit of extra information or require observations across episodes to understand.

Of course, there’s also lots of subtext woven into the show, moments where interpreting the dialogue or visuals in a certain way tells us something about Sherlock, John, and/or the state of their feelings for one another. I’m not sure if I can clearly define “subtext” versus “easter eggs” and explain what distinguishes them, but at least to me, several of the things I’ve listed here seem a bit different from what people often refer to as subtext. Maybe subtext is about uncovering the layers to a piece of dialogue or an action that takes place in plain sight and seeing how that impacts our interpretation of the story, but easter eggs are about spotting smaller, hidden details. I’m not trained in literary or film studies, though, and I’m not trying to be doctrinaire about this at all! This list is just for fun, anyway. (The above image might not actually count as an easter egg, but I couldn’t resist including it here. Indulge me.)

The more I read about this show and the harder I look, the more I think that hardly anything is there on accident. All these easter eggs must have been included on purpose. The creators knew they were telling a love story all along.

I’ve linked to the posts where I initially saw people point these out or to other good sources, and for some of these I’ve added my own commentary/observations/interpretations. I’m sure there are many other easter eggs that I’ve missed! What have you spotted?

John’s PIN in TBB – When John tries to pay for his groceries at the beginning of the episode, we see that his PIN is 743. In ASIB, Irene’s code to unlock her phone is SHER, which would be 7437 on a phone keypad. So, John’s PIN is a clue that he is or will be in love with Sherlock. Source: @loudest-subtext-in-tv, here.

Shaftesbury Avenue, 20m from Piccadilly Circus in TBB – While investigating in Chinatown, Sherlock and John bump into each other at what used to be a cruising spot for gay men in London. Source: @the-signs-of-two, here.

Archer the American in ASIB – In the scene where the American CIA agents try to get Sherlock to open Irene’s safe, the head CIA agent pressures Sherlock by threatening to have one of his men shoot John. The agent says: “Mr. Archer, on the count of three, shoot Dr. Watson.” Ordering someone named “Archer” to shoot John could be a reference to Arthur Conan Doyle’s poem “The Blind Archer,” which is about Cupid and describes Cupid shooting two men who sound an awful lot like Sherlock and John. Source: couldntpossiblycomment, here.

“¿Dónde Estás, Yolanda?” in TEH – The song that plays during the scene with John and Sherlock’s disastrous reunion at the Landmark restaurant is a cover of the song “¿Dónde Estás, Yolanda?” performed by the band Pink Martini. The Spanish lyrics to this song are about searching for a long-lost lover, which is fitting for the scene where John sees Sherlock again for the first time since his fall. Notably, the creators didn’t use the first of the two versions of this song that Pink Martini has released. The band’s first version appears on their 1997 studio album Sympathique and features a man singing about a woman. Instead of using that version, the creators used the version from Pink Martini’s 2011 compilation album A Retrospective, in which China Forbes performs most of the vocals. So, the creators deliberately chose a remade version of the song in which a woman sings about a woman. They chose a gay song about searching for a long-lost lover for Sherlock and John’s reunion. abrae (@tea-and-liminality on tumblr) has a meta with more to say about the use of this song here.

John’s “oscillation on the pavement” in TEH – In TSOT, John observes a potential client standing outside 221B and trying to make up her mind as to whether to come in. Sherlock tells John “I’ve seen those symptoms before. Oscillation on the pavement always means there’s a love affair.” In the previous episode, John came to visit Sherlock at 221B but hesitated on the pavement outside, staring at the door and trying to decide whether to go in. Sherlock’s comment, “I’ve seen those symptoms before,” is a hint that we, the audience, have also seen those symptoms before—with John in the previous episode. Source: @bidoctor, here. (I saw someone else point out that last part about Sherlock’s hint to the audience, but I can’t find that post, sorry!)

Lilac dresses in TSOT – While planning John and Mary’s wedding, Sherlock chooses lilac-colored dresses for the bridesmaids. When John tells Sherlock that he likes the bridesmaids in purple, Sherlock pointedly corrects him by stating that the dresses are lilac. Apparently, “In Victorian times, giving a lilac meant that the giver is trying to remind the receiver of a first love.” So by dressing the bridesmaids in lilac, Sherlock is trying to remind John of his first love: himself, Sherlock. My heart breaks. Source: @asherlockstudy, here.

Putting the horns on Mary and Janine in TSOT and HLV – In TSOT, there’s a shot where Mary gives Sherlock and John a thumbs up before they head out on a case. The way Mary is standing, the horns on Sherlock’s cow skull thing on the wall behind her are placed right over her head. (I always thought this shot looked pretty weird, but now I see that it must have been intentional!) In the HLV scene with Janine at 221B, there’s a moment when Janine steps in front of John in the frame to kiss Sherlock, and her movement positions the horns right over her head. “Putting the horns” on someone means cheating on them. So in both cases, placing the horns right above Mary’s and Janine’s heads indicates to the audience that Sherlock and John are the real relationship in this show. Source: this post from multiple users on the @sherlockmeta blog.

The architecture of Sherlock’s mind palace in HLV – In the mind palace scene after Mary shoots Sherlock, the architecture of Sherlock’s mind palace is based on locations from ASIP. Sherlock literally built his mind palace out of places from his first case with John, illustrating that his relationship with John is what grounds him and that it means everything to him. abrae has some very helpful screencaps of this here (and I would recommend that whole meta, btw!)

The glasshouse scene in TAB – In TAB, the Victorian John tries to ask Sherlock about his sexuality and sexual history while they’re sitting in a glasshouse. In Victorian Britain, “glasshouse” was another term for a military prison. So John, a military veteran, asks Sherlock about his sexuality in a setting that represents where he would have been sent if he had acted upon his homosexual desires at a time when homosexuality was criminalized. Source: @haffieliesel, here.

What do we say about coincidences? The universe is rarely so lazy.

[l0singsdogs]

batfam ! alternative universe, no powers.

I've had this idea for a while now. Spending so much time on social media, reading different takes, I started wondering—what if the Batfamily woke up in a completely normal universe? No aliens, no magic, no villains trying to take over the world every other week. Just… normal people, living normal lives—going to college, having relationships, working regular jobs. For a group of people used to fighting monsters and stopping world-ending threats, that kind of life would be unsettling.

read more, because this is long like really long.

But how did it happen? The usual way. A battle. A teenager getting their hands on something they shouldn’t have. Powers spiraling out of control. And, of course, the Batfam stepped in to fix it, because you know everything weird is always happening in Gotham. 

Batman calls for backup, but the family is still working through their issues. Dick and Jason barely talk, though they’re trying—because, at the end of the day, they’re still brothers. Then, suddenly, it’s just them. Just the Batfamily, thrown into this bizarrely ordinary world.

Duke sees the light first. Then Steph. Even Cass. And then—nothing.

They wake up somewhere else.

Bruce, as always, is the first to regain consciousness. But something is off. His mansion isn’t quite the same. It’s warmer, cozier. There are more pets curled up around the house. His bedroom is a mess—lived in. The walls are covered with photos of his kids. There are even pictures of him and Selina, scattered among them.

And then, he realizes just how wrong everything is.

His body aches, but not like it used to. There are no scars from old battles with the Joker. No lingering wounds from alien invasions. He still feels exhaustion in his bones, but it’s different—just the tiredness of a man his age, not the crushing weariness of a vigilante running on fumes. Even his reflection looks different. Relaxed, almost. Like he’s lived a life that wasn’t defined by war.

And that? That’s unsettling.

The next to wake up is Jason. And it's weird—because for the first time in years, his body doesn’t hurt. The familiar, constant pain is gone. The scars from his autopsy, from all the things that marked his past, aren’t there. He doesn’t feel the echoes of old wounds anymore. And where he wakes up doesn’t look like any of the safe houses he has scattered around Gotham. The last thing he remembers is fighting—arguing with Grayson over something stupid. Then the light—just for a second, he thought he was dying again. But, you know… in a way that wasn’t as catatonic? Then… he wakes up. The bedroom is unfamiliar, but somehow, it feels like his. Bookshelves are packed with novels of all kinds. Posters cover the walls—bands he actually likes: Rammstein, Linkin Park, System of a Down. A collection of motorcycle helmets is neatly displayed on a shelf. The whole place is put together, calm.

And then, the worst part. When he looks in the mirror, a scream rips from his throat.Because the thing that haunts him, in his life and in his dreams—his autopsy scars—are gone. Completely erased. All that remains is a single, unfamiliar scar near his heart.

Strange. The worst part? He has no idea why his head is pounding so hard. No clue why memories, both complicated and good, flash through his mind—but waking up from the dead isn’t one of them.

Dick is next.

And he wakes up pissed. Because, you know? He was in the middle of fighting with Jason. Jason, who treats everything like a joke. Jason, who doesn’t take things seriously when he should. Trying to fix things with him is exhausting—because Jason is too Jason. Stubborn, impatient, infuriating.

Then suddenly—this. The room is unfamiliar, but not completely. There’s a framed picture on his nightstand—him and Starfire. Kori Anders. His walls are lined with posters, some from his past. The Flying Graysons. His family.

It feels wrong. Off. Because he doesn’t live in the manor anymore. He doesn’t have photos of Kori in his room. And—most importantly—his bedroom has never looked this neat.

Not ever. There are no scattered pieces of his suit on the floor waiting to be washed. No mess of training gear dumped in a corner. Just sneakers. Gym clothes.

Then he hears it—a scream.

Jason. Dick tries to get up, but his body is too damn exhausted. It feels like lead, weighing him down. He can’t move. And for one horrible second, he wonders—maybe he died. Maybe he died and somehow took Jason with him.

The next to wake up is Tim—

Tim, who was already frustrated, tangled up in his own emotions. He had too much on his plate—leading his own team, growing distant from the manor, finishing his GED to leave high school early. Too many things were happening.

He wakes up to the sound of screaming.

For a second, he thinks he’s still in Gotham, still in the middle of that fight. But when he blinks, he’s somewhere else—another bedroom. And this one is a mess. Clothes on the floor, sneakers everywhere, a couple of skateboards tossed in a corner, video games and comics scattered around. The kind of room an eighteen-year-old should have.

Slowly, he opens his eyes.

He doesn’t feel the aches from past fights. He feels… lighter. His memories are hazy, and he can’t lie—this is weird. The light streaming through his window feels too warm, too bright. But the last thing he remembers? He was in Gotham, in the middle of a brutal winter.

And then—the worst part.

When he fully opens his eyes, he sees it.

A uniform.

One he knows from his nightmares.

Gotham Academy.

His blood runs cold. He’s convinced he’s trapped in a time loop. That somehow, he’s been sent back to high school.

And when he stumbles out of bed and catches sight of a framed photo—one of him and Conner Kent sitting on a shelf—he promptly passes out.

Yeah, sure, maybe the others think they’ve died.

But Tim?

Tim is convinced he’s in hell.

The last to wake up is Damian Wayne.

And he wakes up full of irritation, because the last thing he remembers is yelling at Drake, Jason, and Grayson—calling them idiots for letting their emotions get in the way of the fight. Telling them they were acting like children when they should’ve been handling the real problem. But now? Now he’s lying in bed, surrounded by warmth. His cat is curled up at his side. His dogs—Titus and Ace—are sprawled across the floor. Even Grayson’s new puppy, Haley, is nestled beside him. A tiny, scruffy thing missing a leg, one that Damian had reluctantly (not really) half-adopted in his head.

It’s the screaming that wakes him. That, and the warmth.

Because it doesn’t make sense. Why is the sun streaming into his room? Why does it feel like July when they were just in December? They were days away from the holidays.

And now this. The first thing he sees are his animals. Did the fight end that quickly? Did he lose consciousness? His body isn’t injured, his skills are intact—nothing about his reflexes feels off.

But the room?

That’s what unsettles him. The walls are covered with things—art, sports memorabilia, books, musical instruments. A guitar. Sure, he knows how to play, but he’s never been the kind of person to keep one in his bedroom. And speaking of his bedroom…

This isn’t it.

It’s missing things. His weapons. His swords. The League of Assassins insignias. His belongings. But what truly throws him off?

A framed photo. One of him and his mother.

Talia al Ghul never took photos. Not with him. Not with anyone. The League of Assassins didn’t believe in cameras, in preserving memories like that. And yet, here it is.

And that’s when it finally sinks in. Something is very, very wrong.

That’s how it happens. A wild fight. A teenager with uncontrolled, inexplicable powers. And just like that, the Batfamily wakes up in another universe.

A universe with no powers. No aliens. No world-ending crises. Just an ordinary life. And the only thing they know for sure?

Five of them find themselves in a living room. A living room that is distinctly not theirs. Because their living room is grand, filled with history, with antique furniture and endless shadows.

But this? This looks like something out of an interior design magazine. Minimalist. Sleek. A massive TV taking up the wall.

The others? Duke, Steph, Cass?

Yeah.

Their experiences waking up are even worse.

So, yeah. This is what I have in mind. I don’t know if I’ll keep writing—it depends on how this goes. These ideas just keep coming to me, and I’m debating whether to drop all of this as a one-shot or turn it into a full fic on AO3.

I’d love to hear thoughts on it—believe me, I have a lot more ideas.

[lemoncrushh]

Stones T-Shirt

Summary: Commenting on Harry's Rolling Stones shirt at a party leads to going to a concert with him.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1200

A/N: A silly little blurb written in 2017. Originally an oc, edited to be a reader fic.

You'd commented on his Stones t-shirt at a party.

"Have you ever seen them?" he asked you an hour later when you were in the kitchen making a drink.

"Who?" you made a face, completely forgetting about your previous encounter.

Harry laughed, pointing at his shirt. "The Rolling Stones."

"Oh. No," you shook your head. "Never got to."

"Mmm, you should. Everyone needs to see them at least once."

"Well...next time I have an extra hundred or so burning a hole in my pocket, I'll buy a ticket."

"Hey Y/N, are you making me one of those?" your best friend Sheila asked as she entered in the kitchen.

"What am I, designated bartender?" you scoffed.

"Of course! Now hook me up!"

You shook your head as you began to mix her drink, just like you both knew you would. As you poured the liquor into the glass, Harry leaned against the counter.

"They're coming to town next week," he commented. "We should go."

You gave him the eye while you squeezed a slice of lime into Sheila's drink. For a second you thought you'd misheard him.

"We should?"

"Yeah," he smirked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You bit your lip as you handed Sheila her glass. "I'll think about it."

Sipping through her straw, Sheila nodded her head at you. You knew what she was trying to say, but you didn't care.

"Hmm," Harry sounded. "Well, while you think about it...maybe you can make me one of those?"

You glared at him, his cocky expression quickly making your defenses crumble. You chuckled and grabbed a fresh glass. "Sure."

Just then three more people walked in, catching you making Harry's cocktail.

"Yeah, I'll take one too, Y/N!" exclaimed Jordan.

"Me too!"

"Me three!"

"What the hell, who made me bartender?" you argued.

"Harry," Sheila winked.

"But you asked for a drink first," you pointed at her.

"So. He followed you in here first."

You looked at Harry whose mouth grew into a smile. You laughed as you handed him his glass and began making three more. By the time you passed them out to your customers, your own cocktail was watered down. Frowning, you took a sip anyway.

"So did you think about it?" asked Harry, placing his empty glass on the counter.

"Sorry?"

"The Stones concert."

"Oh. Um..."

As if it were a sign, "Start Me Up" began to play from the speakers in the next room. Harry and you both froze.

"Looks like they're playing our song," he chuckled.

"Oh for fucks sake, go out with him!" shouted Sheila.

You shook your head as the color rose to your cheeks. "Alright."

"You won't regret it," beamed Harry. "Everyone needs to see the Stones."

You both stood outside the outdoor venue watching the sun set. You could hear the drum beat of the opening band playing inside as the excitement began to fill your veins.

"So when should we go in?" you asked Harry.

"After sundown," he replied. "That's the best time. Not as many people trying to get in."

You nodded, a little disappointed you'd be missing the opening act, but then again you had no clue who they were anyway. Finally, when the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, Harry grabbed your hand.

"C'mon," he whispered. "This way."

You smiled and followed him up a ramp. You zig zagged through a maze of several barriers until you reached a fence.

"What are we doing?" you glared at him, confused.

"Waiting for the all clear," Harry muttered.

"Wait...what?"

He squeezed your hand and looked at you timidly. "I don't actually have tickets," he admitted.

"What? We're...we're sneaking in?"

"Yeah."

Releasing your hand from his, you felt your stomach plummet to your knees. "Have you lost your fucking mind?!" you shouted.

"Shh!"

"No, I won't shh! I'm out of here!"

"Y/N! Wait!" he grabbed your hand again just as you rounded the corner. "Please."

"You're insane," you grumbled.

"Trust me. We can do this. I've done it before."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better!" you threw up your hand.

Taking your other hand, Harry looked you in the eye. "Please."

With a defeated sigh, you followed him back to the fence. You watched as Harry carefully climbed over it, landing softly on the grass.

"C'mon," he beckoned.

With hesitation and a sour feeling in your gut, you reached up and grabbed the metal fence, sticking your shoe inside a hole to pull yourself up. When you reached the top, however, you got scared.

"I can't," you shook your head.

"Sure you can," said Harry, his arms out. "I'm right here. I'll catch you so you won't hit the ground."

"It's not that...I don't..."

"Swing your leg over."

Swallowing hard, you did as he said and you were able to climb post of the way down until he caught you in his arms.

"See?" he breathed in your ear. "We're okay."

Once again, you smiled at his use of the word "we".

"This way."

Your hand in his, you ran to another nearby barricade that wasn't as difficult to climb over. And that was when you saw the stage.

"Oh wow," you mouthed.

"Great innit?" Harry smiled.

You weren't close, in fact you were in the very back of the venue, behind the crowd that sat on the lawn. But somehow the thrill of it all made it worth it. Suddenly the lights went out and the audience went wild.

"Let's go over here," Harry gestured to the right and you weaved through several people until you stopped at an empty space between them.

You watched Mick Jagger strut across the stage in all his glory. Your stomach did a few flips until you found yourself cheering with the rest of the crowd. By the third or fourth song, you and Harry were dancing.

"This is so awesome!" you screamed at him as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Glad you came with me?" he leaned against you as the band went into "Angie".

"Glad? I could kiss you right now!"

You realized what you'd said the moment the last word dropped from your lips. Harry's smile faltered only slightly as his eyes shifted between your eyes and your mouth. Then tilting his head, he kissed you.

You weren't sure if it was the adrenaline still zipping through you from before, or just the mere sensation of his lips on yours, but that kiss was electric. You wound your arms around Harry's neck as he pulled you closer, your kiss deepening. You heard Mick asking "where will it lead us from here," and you found yourself wondering the same thing.

By the time the concert was over, you were wiping your cheeks of tears of joy.

"You okay?" Harry asked as he took your hand and you walked out of the venue with everybody else.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Yeah, more than okay. Thanks for that."

"Like I said, everyone should see them at least once."

"That's not what I mean."

Harry stopped and turned to look at you with question in his eyes.

"Thank you..." you said, "for the best night of my life."

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

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[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Eddeth

Day #30 - Fame & Fortune | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Fake!Eddeth, Steddie | Tags: Modern AU, Stop Trying to Make Eddeth Happen, It's Not Gonna Happen, Eddie & Gareth Are Best Friends, They Are Also: Idiot², Paparazzi, Social Media, Luddite Eddie, Steve Harrington Has To Clean Up All Their Messes, But What Else Is New?

"Did you know they're shipping us?" 

"Shipping us where? I hope they poke holes first," Eddie says, looking over at Gareth as he's scrolling on his phone. Gareth isn't listening to him, doesn't even laugh, which Eddie thinks is rude. That was a great dad joke.

He's picked up dad jokes from Steve, because Steve's corny as fuck. 

"Not like that," Gareth says, "like, shipping us together. We have a name and everything."

"Speak English," Eddie demands.

"You know, like Bennifer? But we're Eddeth," Gareth says.

"Who's Bennifer?"

"Which version?" Gareth asks, "Nevermind. You don't care. It's the ship name for Ben and Jennifer together. Do you never read the tabloids?"

"No. And I don't like that," Eddie says.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't. But now they're thinking about us. Together. Romantically. Enough that we have a mash-up of our names together."

Eddie barks out a laugh, "Well, alright. Whatever floats their boat."

Gareth sits there quietly for a bit, then says, "Maybe we can use this. Drum up some attention for the band. Get our name out there. Be a trending hashtag."

"I don't know what that means," Eddie says. 

"I know you don't. But we could, like, get in the zeitgeist."

"I hate everything you're choosing to be right now," Eddie says.

"Eddie. This could blow us up."

"Well, sure, in that case I'll tell Steve to just step aside."

"Not for real, dummy. Just for the paparazzi. Get our names talked about more. If they see more of the band, they may like the band more."

Eddie says he'll think about it, but he has no intention of doing any of that. They are exactly the right amount of famous. He can walk down the street without being harassed, but they live comfortably. He isn't about to upset that apple cart.

But it persists. There's buzz, apparently. At least according to Gareth, anyway.

So, at the next show, Eddie hops up on the drum riser and covers Bang Dem Sticks, while flirting with Gareth. It is possible to flirt platonically, and he does it very well. 

The next day, Gareth shows him all the chatter. The tiktoks. The commentary. And, well, maybe they could use this to their advantage. Just for a minute.

So, they walk down a dozen different sidewalks, and no paparazzi cameras pop out to snap pictures. Which is normal. He isn't sure why Gareth suddenly thought they'd make TMZ. 

But Gareth persists, and they even go to the Ivy, and still nothing. 

Even LAX is a fucking bust. 

That night, Eddie crawls into bed next to Steve, and sighs.

"What's the matter with you?" Steve asks, tipping down his iPad to look at Eddie.

"Nobody will take my picture with Gareth."

Steve laughs, "What the hell are you talking about?"

So, Eddie tells him their grand plan, and Steve is laughing his fucking ass off before Eddie can even finish. 

"Eddie. You have to call the paps if you want to do a pap walk. They aren't mind-readers. They don't just show up. Do you think all those pictures of celebs you see are actually candid? They definitely aren't."

Well, Eddie never looks at pap pictures. He has no fucking clue. He likes to fly under the radar.

"Really?" Eddie eventually asks. 

"Really. Do you want me to organize a pap walk for you?" Steve asks, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Well. Kinda," he says, "we're Eddeth."

"I know, honey. I've seen all the videos of you flirting with him on stage."

Eddie laughs, "You know that's not real, right?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not new here," Steve says, "I'll call it in tomorrow. You can be photographed to your heart's content."

And they are. As if it were magic, a handful of photogs are suddenly very aware of where they'll be on various outings. Eddie holds the door for Gareth. Hugs him on the street corner. They get an inordinate amount of coffees that Eddie doesn't even like.

The pictures run, and not a lot of people care, but they are being discussed in some circles. 

So, they keep doing it. Dinners and movies and trips through the airport where they're not really going anywhere. Only going through security, as if they were.

That's a brand new kind of torture. Who goes through TSA when they don't actually have to? 

More coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Eddie's never bought this many drinks in his life. 

And then the bottom falls out. 

Someone makes a video that goes extremely viral, explaining everyone in their Corroded Coffin circle. 

Including Steve. 

In fact, it's almost mourning the breakup of them. Steddie. They're Steddie, apparently, and now the fans, the real fans, those that actually have followed them, are upset. Pointing fingers, assigning blame. Some to Eddie, some to Gareth.

Fuck.

"Uh, we've got a problem," Eddie tells Steve, and Steve just shakes his head, already aware of the situation.

"Do we have to do a pap walk now?" Eddie asks, worrying his hands together. 

He never did anything romantic with Gareth. It can all be explained away, swept under the rug. 

He thinks.

He hopes.

"I really don't want to," Steve says, and that's that. They won't.

Now, Eddie's either a cheater in the eyes of their actual fans, or they think Steve's gone. 

Instead, Gareth does a couple pap walks with his girlfriend, and she's branded a beard, immediately. They really fucked this up, big time. 

"We'll go to dinner. The four of us," Steve says, "I'll call it in."

And Eddie kisses his cheek, over and over.

Just to be safe, Steve has their publicist send TMZ a copy of their marriage certificate, and some boilerplate that Eddie and Gareth are just best friends, and always have been.

As they settle into the booth at the restaurant, pictures still being taken, Steve asks, "Are we done trying to be tabloid fodder? Have we learned our lesson?"

"Yes, Steve," Eddie and Gareth both say in unison.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[eldritchelfwriter]

A few Baldurs Gate 3 Fanfics I recommend on AO3

So long as it has meaning by ohholymoves

Relationship: Shadowheart and Selunite Paladin Tav

The fic that started it at all and inspired me to write my own Shadowheart fanfiction (Shadowheart Begins). This the first BG fanfic I had ever read. I was so blown away I read it 6 times in a row, just to catch everything that happened and the little clues seeded within, and to just admire and be in awe of how incredibly well written and beautiful the whole thing is.

Shadowheart is EXTREMELY sassy in this fic and I am here for it.

Consonance by @eliteseven

Relationship: modern Shadowheart & Tav

A profoundly sweet and meaningful story of Shadowheart & Tav getting together against the backdrop of being a band putting an album together. Isobel and Aylin also make appearances (bonus!!). Once you've checked out Consonance you'll also want to read Of Night Orchids, Lace & Steel by the same author.

Give it up for DJ Shadowheart by @capriclonus

Relationship: modern Shadowheart (a disc jockey) and modern Lae'zel

It took me a while to dip my toe into AU and modern BG3 fics but this one has blown me away. I'm on my fourth readthrough and I'm sure there are more readthroughs to come.

The characterisations and the plotting are just ... I feel like I'm reading something I've taken from a bestsellers shelf. It's absolute goals.

You really feel like you've been taken on a complex and wonderful journey by the end. This one will stick with you for a long time to come.

To Defy the Gods by @shadowfalllen

Relationship: Mother Superior Shadowheart x Tav

Shadowheart had taken the Dark Justiciar path and kept on seeing Tav, but Shar had other ideas about their continuing relationship. A Shadowheart redemption work with moments of awe, terror (I'm a lightweight and sometimes had to take a breath before continuing a chapter) and HOPE.

Also, this is one of the few works where I've seen Nocturne really being fleshed out as a character in her own right! (As she deserves!)

Hand on a Dagger (Head in the Sand) by @future-ghoost

Relationship: Dark Justiciar Shadowheart x Selunite Tav

VERY original concept where only Shadowheart was abducted, and Emmeline & Arnell hire Tav to try and rescue their now adult daughter from the cloister.

The tension is amazing, as is the growing relationship between Shadowheart and Tav and the kinds of compromises and decisions Tav is having to make while infiltrating the cloister as a Selunite. Delicious!

swear i was born right in the doorway by @tadpoleeater

Relationship: Isobel and Aylin

An absolutely hilarious rendition of how Isobel and Aylin got together. The characterisation of Aylin (a difficult character to write) is just spot on and the whole thing is so delightful, I will be surprised if you don't end up with a huge smile on your face at the end.

My Thesis is a Demigod? by @griffinisgae

Relationship: Isobel and Aylin

Fabulous AU in which Isobel, who is writing her thesis on Selune, finds Aylin dormant in a temple after thousands of years. Fish out of water / time displaced shenanigans ensue.

There are so many heartfelt, gorgeous little scenes, including laugh out loud ones.

Juniper & Starlight by @shewhowas39

Relationship: Durge and Astarion

Even though 'I don't even go to this school' as a Shadowheart and Aylin megafan, I am utterly transfixed by this continuing story of a Southern gal, heart of gold divination wizard durge and her journey with Astarion and friends. Shadowheart is the Tav's bestie in this fic and as with all the other characters in the game, is beautifully rendered in word.

As with all the other recommendations in this post, the words flow over you like music. Tav and Astarion's inner world contain so much emotional truth, a difficult feat for both of these incredibly complex characters but the writer here makes it look easy.

Before the Last Brew by @shadowfalllen

Relationship: Shadowheart and Tav

What if Shadowheart doesn't actually have a crap ton of trauma from Viconia and Shar? What if she is the new barista in a small town who has caught the eye of an author who is getting quite distracted from writing at the cafe?

What if WITHERS owns that cafe? What if it's so sweet and fuzzy and lovely and warm and you just can't wait for the next chapter?! What if! What if then?!

Born of Silver & Night Orchids by @cylinderarts

Relationship: Shadowheart and Selunite Tav (Trans Fem)

Here Shadowheart & Tav meet under VERY different circumstances - a one night stand! But soon one night leads to a few more and then one night they aren't particularly careful Shadowheart has a lil bun in oven she has to hide from the cloister while simultaneously trying to deal with her undeniable (let constantly denied) feelings for Tav!

Tav is besties with Karlach in this fic which is the absolute BEST and cylinderarts has also created a bunch of awesome art that goes with this fic that you can view on their profile.

[tequilawitholives]

Two Truths One Lie

Smosh: Shayne Topp x Reader

WC: 1.8K

Warnings: A little bit of suggestive(looks n feelings), use of she/her pronouns, Y/N is one of the ogs in smosh, slight fluff if u squint, Y/N is kinda famous

It was a warm day in California when the team chose to make Y/n and Shayne film the video, which they both silently thanked them for. Getting sprayed with ice cold water wouldn't be as harmful with the weather.

"Are you ready to get sprayed to death?" Shayne joked while bumping his shoulder into Y/n who turned to smirk at him.

Y/n only ignored his comment and walked into the studio where Courtney, Amanda and Angela hung out in their stools beside the "game" table.

It was a little intimidating, the guns leaning against the table while a crew member filled them both up with water.

Shayne followed after Y/n into the studio and walked with her to the sound manager who mic'ed them up, connecting their microphone while the two of them clipped the small black electronics onto their clothes.

As they finished with that, the studio manager once again called everyone to their places, checking so that everyone were feeling alright.

Y/n sat down across Shayne, Courtney to her left as she looked down at the cards in front of her.

Before any filming session, Y/n always felt a shock of adrenaline pulse through her veins, as if she felt like any second, her body would explode - which it never did of course.

"And.. Action!" Emily, the director, shouted. The studio turned quiet before Shayne turned to the camera with a dramatic sigh escaping his mouth.

"Welcome, everyone, to another round of Two Truths One Lie. In this game, me and an opponent tell three statements, where two of those statements are truths and the other one a lie." Shayne explained, still in his dramatic voice.

"If my opponent, who is Y/n today, say hi Y/n." He continued

"Hello." Y/n answered shortly, smiling into the camera.

"As I said, if my opponent fails to find my lie, I get to spray her with water, but if she succesfully finds my lie, I get sprayed by her with water."

"I think I put on the wrong clothes for this." Y/n stated, looking down at her outfit, which was a knitted sweater with some grey baggy jeans.

"Atleast you look cute!" Courtney added, making Y/n and Shayne chuckle.

Amanda coughed, glaring at the pair in front of her.

"Oh, right! This is our three watchers. Courtney, Amanda and Angela." Shayne introduced the three women, making them mutter things with annoyance.

"I'm so happy to have gathered boygenius with us today." Y/n joked, making the whole studio laugh at her joke.

"Anyway, would you like to go first?" Shayne asked Y/n who nodded, clearing her throat dramatically.

"Here are my statements. First one. I have been in a relationship with Jeanette McCurdy for an event." Y/n began, making Amanda chuckle a short laugh at the first statement.

"I have kissed Tom Cruise, on the mouth." Shayne's eyes widened at this, not at all ready for this.

"I was in a marching band in Japan when I was fifteen." Y/n said her last statement with a small smile while Shayne stared at Y/n mysteriously, trying to figure out which one is the truth.

"Okay, first statement. When and where was it?" Shayne asked as Y/n put her card down.

"It was at an event, some Nickelodeon event. I don't remember the year but I remember we were talking and I asked if for a joke we should fake a relationship for the whole event and she agreed. Really nice person she is!" Y/n explained while keeping a straight face.

Shayne nodded.

"And the next one? That seems like such a lie but if it's not I'm so jealous of you." He joked, making the trio beside him chuckle.

"Okay, so I got booked into an actual move not too long ago, no clue who was my love interest or anything, but when I arrived to the "love" scenes, there Tom Cruise was. I think it was about seven years ago or so."

The studio was quiet, everyone actually intrigued to hear the whole story, even the trio sat quietly.

"Wow, and do you remember the kiss?" Shayne sarcastically asked, but he actually wanted to know.

"I do, it was a great kiss. I was a nervous wreck but he was so calm and collected and just a nice co-worker to work with." Y/n answered with a soft smile on her face.

"And the third one?"

"As many of you know, I've lived in Japan with my family for a part of my life. And some of you know I also play the clarinet, well played, and I wanted to play it in a marching band so I joined one." Y/n explained, quite easily.

"I think I know the lie." Shayne said quickly with a smirk while Y/n only sat with a soft smile on her face.

"It's the second one, the Tom Cruise one." He continued and Y/n sighed, looking down at the table.

But she quickly grabbed the water gun and sprayed Shayne in the chest with the ice cold water.

"WHAT!?!?!?" Angela shouted while Shayne sat in shock.

"You've actually kissed Tom Cruise?" He asked, eyes wide as he laughed in just pure shock.

"I have! It was some movie, I don't remember but I was the love-interest." Y/n chuckled while putting her gun down, letting it lean against the table.

"Wait so which one was the lie?" Shayne asked, making Y/n smile.

"The marching band one. I moved to Japan when I was fifteen but joined the marching band when I was eightteen because they had an age restriction." Y/n told the group who all made 'aah' noises as an understanding.

"Alright, so my turn. I have eaten a whole tarantula on camera. I have eaten a bull penis on camera. I have eaten surströmming on camera." Shayne said quickly.

"Okay, I know one of these 100%. You did eat a tarantula. It was on Mythical Kitchen. I was there with you but I chickened out and never ate the spider but you did." Y/n thought outloud, looking directly into Shayne's eyes.

Shayne chuckled and smiled, knowing that Y/n was right with that, they both were there.

"Ah, shit. I wasn't on the filming day of the surströmming. I remember it was you and Noah and his two brothers. Shit." Y/n muttered and sighed.

"I think the bull penis one is the lie. You must've eaten some piece of surströmming that day, your fingers smelt like shit after that I remember that." She claimed, making Shayne laugh.

"Are you sure?" Shayne checked with her and she nodded.

"I'm sorry Y/n, but you are very wrong-"

"Shit! No- No please, spare me!" Y/n began shouting as she watched Shayne pull the gun up from his side.

"LET ME TAKE OFF MY SWEATER FIRST PLEASE!" She continued yelling as everyone else laughed their asses off at her reaction.

Shayne let her take her sweater off and so she did.

Y/n unclipped her mic and pulled her sweater off, her t-shirt slightly following with but with the help of Courtney who held the shirt down, she threw the sweater away to the side.

While all of this was happening, Shayne felt his ears turn slightly pink at the sight of Y/n's stomach and a small part of her ribcage.

What was going on with him? He thought, blinking his quiet suggestive thoughts away.

"Okay, I'm ready." Y/n said, now only in a tanktop.

Shayne chuckled and slowly pumped the water gun, making Y/n nervous.

"Shayne! Just do i-" Y/n got interrupted by Shayne shooting water against her stomach, making Y/n jerk in shock.

The studio began laughing in the scene that just happened.

"OW! MY SIX-PACK!" Y/n joked, making the studio continue laughing, even Shayne laughed, his eyes closed as he did.

The studio calmed down and Y/n and Shayne continued the game, Shayne absolutely failing the game, getting completely drenched in water.

After a shot of water was shot against Shayne, Angela began joking about something, distracting the studio and audience of what happened anywhere else.

Y/n took the chance to look at Shayne who focused on Angela.

He had a big part of his t-shirt completely soaked, and Y/n kinda thanked herself for that, because now she could see Shayne's chest.

Her eyes drifted down a little before looking back up, but now on Angela who was still talking about who know's what.

Now it was Shayne's turn to look at Y/n, her tanktop had only gotten a little soaked, only showing some parts of her bra underneath.

Shayne had to control his breathing, his hands tightly knitted together underneath the tablecloth as he felt his ears turn pink again. He had felt Y/n's stare, he wasn't gullible, and damn did it make him feel good.

They continued the game after Angela's rant and finally it ended, ending with Y/n winning quite naturally.

The cameras turned off and the pair of them walked up to the sound manager who they handed their microphones to before walking out from the studio.

"That was fun, really." Y/n began, smiling softly at Shayne who chuckled, looking down at himself.

"Yeah, sure, maybe for you." He sighed dramatically, making Y/n grin while pushing Shayne's shoulder jokingly.

"Oh, shit, I forgot my sweater. Let me go get it." Y/n remembered, running back into the studio and getting the sweater.

As she picked up her sweater, Courtney walked up to her with a small smile.

"I saw you looking at him." She blurted out, making Y/n look up at her with slight wide eyes.

"I-"

"And he was looking at you too, y'know." Courtney said while smirking as she watched Y/n's cheeks turn slightly pink.

"Okay, fine. I was looking at him, he looked hot okay." Y/n sighed, confessing to Courtney who chuckled.

"Don't tell me that, tell it to him." She said while nodding to someone behind Y/n, who turned around to see Shayne stand there with slightly tinted ears.

"Oh-" Y/n said before trying to stutter something about how she did think like that and that it was okay if he didn't feel the same.

"Y/n, would you like to go out with me?" Shayne interrupted her rambling, making her stop in her tracks.

"What?" She asked, flabbergasted.

"Would you like to go out with me?" Shayne asked again, now with a smile on his face.

"Ye-Yeah, that'd be nice." Y/n said, now also with a grin on her face as she watched Shayne nod and walk away.

"Finally! I've waited for that since you both started working here." Courtney groaned, walking away from Y/n who stood there, excitement filling her entire body.