#i think its so important that paul lets his hair grow out as he plays. bc when hes finally escapes its like a new beginning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mirrorforevers · 4 years ago

Text

here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!” You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

#graham coxon #alex james #damon albarn #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #smut #imagine #reader insert #graham coxon x reader #graham x reader #y/n #fluff #au #fanfiction #blur band

234 notes · View notes

otterskin · 4 years ago

Text

Dumb Details From the Loki Trailer I noticed but then got too serious about

First - apparently it’s not a trailer, so I guess we’ll get ‘Trailer 1′ later? ‘Exclusive Clip’ hardly seems accurate, but hey, I’m not Disney’s marketing division. I wouldn’t live in a shoebox if I was.

Dumb detail no. 1:

Owen Wilson’s jacket is...weird. Look closely.

And another shot:

Yeah...his jacket has a ‘reversed collar’. It’s a cut-out rather than cloth folding on top. Huh. What a strange design choice. What could it mean?

I’ve no idea, but that I watched the trailer enough times to notice this should concern you.

Detail No. 2

In this scene, we see what we can presume to be President Loki’s ‘Throne’. Notice the candy-canes. This is a Santa Claus throne, presumably from some mall Santa. This whole place might be in a mall, judging by the stuff in it.

But the Loki in this shot is not President Loki. Notice that he’s wearing brown pants, a thin brown tie, and the beige shirt he’s seen wearing in other parts of the trailer after he's apparently joined the TVA. President Loki wears black pants, a green vest and a wide green tie with a golden clip that resembles Loki’s little chevron he always has (more on that later).

So it would seem that Loki might meet President Loki here. President Loki might even be addressing him at the end of the trailer. It’s possible that his minions turn on him because there’s two Lokis and they don’t know which is the ‘imposter’.

Speaking of, there’s a minion with bicycle handlebars grafted to a football helmet here, likely meant to resemble Loki. I dig it. There’s also cans of food scattered among the rubbish here. Makes sense that food production is non-existent since everyone has resorted to wearing license plates and spoons. Love how tattered the whole aesthetic is.

This reminds me of the opening Michael Waldron’s script ‘Worst Guy of All Time’, which featured a similar post-apocalyptic setting after the ‘worst guy’ ruins everything and makes himself king of the ashes. That’s likely what’s happened here, but I hope that Loki isn’t anything like Logan Paul, who was the inspiration for that title character.

Ah, the mysterious female character watching a meteor shower WAY TOO CLOSE UP. But my eyes are drawn to one thing...

What is that oblong object with a shiny handle? Could it be...

A sword? I do love swords. Did you know there’s a bunch of pictures of me in the stock photos for ‘Fencing?’ That’s my cred for loving swords.

I suspect that this female character will be an amalgamation of Amora (shudder) and Sylvie and an alternate Loki of some kind. This sword is currently in her possession, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it or another timeline version of it becomes the Loki Show’s Loki′s weapon.

Loki has lacked a ‘weapon of his own’ in the MCU for quite some time. I mean, yes, he has his little knives, but they are many and disposable and something he chose for himself, rather than the two legendary weapons wielded by Odin and Thor, Gungnir and Mjolnir. In fact, throughout his appearances, Loki has seemed to want such a thing of his own - he briefly had Gungnir, and then the Gungnir-like scepter, and even tried to lift Mjolnir.

One might ask why Odin would’ve overlooked such an obvious show of favouritism. Why give Thor a storied weapon and leave Loki empty-handed? Heck, even Hela had the Necroblade.

In Thor 1, we might’ve assumed that the Casket of Ancient Winters was perhaps intended one day to be given to Loki, as it is shown with Mjolnir in the Vault and thus connected to it and the children who would inherit it. But in the comics, Odin did have another weapon of storied history put away for his second son: Gram the Sword.

It was locked for eons by Odin in a special vault which required five keys to be opened, and it was meant to be for Loki if he be worthy.[2] The five keys were infused by Odin with the powers of "journeys", "endurance", "secrets", "new beginnings", and "brotherhood", respectively.[3]

The sword, like everything else in comics, has a complicated history full of take-backs and twists, but let’s just leave it at ‘it’s a representation of Loki’s worthiness and belonging in the trifecta with Odin and Thor as a King of Asgard’. It gives him ‘equality’.

In the original mythology, it’s wielded by Sigurd to kill the dragon Fafnir, and the only relation it has to Loki is that Loki is partially responsible for Fafnir existing in the first place (my username is nod to this myth by the by. Sorry Ottär.) But hey, maybe that means we’re getting a dragon? The Fafnir would be very cool.

Or it could just be a bit of rebar in this mining quarry.

Then again...it appears somewhere else...

It’s easier to see in motion, but that’s a sword swinging on this person’s back.

So the hooded figure is this lady...shall we call her Amylkie? Does that mean she’s the antagonist of this show? Well...maybe, but I suspect the true antagonist is foreshadowed here -

So, what’s going on here? A young girl (Young Amylkie? Some other TVA prisoner that the guard is watching over? An oracle, A Norn, or a kid who wandered off from the tour group in a basilica somewhere?) She’s giving Mobius M. Mobius a...piece of chocolate. Maybe he saw a Dementor, I dunno. I suspect it’ll be a MacGuffin of some kind later. He looks pretty concerned here, which contrasts with his ‘another day at the office’ blaséness when dealing with Loki. But of course this is the eye-catcher:

So, Norse Mythology. It’s been Christiannized. You can thank Snorri Sturluson for that, but you can google all about him later. Let’s just say that he made many Norse figures into equivalents for Christian ones. Baldur is Jesus, pure and a sacrificial lamb who dies for a greater good. And the devil is...Loki. Something the Marvel comics and the MCU have continued.

Here we have a devil, dressed in green and with a distinct shape on his chest:

Hmmm...wait...I know that weird horny shape...

Ah. I’d say that cinches it. This is meant to be Loki. If you look at the devil’s hair, it also resembles Loki’s, being shoulder-length and black.

So, what’s devil-Loki doing? Laying an egg? Trying out a foot massager? For a second I thought it was a moon, but we see the moon over his left shoulder, amongst the stars. Which means this is - probably the Earth.

...Dammit; I live there.

So Earth is barren and being devoured by flames, likely caused by this Loki sitting atop of it (in a throne, no less). Aw gee, things look pretty bad, don’t they?

But wait - what’s that? Under the Earth (and, possibly, under the earth)?

It’s a plant. A shoot, to be exact.

Back to Ragnarok for a second. Ragnarok isn’t the apocalypse (something we see a lot of in this trailer - all of it seems to be exploring the end of days). Ragnarok is the fire meant to wipe out the old and fertilize the ground for the new. And after the gods have died, what happens? Well, Baldur emerges from Hel, one of the only surviving gods (hmm, seems him dying worked out, didn’t it?). He’s joined by Líf and Lífþrasir, who are the new first man and woman, who’s names mean ‘Life’ and who are pictured, usually, with plants and new life. It is they who are tasked who growing a new Yggdrasil after the destruction of the old. The previous first man and woman are Ask and Embla, meaning Ash Tree and Vine/Elm tree, so there’s a theme there.

So a new sprout, possibly a tree, growing out of the destruction of the old.

This fits with Loki’s role as understood in mythology. He checks the arrogance of the gods, including when they tried to achieve immortality (sorry, Baldur, nothing personal), and that keeps the gods at their best. After Loki is imprisoned, the gods become weak, unhelpful and foolish, and Yggdrasil starts to rot. Eventually Loki escapes and returns along with Surtur (who also resembles this figure) to burn it all to the ground. This is also referenced in Thor:Ragnarok, with Loki releasing Surtur in the Vault, a place of thematic importance to Loki and one that represents the hidden secrets and sins of Asgard). You could say Ragnarok continued into Infinity War, where Loki played an important part in aiding Thanos’ destruction, giving up the stone to protect his brother and essentially dooming the rest of the universe - but also ultimately leading to its salvation, even if, like Myth Loki, he wasn’t around to see it.

So, we see Amylkie literally start a fire in the trailer -

- in fact, this whole trailer is awash in flame -

It’s fire, fire everywhere and she’s setting them!

It’s possible Amylkie’s our big bad, but I think there’s a chance she’s either a red herring, or, much like how Loki ‘worked’ with Thanos in The Avengers, she is the pawn of a greater foe -

- a Loki bent on destruction, for some reason or other. The TVA is obviously aware that this is the case, and it seems like they might be trying to ‘fight fire with fire’ by enlisting one Loki to combat another. The villain could be President Loki, since there's evidence of 2 Lokis in that scene - or maybe that's one of many Lokis, and the Big Bad Loki is being played by Hugh Grant as Old Loki. In any case, it would appear that Loki will be coming face-to-face with the worst versions of himself, and many of them. And, if I’m right about this scene:

...Loki will likely eventually discover that even his ‘good’ timeline ended in the destruction of his people and home, plus his own gruesome and torturous death. Although I think the TVA will keep that from him, and just show him the happy parts in an effort to inspire ‘good behaviour’. Until Loki inevitably discovers the rest of how that timeline played out and realize he’s been lied to. I don’t imagine he’ll take that very well...

Damn, even our ‘hero’ Loki is burning stuff down! Does this mean that Loki is doomed, always meant to be an avatar of death and toasty destruction?

Well...let’s go back to that stained glass.

Hmmm...wait...I know that weird horny shape...

And there’s something else...the bottom of the Earth is being lit up, and not by fire. Light appears to be coming off this little plant.

What colour is this plant again? That’s right, green. Green is the colour of new life and growth and change and...hang on, I’ve heard that before, too...

Hang on hang on HANG ON... let me have a look at the shape again.

That’s...a letter. An L? For Loki? Like in the title sequence?

Wait...no, a different letter. An older letter. After all, Loki is old Norse. How do you spell his name in that again?

ᛚᛟᚲ ᛁ -

And ENHANCE on that third letter!

This, my friends, is a Kenaz/Kaunaz, or what would become 'K' in our alphabet. It is also known as the 'Loki Rune' (and the Ulcer Rune, for some reason. I suspect Odin understands why). It’s used to spell his name, but is also used on his own to represent him. Heck, it's even his Superman 'S' in the comics:

Runes are more than letters - they are symbols for concepts. So what else does it mean?

Primarly, it means ‘torch’.

And also ‘knowledge’ (ken). As well as ‘growth, change, the search for truth, decay, arrogance, elitism, feminine, kinship and creativity.’

...Okay, that’s a lot, but you have to admit it fits.

More specifically, it means ‘Mastery of the Fire’. As in, someone who has learned to tame fire so that it is helpful, not harmful. To bring light and, symbolically, knowledge.

There’s another way Loki’s been associated with fire - in the Wagner Ring Cycle, Das Rheingold, the opera that inspired much the Thor films’ aesthetic and certainly their helmets, Loki is called ‘Loge’, which means ‘Fire’. He’s usually dressed to match, too -

Many trickster figures are associated with fire. They are usually called ‘Fire-bringers’ - See: Raven, Lucifer, Prometheus, etc. They are often complex figures with a foot in different worlds, but who nonetheless help mankind with the gift of ‘fire’ - although they usually pay for it, and tend to be self-destructive.

(Side note. Lucifer means light-bringer, which is what luciferase is named after. Because it glows. Which is helpful in labs. In case someone needed to know that.)

Moving from a destructive fire-starter to a fire-bringer seems like a great character arc for Loki to take, especially given his rehabilitation in pop culture, the comics, and even wider culture. Loki has gone from being seen as an evil, deviant, destructive character to one who’s seen as a patron of the arts and creativity, of stories rather than lies. Heck, some scholars of Norse Mythology even posit that he’s the closet thing to a protagonist Norse Mythology has, so I guess that backfired, Snorri!). Being dressed in green and with the sprout clearly also being stylized after his Kaunaz, there’s foreshadowing that he’ll be capable of growing good things even out of ashes.

So, to sum up: Being ‘Satan’ sounds pretty bad, but with a little letter re-arranging like we see in the title sequence, you can be...

...practically a saint. Maybe even a saviour.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

#loki #trailer #details #meta #theories #theory #explanation #thor #tva #santa #devil #snorri sturluson whinging #christmas #fire #kaunaz #loki trailer

262 notes · View notes

childrenofthenightt · 4 years ago

Text

only the black rose (chapter 4)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: bordering on nsfw, a little fluff, and yet another pretentious description of a zep song :)

words: 3.9k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: i blushed countless times writing this chapter. also things are heating up folks!!! not beta’d as always! hope you enjoy!

masterlist

playlist

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

----------

The dressing room of the Rotterdam Ahoy was certainly not a palace of luxury, with its plush navy couches and line of chairs pushed against the wall, next to a long folding table packed tight with refreshments. A full-length mirror sits in the corner, casting refractions of faint yellow light onto the off-white brick walls. John Bonham lounges on the loveseat, drumming out an intricate rhythm on his knees, brown eyes far away as he stares off into the distance. John Paul Jones perches on the chair nearest to the door, strumming a tune reminiscent of rockabilly on a beautiful mandolin, nodding his head to keep the beat.

Looking up, Jonesy spots Jimmy across from him, occupying the couch next to Bonzo. Jimmy is tuning up his acoustic guitar, no doubt the precious gift he had received just days before. Every so often, Jimmy would pause in his focused tuning to shift in his seat with a wince, stretching out, before finally resuming.

“You okay, Pagey?”

“...Hm?” Jimmy grunts out, concentration stolen completely by the beautiful guitar in his hands. Heavenly notes swirling around the small room, mixing seamlessly with the sharp harmonies of the mandolin. Jimmy did always preach about unity, after all.

“Are you okay? You keep wincing, and you’ve shifted in your seat about 20 times in the past two minutes.”

“My back is a little sore, I must have slept in an odd position. Nothing serious.” This is punctuated by a crackle as Jimmy stretches once more.

“Well, you did have a nice pillow though, didn’t you?”

“Jonesy—”

“I hope you know that Robert has pictures, Jim.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Bonzo chuckles, popping the P, and smirking at the man across from him, who has finally stopped plucking the strings of the guitar. Jimmy wrings his hands together, stopping only to thumb at his nose. “No need to be nervous, Page. I’m sure he’ll only show a couple of them at the wedding, which reminds me. We need to know her ring preferences. Stones are important to girls, or something.”

“He took more than one? Wait… Rings? We’re not… I’ve known her for like, 5 days! Marriage? She doesn’t even like me like—”

“Who’s getting married?” Layla questions, voice floating through the open door as she walks in, arm in arm with Robert, who is sporting a cheshire grin. The blond sends a subtle wink at Jimmy, strolling further into the room.

“Layla, quick question.”

“Oh no. Should I be scared?”

“Only a little bit.” Jonesy cuts in, chuckling at the helpless look on Jimmy’s face.

“Bonzo, I-I really don’t think—”

“Pagey, shush,” Bonzo interrupts the guitarist, who splutters, dumbfounded at the exchange taking place. He moves to stop Bonzo from speaking, but Bonzo shoves him back onto the couch behind him, Jimmy landing with a huff. “Now, birdie… What is your favourite gemstone?”

“Garnet. Do I want to know what this is about?”

“Probably not.”

“Great. Well, as fun as this has been, I’ve got to go find Peter, he wanted to talk to me about something,” Layla drawls, a smile just evident in the slight curl of her lips, painted a pretty pink in the artificial light of the room. She catches Jimmy staring her way, and her smile grows wider, taking in the stunned expression on his features. “I just thought it would be a good idea to rescue Robert from the horde of groupies that had him surrounded first.”

“Very smart. It would be rather hard to play without our frontman. Unless… Bonzo, how quickly can we get Coverdale in here?”

“Jonesy, I’m hurt. You know my voice is better than his.”

“Every single day, I am astounded at how humble you are, Robert. Truly brings a tear to my eye.” Layla laughs, turning towards the door, when a soft voice pipes up from behind her, paired with the sound of footsteps, muffled by the carpet under their feet.

“Mind if I join you, petal?”

A soft smile graces the woman’s lips at the sound of Jimmy’s dulcet voice, and she turns around to face him. Gazing up at him almost shyly, she nods, and they walk out together, Jimmy’s arm comforting around the woman’s shoulders. As they exit the dressing room, Robert pokes his head out, a mischievous smile growing slowly.

“Use protection, you two. Can’t have any little Page-Porters running around the venue.” Before the duo could retort, Robert retreats into the dressing room once more, his golden curls and the sound of his cackle following. Embarrassment colouring his face, Jimmy releases his hold on Layla, but is stopped by a hand at his wrist. Forest green and golden brown meet once more as she nods lightly. Jimmy, confident that Layla is comfortable with his touch, wraps his arm around her shoulders once more, as they walk through the venue in search of Peter Grant.

“For a man of his stature, I hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to find him.” Jimmy laughs, which causes Layla to look at the man. His laugh may just be one of her favourite sounds, she thinks. Jimmy, sensing Layla’s eyes on him, looks down at the woman, whose head dips shyly, so different from the sassy exterior she lets people see. He lets his gaze linger, taking in the unruly chestnut ringlets that frame her tanned face perfectly. Her brown eyes hold unimaginable depths, and he is frightened by how often he gets lost in them. Her lips, the colour of lovely flowers in the bright morning light, are bitten cherry red out of nerves. Layla looks up at him then, and instead of shying away, this time he holds her gaze.

“Jim, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course petal. Ask away.”

“I’m just… a little curious,” Layla says, smiling as she stares right back, biting her lip for an entirely different reason now. “Why exactly do you call me petal?”

“Because I can make you blush the colour of a rose in bloom.”

“...That was so cheesy. I hope you know that, Jimmy,” Layla says, a giddy laugh bubbling out past her lips. “You know, I need a nickname for you now, so we’re even.”

“Oh, is that right, petal?”

“It is, actually. How about… angel? I mean, just look at that face.”

Jimmy’s breath hitches, audible even through the bustle of pre-show preparations. His free hand moves up to scratch at his neck once more, a nervous tick, of which he has many, that Layla is now accustomed to. Recovering quickly, Jimmy smirks, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Actually, petal, I think I might be a devil in disguise, but that’s something for you to figure out.”

“Right, because a devil would definitely check up on me, and help me when I was drunk out of my mind, and make me morning coffee exactly the way I like it.”

Knowing he’s been beat, Jimmy’s gaze falls to his feet, suddenly very interested in a particularly deep scuff mark. Layla chances a look at the man, and smiles softly at his reaction. Stepping in front of him, she puts a hand to his shoulder, wiping off imaginary dust from his shirt. His eyes follow her fingers, which finally land on his chin, lifting his head to face her. Layla moves in closer, tucking the hair falling into his face behind his ear.

“I appreciate your help trying to find Peter, but you have a show to get ready for, don’t you, angel?”

“I—”

He is interrupted by the whisper of soft lips brushing his cheek, and the fading scent of the woman’s perfume as she slips past him.

“Damn, she’s good…”

----------

Maneuvering through the maze-like hallways of the arena, Layla finally spots Peter, who is in deep conversation with a stage-hand, back turned to her. Moving closer, she can hear snippets of conversation detailing stage lights and lasers, and she wonders just what she had gotten into. Peter, hearing the padding of Layla’s footsteps approaching, finally turns around, grinning the moment he sees her.

“Layla! I’d like to speak with you for a moment, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, Peter! In fact, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Layla exclaims, falling into step with Peter as they trek through the long hallways once more. “You had said you wanted to talk to me earlier?”

“Right, yes. You had expressed interest in helping out in the wings during the tour,” Peter says, leading the woman with a paternal hand at the small of her back, ensuring she doesn't get lost once again. “But I was wondering if you had wanted to maybe experience this show in the audience? I only ask, because the experience is much different from the crowd, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“I would love to, Peter, but if you do need help…”

“Go have fun, dear. A front-row view at a Led Zeppelin show doesn’t come very often, after all.”

“Thank you so much, Peter!”

“It’s my pleasure, Layla. Now, we’ll be on in about 30 minutes, so we better get you to your seats sooner rather than later.”

Peter riffles through the pockets of his blazer and produces a rectangular piece of paper, no doubt the tickets themselves. Layla is led to an usher, and Peter, with a wink and a smile, turns on his heel, walking away, no doubt to check on his boys. The usher leads her onto the floor, right in front of the stage. Layla thanks them, a gleaming smile making her glow.

The venue is already packed to the brim, and with a glance behind her, Layla spots an ocean of faces, eyes glued to the stage in anticipation. At the sight of this, Layla can’t help but reciprocate these feelings.

“Hell,” Layla mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly. “I’ve seen them play in the studio… How much better could it get than that?”

In the relative darkness of the large room, she can see shadows moving out from the stage wings, the hollers of the crowd growing deafening.

Here we go.

A booming voice erupts out from the speakers scattered around the stage. Layla can’t help but join in, letting out some cheers of her own, wide smile nearly splitting her cheeks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Led Zeppelin!”

A soft click cuts through the sea of white noise like a knife, and the stage is illuminated by a giant sign reading, ‘Led Zeppelin’ in bold, lit letters, which ignites the flame of excitement once more. A smug look passes between them and the band starts to play, catching the audience off guard. Bonzo’s sharp drumming serves as a count-in for Jimmy and Jonesy, their combined excellence creating a solid wall of pure sound, only penetrated by Robert’s masterful wails. Jimmy, gleaming in a suit accented with shining panels of silver, looks absolutely decadent, enraptured by the music he is playing. The chorus sounds, echoing slightly, across the great sea of faces, who are relentless in their fiery adrenaline. Robert glides across the stage, singing as if the crowd were snakes and he was a charmer, entrancing them with his stage presence and golden voice.

“It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely... time.”

Finally, the last notes fizzle out, Jimmy improvising a run under the blanket of unity courtesy of the rhythm section, and the crowd’s screams grow thunderous, a reward for the incredible first song. This trend remained throughout the entirety of the concert, every song fueling the fire.

Layla is completely in awe, eyes blinking rapidly in hopes of comprehending exactly what she had just witnessed. She had known exactly how talented every one of them was, she had seen it just days ago when they had played in the studio, but what she hadn't anticipated, was just how much the stage lights and the crowd brought them to life. They looked holy, faces painted with pure concentration and confidence. Throughout the show, she couldn't help but hang on to Jimmy’s every move. Up there on stage, bliss apparent in the uptick of his rosy lips and eyes full of ecstasy, he was hypnotising, beautiful strong fingers tickling the fretboard in hopes of squeezing ethereal notes from it. The woman wonders what it would be like; for the guitarist to touch her like that. To make her whimper like the guitar he manipulates every night. She wonders what it would be like to touch unmarked, alabaster skin, to bury her fingers in jet black hair as perfect, pink lips rock her world. The touch of callused fingers making her skin tingle and hum and burn in euphoria.

“Layla, you’re going to start bleeding if you keep biting your lip like that. Are you alright, my dear?”

Looking up abruptly, Layla is met by the whiskered face of Peter Grant, smiling softly as he looks down at her. She shakes her head to banish the illicit thoughts, curls flying wildly about her head.

“I’m… Peter, that was incredible!”

“Why don't we sneak you backstage so you can tell the boys what you think?” Peter says, smirking at the astonished face of the young woman in front of him. “They've been asking about you ever since they got off stage.”

“Lead the way!”

The two make their way to the dressing rooms, idle chat between Layla and Peter the soundtrack. Walking through the dressing room doors, she sees the boys facing away from her, celebrating a job well done. Robert is reclined on the couch, two beautiful blondes on each side getting his full attention. Bonzo and Jonesy are chatting in the corner of the room, sipping on bottles of whatever liquor they could find. Jimmy stands alongside them, laughing softly, dimples rising on his cheeks. In the harsh light of the dressing room, the sweat dripping from Jimmy’s body makes him glow, and Layla can’t help but stare.

“Boys, it seems we have a guest.”

Four pairs of eyes lock on her, and she smiles winningly, the beginnings of a giggle bubbling up her throat.

“Excuse me, ladies,” says Robert, as he extricates himself from the arms of the blondes, smiling apologetically. “But I really must greet the little dove.”

Immediately, arms surrounding the young woman, and as bad as the boys smelled, impressively sweaty after such a wonderful show, she was too excited to care. Pulling back finally, she gives her friends a megawatt smile.

“Guys, that was… That was truly amazing! I don’t know how you did it,” exclaims Layla, hands flying every which way to prove her point. “But you completely exceeded my expectations! I thought your little studio performance was excellent, but… This!”

“Wow, Layla. You’ve got such a way with words.” Jonesy jokes, putting an arm around the woman, leading her into the post-performance chaos. Bonzo pours her a shot glass full of something unidentifiable, vodka perhaps, and Layla tips it back quickly. Liquid courage firmly in place, she catches Jimmy’s eye. Wrestling out of Jonesy’s arms, Layla struts over to the raven-haired man and guides him to the corner of the room, a small hand slipping into his.

“Petal—”

“Shush! Jim, that performance was… I don’t know what to say! Everyone had a great show, of course, but your guitar,” Layla rambles, speaking so quickly that the guitarist can barely hang on to a word the woman is saying. “... And Stairway. Oh my god, I don’t think I looked away once during the whole song! And—”

“Layla—”

“... Communication Breakdown ended way too soon, but the way you moved your fingers so quickly across the fretboard. I just don’t even—”

“Petal, please calm—”

This time, Jimmy isn’t interrupted by the ranting woman, but rather a set of slightly chapped lips on his, and a soft hand cradling his cheek, the other a warm weight on his shoulder. Layla is… kissing him. As soon as he makes this discovery, the lips against his turn down into a slight frown, and begin to pull away. Frantic at the thought of Layla pulling back, Jimmy brings a hand to her face, the other threading through her unruly curls to land at the back of her head. Deepening the chaste kiss, Jimmy’s eyes close. If he had been less preoccupied, he would have seen Bonzo, phone in hand, calling home in hopes of talking to his lovely wife. He would have seen Jonesy, laughing and pressing ever-closer to a beautiful brunette, a hand pushing back her long wavy locks. He would have seen Robert walking closer with a smirk set on his lips.

Jimmy finally pulls away, staring deep into Layla’s chestnut eyes, glazed over slightly as she blinks back at him, lips a luscious red from the heated kiss. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, but another voice beats him to the punch.

“Goodness, little dove, if I knew you were handing out kisses like that for a good performance, I would’ve walked off before Jimmy. Hell, I’d’ve shoved him to get to you.”

Layla scoffs at the blond’s words, her hands twined around the guitarist’s neck. “Sorry, blondie, I’m not handing those out to just anyone. Besides, don't you have two beautiful blondes looking to take a bite out of you?”

“Ah, you're right, little dove. Excuse me, but I must get going.” Robert says with a wink, strolling back over to the two women.

Layla looks back at Jimmy, to find him staring at her. They remain there, gazes locked on one other, until Jimmy finally looks away, scanning the room.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm?” Jimmy whispers, taking Layla’s hand in his and leading her out the door.

Walking through the maze of hallways, hand in hand, Layla is struck by the parallels of the last time her and Jimmy were here. Only this time, she hadn’t just kissed him on the cheek. Her cheeks flush a dark scarlet at the thought as she is pulled into a deserted room, hand still linked with Jimmy’s own.

“Layla, I…”

“That was…”

The couple speak in unison, nerves taking over. Jimmy takes a deep breath, gripping Layla’s hands tightly in his, as he looks down at her, green eyes twinkling like stars in the midnight sky.

“Are you,” He starts, clearing his throat as he gazes down at Layla, who is looking up at him in reverence, reminiscent of the look she had given him on the plane. “Are you okay, petal? You don’t seem like the kind of person to just… kiss someone like that.”

“Honestly? Angel, I’ve been thinking of doing that for a while. Since the moment I first saw you, really.”

“Well… The feeling is mutual, but I mean… I think we should talk about this.”

“Jimmy Page, always the pragmatist.”

The man chuckles, smirking at the woman, places a hand beside her head on the wall, leaning in close. “Hey, you’ve never complained about it before, so why start now?”

“Maybe I did, behind your back. You would have no way of knowing, would you?” Layla says, a sweet smile on her lips as she bats her eyelashes; the image of false innocence.

Jimmy smiles at the woman, until it slips off his face, his downcast eyes troubled. He reaches up a hand to thumb lightly at his nose, and she realizes that he’s nervous. Tilting his head up with a finger at his chin, she meets his eyes.

“Jim, what’s wrong? Did… Did you not like it? The kiss, I mean?” Jimmy startles at this, quick to reassure her with a hand at her cheek, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles along her cheekbone.

“Of course I liked it, petal. How could I not? I just… I want to do this right, Layla.”

“Mhm.” Layla hums, moving closer to the man, smirking softly at the nervousness that plagues the guitarist.

“You’re not just… You’re not just some groupie to me, y’know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t want this to be just a one night stand, or… or a fling, or a friends with benefits situation, Layla. I want you.”

“Right.”

“I think we should take this slow, and see where… When did you get so close to me?”

Layla leans forward, placing a peck on his lips, and pulls away, leaving him stunned. He shakes his head, and tries again, brow furrowing in determination. “Layla, I’m serious, I really—”

This is met by yet another peck of the lips. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, trying once more, but he is thwarted by yet another sweet kiss. Finally giving in, Jimmy deepens the kiss, hands landing in her hair. He spins them around, and crowds Layla against the wall, pulling back briefly, which elicits a soft whine from the brunette.

“Jimmy—”

“Are you okay with this, petal?”

“... Get over here.”

She pulls him in once again, and they resume where they left off. Jimmy laps at the opening of Layla’s bottom lip, asking for entrance, and his request is granted. The couple battles for dominance, their hands roaming anywhere they could reach. Jimmy’s palm slides down to rest at her back, dangerously close to slipping lower. Layla smiles against his lips, and pulls away, breathing heavily. She presses one more breathless kiss to Jimmy’s lips, and smiles widely, taking in the man before her. His hair is a mess, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are locked onto hers, searching her face with a hint of a smile. She wants this to work; for them to work.

“Angel, I want to take this slow too. I don’t want to lose you to someone else, just because we rushed this. I do, however, hope we can still kiss like that on the regular.”

“We’ll see, petal.” Jimmy laughs, winding a familiar arm around her shoulders, as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Oh, how the tables have turned… I’m usually the one dishing out cheek kisses.”

“That may just have to change, then.”

“Be careful, I could very well just go and find Robert right now. You know, maybe I'll go steady with him instead…”

Laughter follows behind them like a shadow as they walk back to the dressing room to find the rest of their crew. Jimmy’s arm still rests around the shoulders of the woman, and as they enter, the band take in the disheveled state of the couple.

“Oh my god—”

“Come on, boys, we have a plane to catch!”

“Actually, Pagey,” Jonesy interjects, smiling at the couple, eyebrows waggling. “We still have a few minutes. What happened while you were gone?”

“Did you guys, like… have a quickie in the custodial closet or something?”

“God, Bonzo, we—”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Bonham.” Layla interjects, kind smile cutting through the sarcasm of her response. Bonzo smiles back, clapping Layla on the shoulder. Robert pouts playfully, curls bouncing as he lowers his head slightly.

“That should have been me…”

Peter chooses this moment to walk in, alerting them that it’s finally time to leave. One taxi ride later, everybody piles into the Starship, making themselves comfortable. Jimmy and Layla take a spot on the comfortable loveseat, and fall asleep right away, leaning up against one another.

If they wake up, backs sore once again, it’s worth it to them.

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

#only the black rose #led zeppelin #jimmy page #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic #jimmy x oc

29 notes · View notes

reyesstrand · 4 years ago

Note

24 for Carlos & Judd pls!?!?!

thank you for the prompt! also i have to admit that i wanted to have this up last night but then...everything happened and my original idea was swayed a bit by some of the scenes in the promo and....yeah askdasdfjsa. anyway, i’ve never ventured into this dynamic but it was really fun!! i hope you enjoy 💗

feel free to send me a number from this list! also available on ao3!

Carlos takes a deep breath as he slows the Camaro to a crawl.

The big and bold Engine 126 over the open bay door of the firehouse is like a beacon, and with every passing second Carlos feels himself growing both calmer and excited at the prospect of spending the evening with his boyfriend and the crew. A few other cars are already parked along the outside of the station, the sun slowly slinking down past the horizon and leaving streaks of orange in its wake. He sighs happily to himself upon hearing the faintest beats of music spilling out into the street, strolling toward the bay as his thumbs move across the screen of his phone, texting TK that he’s arrived.

The firehouse has started feeling like home over the past few months, as he’s been included in more gatherings. He feels like he’s part of the family, and it’s only affirmed when he hears his name in a familiar voice, and he grins as he looks over his shoulder and sees Grace locking up her car from across the lot.

“Hey beautiful,” he says, immediately wrapping her up in a hug when she approaches.

“Always the flatterer,” she jokes, squeezing him tight in return.

“You know how it is,” Carlos grins at her, eventually moving to sling his arm through hers as they move deeper into the bay. The music is louder, now, and they follow it and the smell of what can only be Paul’s cooking and the muffled conversation up the stairs.

These gatherings have become a sort of tradition of late, celebrating life in general with an occasional birthday or successful run of calls thrown in there. This one is much more laid-back; there are big plates of food waiting to be devoured on the kitchen island, but everyone is mostly just mingling.

Carlos immediately finds TK in the crowd, as he chats animatedly with Marjan and Nancy over by the sectional, where all of them are seemingly fawning over Buttercup. Grace must be aware of his distraction, because she hugs him close to her side for a moment before stepping away.

“I’ll let you go see him, sweetheart,” Grace says, eyes warm. “I should go find my husband, anyway.”

He nudges her gently with his shoulder before beelining for his boyfriend, who looks over and meets his eyes. TK winks at him and gets to his feet, murmuring something to Marjan and Nancy before strolling over to meet Carlos halfway, his hands behind his back in his typical coy stance.

“Fancy seeing you here,” TK grins, once they’re close enough. He shifts his head to the side and Carlos can’t help but to feel his heart swell, taking in the way that TK’s eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth curves up into a smile that’s always soft and reserved just for moments like these.

Carlos hums, smiling himself as he reaches out to casually lay a hand on TK’s hip. He speaks under his breath and through a smile: “How are you?”

“Oh, well,” TK glances around the room, stepping forward slightly. His smile widens when he meets Carlos’ eyes again. “Better now.”

“Really,” Carlos grins, and TK nods, closing the gap between them with a flash of mischief in his eyes.

The kiss is brief and casual—something Carlos couldn’t imagine when thinking back on their relationship mere months ago, when everything was fuelled by desperate want. They’re smiling like idiots when they pull apart, but Carlos still stays put where he always wants to be: in TK’s space, watching him smile back at him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

TK huffs a little, and glances over to where Judd gently looms over them both.

“Your old man wants to see you,” Judd says, and TK snorts.

“You know, I’d love to see you call him that to his face,” TK cocks a brow at him, before sighing and clapping Judd on the shoulder. He drops his voice and says, “play nice with him,” briefly squeezing Carlos’ hand and then stalking off toward the other side of the room.

Carlos freezes momentarily, which is kind of silly, really, because.

Well.

He’s known Judd longer than he’s known TK; ever since he was a rookie still getting used to the chaos of an active emergency. Hell, Judd was one of the first people to reach out to him when he was still getting a hang of things. But for whatever reason, the pressure of seeing him now as his boyfriend’s big brother has him feeling awkward.

And it’s evident that Judd’s feeling it too, because they’re both quiet for a few seconds that seemingly stretch on for eons, and Carlos finally reaches out his hand, for Judd to respond with his fist. Carlos winces as his fingers fold over Judd’s knuckles, awkwardly bringing his hand back and looking anywhere but Judd’s eyes.

“Right, so,” Judd retracts his fist and pushes it into his other palm, running his thumb over the back of his hand. “I just wanted to—”

Carlos can’t help but to cut in. “Judd, if this is about respecting TK’s boundaries, or whatever, I have no intention of—”

“Oh no, brother, I—” Judd sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. “I just wanted to tell you how happy we are for you guys. Grace is telling me it’s important that I...communicate my emotions, or whatever, and TK means a whole lot to me. To us, y’know? And you make him happy.”

Carlos feels his face go warm.

“Um, well,” Carlos stuffs his hands in his pockets, glancing over to where TK is very obviously keeping an eye on the two of them, disguising his actions by pouring pretzel sticks into a bowl. “Thanks? He makes me happy too.”

“That’s obvious from a mile away, kid,” Judd smirks, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “Seriously, we’ve got your backs.”

“Thanks, man,” Carlos says earnestly, feeling the air shift around him as TK sidles up to him again. He drops his arm over TK’s shoulders, and he immediately reaches up to grab at Carlos’ hand that brushes against his slowly fading gunshot scar.

“I knew you were a big softie,” TK teases, as Judd grumbles under his breath before reaching over to ruffle up TK’s hair.

When Judd heads back off toward Grace, after a successful fist bump with Carlos, TK links their fingers together.

“All good?” He asks, and Carlos’ heart surges as he presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple.

It’s the deepest truth when he murmurs back, “couldn’t be better.”

#911 lone star #lone star fic #tarlos fic #my fic #simplykelc

60 notes · View notes

burkymakar · 3 years ago

Note

Hi my favorite athletic reader. If possible could you post anything important from Baughers new article on Gabe?

lol i feel so used. it's under the cut haha

Gabriel Landeskog rolled up to the Avalanche practice rink, a 19-year-old figuring he was heading into a meeting about the upcoming 2012-13 season. A potential lockout loomed, and he wondered if he and his teammates were about to get information on what would happen next.

But only one teammate was there when Landeskog got inside Family Sports Center in Centennial, Colo.: captain Milan Hejduk. Then-Colorado coach Joe Sacco was there, too. They wanted to speak to Landeskog privately.

At the time, Hejduk was entering his 14th season with Colorado. The veteran was the only player left from the Avalanche’s 2001 Stanley Cup team, and he knew his career was winding down. He was no longer a top forward on the team and didn’t feel it would be right to remain captain. Someone else needed to take the role, Landeskog remembers Hejduk telling him that day.

“And I think that person is you,” Hejduk said.

The young winger was caught off guard. He let out a stunned laugh. At the time, no permanent captain in league history had ever been named at so young an age. A tornado of emotions followed: shock, excitement and — naturally — nerves. He called his dad immediately after the conversation.

“You’ve got to this point being who you are,” Tony Landeskog told his son. “Don’t try to be somebody you’re not.”

That advice stuck with Landeskog, and from that day forward, his “C”-embroidered jersey has been a constant for the Avalanche. It was there through the promising years with Nathan MacKinnon, Ryan O’Reilly and Matt Duchene, and it was there when that core fell apart. It was there through the pain of rebuilding, and it was there as the Avalanche emerged as a league power.

Now, its era in Denver could be coming to a close.

For the first time in his NHL career, Landeskog is a pending unrestricted free agent. And after a decade in Denver, he doesn’t know what’s coming next.

“The uncertainty is something I’ve never dealt with,” Landeskog says. “I’ve always known that come September, October, I’m going to pull on that Avs jersey.”

Landeskog has repeatedly said he wants to stay with Colorado, and the Avalanche want to bring him back. But with star defenseman Cale Makar set to receive a massive raise in restricted free agency and the Avalanche up against the salary cap, general manager Joe Sakic is facing tough decisions this offseason.

Landeskog wants long-term security. Currently, he’s in limbo.

“I can’t help but be honest with you that I’m a little bit disappointed that it’s gotten this far and it’s had to come to this point,” Landeskog says.

Now 28, Landeskog could be looking at his last chance to sign a major, multiyear contract. The Avalanche, meanwhile, must decide how much they are willing to spend — and for how many years — on a physical, two-way forward approaching 30.

Teams must submit protection lists Saturday for the July 21 Kraken expansion draft, and if Colorado doesn’t protect Landeskog, Seattle will have a window to bargain with him before free agency begins July 28. Landeskog’s reputation as a leader and production (52 points in 54 games this past season and 171 in 181 over the past three) will make him a popular target should he reach the open market. Teams like the Kraken, Blues, Kings, Flyers and Oilers jump out as potential suitors.

Talks between the Avalanche and their captain have increased in frequency in recent days, but the sides are still far away from an agreement, according to a league source.

“We’ll see what happens,” Landeskog says. “I’m still hopeful that we can agree on something and come to terms, but if it was up to me, I would have liked it to be done eight months ago, 10 months ago.”

In the nine seasons since Hejduk handed over the captaincy, Landeskog has gone from a green-but-mature up-and-comer to the calming presence on an elite team. He’s now a parent, one of the older players on the Avalanche and their unquestioned leader.

“It’s been a constant learning curve,” he says.

He’s grown, and he’s growing. The question is if that will continue with the Avalanche.

One day during his first season as captain, Landeskog stood in the Family Sports dressing room for a players-only meeting, taking note of teammates in their 30s, veterans who had spent more than a decade in the NHL. In only his second season, Landeskog could hear his voice shake.

“It probably was pretty laughable how nervous I was,” he says.

The Avalanche were in the midst of a rough stretch in what amounted to a season of rough stretches. Landeskog leaned on older players — Hejduk, Jean-Sebastien Giguere, Paul Stastny, O’Reilly and Erik Johnson, to name a few — and one suggested a team meeting.

Landeskog doesn’t recall what he said that day, but he remembers the nerves — that quiver in his voice — and how the older players had his back. Others chimed in, and the team dissected what was going wrong.

Ultimately, the group was simply a transitioning team without enough talent to contend, and though Landeskog was captain that year, the team used a leadership-by-committee approach. Landeskog credits his teammates’ support for making the job easier, and Stastny remembers him being unafraid to ask questions.

Landeskog says he asked about everything from travel-day logistics to organizing team functions. The communication didn’t translate to on-ice success that year, as the team finished 16-25-7, but it laid the groundwork for how Landeskog still views his role as captain.

“That’s how leaders learn, too: They learn from other guys,” former teammate Greg Zanon says. “I think he was born for the job.”

Before giving Landeskog the “C,” Sacco and then-Avalanche general manager Greg Sherman both reached out to Hejduk, wanting to know what he’d think of the young Swede taking over the role. Landeskog, who had just won the Calder Trophy, hadn’t been a name on Hejduk’s radar for the captaincy because of his age, but the more he thought about the decision, the more it made sense.

So he voiced his approval for the player 17 years his junior.

“What can you say negative about Gabe?” Hejduk says today.

“It was only a matter of time,” Stastny adds. “If it was fast-tracked a year, I don’t think anyone really cared. Everyone knew it was coming.”

Still, Landeskog was nervous. He’d played in only 82 NHL games and was still trying to figure out the league himself. He didn’t know how his teammates would react to such a young captain. Part of him still thinks he might not have been ready.

Despite Landeskog’s concerns, the announcement went over well with the team. Duchene and winger David Jones tweeted their congratulations, and defenseman Ryan O’Byrne remembers liking the decision when he read the news on TSN’s website.

“The only conversations I had with teammates were, ‘Gabe’s the captain. That’s so great,’” O’Byrne remembers. “Why would we wait to give him the captaincy? There’s no reason to wait. He (was) ready. He’s just that type of person.”

“Even the older guys on the team looked up to him,” adds former Avalanche left winger Cody McLeod.

Landeskog’s makeup had begun earning praise from the second he arrived in North America from Sweden. He played major junior hockey for the Kitchener Rangers in the Ontario Hockey League and became the team’s first European-born captain. Sherman praised his confidence after drafting Landeskog second in 2011, saying he was mature beyond his years.

“It was like he was 30 years old already, the way he handled himself, the way he talked to us, talked to the media,” says Ryan O’Reilly, now the Blues captain and still a friend of Landeskog’s. “Everyone respected him right away. It’s rare. It’s why he was named captain so young.”

Adds Hejduk: “I had half the maturity Gabe had at 18.”

Shortly after learning he’d become captain, Landeskog came to the Pepsi Center (now Ball Arena) for a passing-of-the-torch ceremony. Hejduk presented his successor with a burgundy Avalanche sweater featuring a white “C,” and Landeskog pulled it over his white button-up shirt. The two shook hands and posed for cameras.

When Landeskog looks back at those pictures, he can’t help but notice how young he looks. His beard had yet to grow in, and he’d fashioned his hair — lighter than it is now — to be spiky in the front.

“I feel old when I look back at those pictures, because I was definitely a little kid standing there next to (Hejduk),” he says.

“The first year, year and a half, with him, if we went out for dinner, it was like he wasn’t even allowed to have a glass of wine or a beer,” says former Avalanche center John Mitchell, adding that Landeskog struggled to win poker games on team flights.

Landeskog, who has gone from too young to drink to now sponsored by Bud Light, believes he might have been too uptight early on in his captaincy. He’s learned to relax a bit more — that a season is long and sometimes the best approach is to focus on himself. He can’t expect others to work hard or play well if he’s not doing it himself.

The Avalanche’s decision to toss Landeskog into the fray as a teenage captain allowed him to learn the role before the team entered the win-now mode it is in currently. But Colorado’s progression hasn’t been linear. In 2016-17, the Avalanche finished last in the league by 21 points. Landeskog frequently had to face tough questions from reporters when he didn’t have answers.

“It definitely takes a toll on you when you have to do that,” he says. “But at the same time, I always knew that was part of the responsibility and part of the job. Playing in the NHL, being able to wear the ‘C’ in the NHL, it’s a dream not many people get to experience.”

And in 2017-18, tides began to shift for the Avalanche. MacKinnon had his first superstar-level season, finishing second in Hart Trophy voting, and Landeskog and winger Mikko Rantanen both scored more than 20 goals. The trio ascended to become arguably the best line in hockey, and smart drafting and savvy trades gave Colorado a deep defensive core, led by Makar, the Norris Trophy runner-up as a 22-year-old this past season.

As expectations have risen, the team and its captain are still searching for a deep playoff run. The pieces are in place, and the Avalanche reached the second round each of the past three seasons. But they haven’t broken through.

This past season, the Landeskog-captained Avalanche reached the regular-season pinnacle, winning the Presidents’ Trophy, given annually to the team with the best record in the league, and they were a consensus favorite to win the Stanley Cup entering the playoffs.

Landeskog dominated the Blues in a first-round sweep, igniting the Avalanche with a Gordie Howe hat trick (fight, assist, goal) in Game 1.

“He’s the captain for a reason,” Makar said after that game.

But Colorado faltered in its next postseason matchup, against Vegas, letting a 2-0 series lead slip away and losing in the second round for the third consecutive year. The most complete Avalanche team of Landeskog’s career couldn’t get over the hump.

“I’m proud of this group,” a dejected Landeskog said after the game. “I’m excited to be a part of this group. I love all the guys in there.”

And they love him, too. Ahead of the season, MacKinnon called him “the perfect captain,” and Avalanche coach Jared Bednar described the captain as their emotional leader, someone who drives them into the fight on a nightly basis.

“Usually those types of guys, top-three picks, are franchise players,” Hejduk says. “It seems like that’s the case with Gabe. I hope he’s going to finish his whole career with the Avalanche.”

That’s what Hejduk did, spending all 14 of his seasons with Colorado, but it’s not a common path in today’s NHL.

After 10 years with the Avalanche and nine as its captain, and with so much shared history, Landeskog could be the exception.

Since he was 19, it’s felt like he would be. But the coming weeks will show if that reality has shifted.

#askos #anon #the athletic #gabriel landeskog #colorado avalanche

14 notes · View notes

toovirgins · 3 years ago

Text

Le Rêve - Part 1

Summary: A series of sticky situations causes John and Paul to redefine their relationship with a curiously fresh perspective.

Warning: R-rated

It was late.

Paul watched her dark shadow leap up the wall as she lowered herself onto the bed. She scanned the room slowly, taking in all of the intimate aspects of living: the scattered newspapers, the dirty laundry, the haphazard boots, notes scrawled on empty wrappers and used napkins and hotel stationary. He wasn’t necessarily proud of the conditions, but the present circumstances made it hard for him to focus on any chore of cleaning his room.

The room was bathed in a golden glow, the only radiance provided by a gentle crack of the bathroom door. She looked up at him through coy lashes and reached out to tug at the hem of his dress shirt. An invitation.

Paul was quick to accept. He sunk down beside her on the mattress, close enough to where their sides were touching. Their proximity quickened his heart rate, and he fought to keep his gaze from the skirt riding high on her thighs.

“So.” She spoke slowly, fingering a loose scrap of paper on the bed. “Is this where the magic happens?”

Paul fought off an eye roll, telling himself there was nothing wrong with the bird wanting a bit of small talk beforehand. Most fans did, and while normally he wouldn’t mind, he was in a particular state this evening.

“A bit.” He shot her what he felt was an authentically cheeky wink.

“Oh,” she responded, audibly disappointed in the lack of proper response. “That’s nice.”

“Yes,” he replied.

Paul didn’t know her name. He didn’t need to. What he did know is that he should feel more guilt at his misguided intentions. It was still up for debate as to whether he would ever entirely get past the icky twinge of using birds for this��ahem—purpose. But the more he had seen his mates do it, the easier it became. Now, the icky twinge was nothing more than that: a twinge. A quite easy feeling to justify and overcome.

The bird was pretty enough, though it was hard for him to focus on more than one feature at a time. Her hair was short-cropped in the way that Astrid had recently cut hers, and a spray of light freckles decorated her upturned nose. He couldn’t tell if her cheeks were still flushed, or if it was the heavy makeup she had painted on. Thick clumpy eyelashes juxtaposed the rest of her fair features, and her lips were a bright red. Paul subconsciously ran his tongue along his teeth when she flashed him a shy smile, revealing a smear of lipstick on her front tooth. Her eyes weren’t any particular color.

She blushed and let out a nervous chuckle, gaze drawing to where Paul’s delicate fingers had begun drawing circles on her knee. She had stilled, and he waited patiently for her to pull away, or gently push his hand back to his side. His movements were suggestive enough, but the girl was quite reserved. She offered him only playfully pouts, her teeth pulling teasingly at the bottom lip. Her own hands remained motionless on the bed, but she kicked her feet on the edge, bouncing herself up and down just enough to scatter Paul’s thoughts.

He felt himself growing impatient, and chewed his lip as she let her wide gaze rest on the half-awake bulge in his trousers. He was never one for teasing.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurted, drawing his hand back. If she wouldn’t get this started, he would. They both knew what they were there for. Not that the explicit conversation hadn’t been had, of course. Paul didn’t remember where or when, but she had blushed and averted her gaze at his forwardness.

Now, she nodded and scooted a bit closer, her thigh pressed deeper against his own. “Oh, please do.” This time, when she spoke, he thought he detected an American accent; though, the moment had passed, and there was no way to be sure.

Paul drew a sweet smile to his face and grazed her cheek lightly, taking her chin between his fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Paul was quick to bridge the space between them. In the split second before their lips collided, the face suddenly seemed eerily familiar. It nearly froze Paul in his tracks, but the flash of recognition was over as quickly as it had struck. Just as before, he had no reaction to the simple girl’s face besides a warm hum of arousal at the prospect of what was about to occur.

The kiss was a bit messy. Not that Paul minded too much. Despite her mild temperament, the girl’s movements were rough—calloused fingertips came up to grip the back of his neck, and teeth clashed together on more than one occasion as her tongue desperately tangled with his own. One hand reached low to tug encouragingly at the hem of her skirt, but Paul frowned when he found the skirt no longer decorating her thick thighs. She was wearing slacks now—nicely pressed ones, at that. For a moment, their eyes met, and Paul realized with a start that her eyes were a golden brown.

They weren’t objectively spectacular, and yet they were. Something in the pools of pupil-dotted honey reached out to him, pulling him into their warm embrace. He could see nothing but her eyes. There was something incredibly enticing about the gaze, and he felt the similar stir of recognition in the pit of his stomach. She smiled—or at least, he thought she did, the eyes sparkling knowingly as crinkles twitched at the corners. He felt a hand on his thigh, impossibly close to the inner junction of his leg and hip, and let out a soft moan. Encouraged, the hand found its way to his clothed erection and gave a tentative squeeze.

Paul gasped and clawed at her waist to pull her into his lap. When their eyes met again, hers had lost color.

She began to rock slowly on top of him, peppering his lips with soft, open-mouthed kisses. Paul snaked a hand around her hips and shifted them up the bed, giving them more room to lie down. Her lips found their way to his neck, where she began sucking and nibbling at his jawline, hands coming up to caress his chest. Heavenly hips never ceased their magnificent movements.

With a groan, he fumbled for the clasp and zipper on her skirt. As he hastily dragged it down, something odd tickled the back of his mind about the article of clothing. He quieted the thought, frustratingly unable to place the feeling. Once she had momentarily lifted herself out of his lap and shuffled out of the skirt, he cast it aside like the damned thing had caught fire.

She caught his wrist when he reached for her knickers. “Uh uh uh,” she warned, back with the teasing smile. “I want to do you first.”

He was never one for much complaining.

The bird’s fingers began to play with his zip. They were thin and delicate, pretty in a way only a woman’s hands could be. Soft, light. He tried not shift too needily, his mind desperately begging her to speed up the process.

After what felt like hours, the pair of them worked his suit pants off. Gentle intermission kisses woven in the process left his shirt buttons halfway undone and his tie hanging loose around his neck. Paul was sure he looked like a randy wreck, a mess of odds and ends and half-finished projects. At this point, he hardly cared. The only goal was to get the bird to do something to the needy swell in his trousers. His hopes were heightened when she shuffled lower on the bed, gently pushing his knees apart and ducking in the space amid them.

A low moan sounded between Paul’s thighs. He instinctively curled his fingers tighter into the hair, which was longer now. Thicker, too, with an auburn tint. Hadn’t it been blonde before? Paul sat up on his elbows with a frown and a grunt of effort. Vision blurred with arousal, he blinked rapidly and tried to attend to the bird that was so exasperatingly playful and slow. When the figure sharpened into focus, Paul’s breath hitched.

Two amber eyes peered up at him, heavy-lidded and lustful. They were the same as before. Paul swallowed hard as he watched the lashes flutter closed, and the chest expand with a deep breath. The brow was knitted in concerned apprehension.

There was no ambiguity about who he was with now.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Macca?” John whispered. “We’re getting a bit carried away, do you think?”

Paul only let out a reserved hum and tugged at the hair, pulling John closer to where he wanted—no, needed—him the most. His thoughts were muddy, and he didn’t have the time nor energy to ask himself all the important questions drowning in the back of his mind.

John surveyed the tent almost curiously. He nudged it with his nose, causing Paul to let out a frustrated groan. “Johnny—”

“You really want this, don’t you?” John interrupted, his tone amused. He quieted a bit. “You want me to…” Paul blinked at him, blushing furiously as he waited for his friend to finish the desire. It took John a few beats and a cleared throat, but he finally continued: “You want me to suck ya off.”

Paul couldn’t help but nod. A pained expression overtook his pretty face when John reached up to trace the outline of his cock, still imprisoned in the confines of his underwear. John glanced up at him with piercing eyes, before tugging Paul’s underwear down just enough to allow the erection to pop free.

When John’s tongue traced a firm stripe up from the base of Paul’s length, a bit of a once-over, Paul shuddered shamelessly. He couldn’t bite back the gasp. “I—Oh, God.”

“Good?” John questioned, intrigued. When Paul nodded hazily, he did it again.

Paul scowled a bit as the familiar feeling of being kept on edge resituated itself.

“I, er…” Paul cleared his throat. “Good, but not enough. Need… need more.”

“Aye.” John grinned goofily in a typical Lennon-fashion before reaching to grasp Paul in his palm. The calloused fingers were back, almost ticklish as John lazily began stroking the shaft. Paul squirmed under his grip, heavily focused on the intrusive thought that noted that this was somehow better than any bird he could dream up.

John studied the budding drop of precum with great attention, like it was a newly arrived guest. When he seemed to reach some sort of internal consensus, John’s tongue dipped down, causing Paul’s hands to twist violently in the sheets.

Paul wanted to strangle the man, or perhaps cry, at the way his face contorted in electrified disgust. A wicked smile tugged at John’s features immediately after, accompanying perhaps the worst sentence that Paul had ever heard out of his mouth.

“Not bad.”

—

Paul shot up in bed.

There was no bird, no skirt on the floor, no shrugged off trousers or half-done shirt, no salacious glow of the hotel bathroom lights. His breathing was rapid, but the material that heaved with his chest was the white cotton of his pajamas. The room was bright, white rays of early morning sunlight snaking through the cheap blinds.

“All right, princess?” John groaned from beside him. He had sat up with a start as well, in response to Paul’s frantic awakening.

“What’s going on?” Paul’s voice was shaky.

“I dunno,” John answered with a sleepy shrug, yawning as his head fell hard back onto the pillow. “You came here. You tell me.”

With a start, Paul realized that he really had joined him there, and that his bed was lying willfully unoccupied on the other half of the room. “Bad dream,” he mumbled thoughtlessly.

John grunted in response.

As Paul’s breathing slowed, he tried to recount everything that had happened in the dream and pinpoint where exactly it had gone awry. It had been a fine dream before John showed up. And then it had been…

He shook his head. Millions of questions and fears flitted through his mind, a whirlwind much too intense for this time of morning. The second most important concern was why it happened. The most important concern was how Paul felt about it now.

A light snore drew Paul’s attention to the re-slumbering man beside him. A hollow feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t go back to sleep now, especially not in the same bed.

Fuck.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #smut warning #john lennon #paul mccartney #mclennon #chapter fic #canon era #le reve #part 1

15 notes · View notes

aliypop · 3 years ago

Text

Turn Back Time

Wordcount: 2,222

Warning: Slight angst

A/N : Tiffanys backstory more has been revealed

"Cherie... Must you arise so early..." Lestat sighed, snuggled up against Tiffany in their shared satin-lined coffin. Ice blue eyes slowly opened up to reveal the beauty that was his creole lover. "The skies awake, so I must awaken too.'' She kissed her fanged prince on the lips arising out the confined space. Her dark curls had fallen from her ever so elegant high roll style.

"Ma coeur ..." She turned to face the pale hand that was peering from the coffin.

"What... Cherie..." he grumbled.

"Well, that's no tone to talk to the woman who loves you with!" Tiffany puffed her chest out as she began getting dressed, starting with her corset, after all, laying around waiting for her one lover to wake up: always seemed to bore her, for he was stubborn.

" Désolé mon cher, but I beg of you let me rest..."

"You will pay for the distress that you so ever put me in." she laughed, sitting on top of the pearl-encrusted coffin. Tiffany always loved the way it felt under her already cold skin.

"You wouldn't..."

"Perhaps Louis and Claudia would like to join me for a bit of Piano..." she mumbled, feeling the lid shift in annoyance, "Leave my presence, Monroe..."

"I didn't mean to upset you..." she walked out the bedroom and into the hallways stepping into the sunlight, feeling the ever so radiant heat kiss her undead skin. The floorboards later began to creak as she heard the patter of Tiny feet come her way.

"Ma doux bébé, why in heaven's skies are you up?" Tiffany asked, picking up the curly-haired blonde, "Mama, I'm sorry." Claudia said, turning away from her. "I couldn't sleep..."

"Headed to Loui's room too, I see." Tiffany chuckled, dodging the rays of light to get to the brooding brunette's room. Placing Claudia into his coffin, she couldn't help but enjoy the smile on his face. He always seemed more at ease when he was sleeping.

"Mama, will you be joining us..."

"When you are well-rested and ready to play, I will be there." she smiled,

"Where are you going..."

"Mama has ah... business to attend." she smiled, "Now sleep." she placed all doll in the child's arms. It wasn't that Tiffany was lying when she said she had business to attend: if anything, she was vague about it.

Taking a carriage back towards the French Quarters stood Tiffany in front of a White plantation house that she knew all too well. As she knocked on the door Fatima, her long-time seamstress, opened it greeting her Mistress with glee.

" Madame Monroe, you return..." Her French accent heavy. "I didn't think you'd ever come back."

"I could never forget this place and the staple it was to me..." She laughed half-heartedly, walking in women were gossiping and carrying on about their unhappy lives she knew that they must have been mortal and fresh.

"Excusez moi mademoiselle's why do you seem so sad..." The door had then closed behind her as she later took them to her bedroom, screams throughout the empty estate as Tiffany had been lounging about her bed blood covered her lips as they were swollen and plump from the kissing and teasing of the younger women,

"Fatima... "

"Yes..."

"Do you ever grow tired of this life..." she asked

"You'll get used to it." Fatima smiled, draining the corpse by the wrist into a crystal glass.

"I don't mean that... I mean this..." she pointed to the lavish furnishings the clothes that they were wearing,

"Cleary. When death happens, you can't take riches with you..."

"So you'd rather your mother's fate... a Slave..." Fatima laughed. Tiffany became silent as she held onto her locket,

"I rather be a slave of the passion love rather than..." Tiffany gestured to the dead women around her, "A slave to lust... "

"Are you not happy with your lovers?" Fatima asked, nervously at where the young vampire was going with this conversation. "I love them dearly... But I do not know if they love me the same." she stood up undressing:

"Vampire one month a mother by a week." She chuckled, her brown skin soaking by the window in the sun, "I am confused by everything... I rarely know how to please Lestat's hunger, let alone Louis, who feast on rat!" Fatima laughed, scrubbing the young woman's back. " It is all about learning, mon adorable ami." she kissed her cheek,

"Yes, but..."

"No buts... " she tied a ribbon in her hair. "We will make you the fairest of New Orleans." she began to mutter on about dresses and so forth.

" To see you in crimson hurts me so..." Fatima mumbled.

"Lestat hurts me so... sometimes..." she looked away, "But bruises are nothing to a vampire..." she chuckled, rubbing her cheek, "He says he doesn't mean it..." her eyes becoming glassy,

"He says sorry as he takes me to bed and...What do I know I'd have been 20 ..." she laughed, "Basking in the sun with Eliza, we'd have wed by now..." she sighed, "But all things come to an end." she sighed, feeling Fatima put her stockings back on her. Her diamond choker around her neck. " Ma cher... look at me..." Tiffany only looked away.

"That is the past you are living for the present, my dear play by his game." With that, Fatima dressed up the young woman as she sent her on her way, just in time for Claudia's piano lessons.

"Watch your thumb..." her teacher said, hitting it.

"He's right thumbs, are quite scrupulous little things," Tiffany said with laughter. Claudia turned around, seeing the woman who could do no wrong in her eyes standing there. Walking upstairs, she could hear Louis and Lestat talking, preferably about their plans on feeding.

"Lestat ... Louis..." she called out to them both, a feather plume in her hair while beads of pearls draped from her wrist, she was an image of beauty Lestat kissed her hand, " Enchanté mon amour," he twirled her around, "You are beauty herself... Tell Fatima she turned from a lady to a duchess!" Louis only rolled his eyes, watching as Tiffany walked towards him as she kissed him sweetly,

A century had gone by as Tiffany walked by the Versailles Scholars, one of them catching her eyes, hair as black as coal Stumbling around the courtyard fencing. "Stewart, have you no mercy..." his teacher shouted at the young boy, his eyes tracking towards the young woman who was watching, as he kept trying to fight, the more blood he was losing, and it was sending her into a frenzy.

" He is no good, Madame..."

"Then leave him to die..." what seemed to be his mother say, watching as everyone gathering around him left him in the piercing harsh cold snow. Stewart laid there, his eyes closing the world around him growing gray until something warm touched his skin. Heat began to radiate around him. He could smell broth boiling, his eyes fluttering wide open.

"You are a scholar Oui?"

"Avec qui êtes-Vous?"

"Québécois ?"

"Oui," he responded, " Stewart Rêvés and you..."

"Tiffany Monroe." She smiled, her dark green gown trailing behind her, "I patched you up, and I may have drunk your blood. So you might feel weak..." she shrugged her shoulders as she then handed him the broth. His eyes were full of confusion, trying to grasp all of what she had just said.

"You saved me why..."

"You seemed important." she smiled.

"No one finds me important would have been worth it if I died..." he mumbled as Tiffany rushed by his side, "Suppose, you could live forever..." she leaned in towards him,

"Suppose I couldn't..."

"Oh, but you could..." She untied the ribbon out of his hair," Be my mortal familiar, and I will promise you more than this life could offer." she flashed her fangs.

"What would I have to do..." he looked at her with utmost interest.

"Devote your life to me..." she smiled, "And I'll give you eternal life."

The théâtre de vampire had just opened back up. As Tiffany and Stewart sat on the balcony pretending to be lovers, her eyes had landed on a familiar pair. Louis and Claudia, who was only a few rows lower from her, and Stewart. Tiffany had written them letters awaiting their arrival, but of course, time waited for no one, not even vampires. "Mama..." Claudia pointed up as she saw them.

Tiffany and Stewart had only vanished into that of the crypt of Armand. Coming down the stairs was Armand himself. Luscious long hair and the walk of a predator waiting for its prey "We are a family... you could say..." he smirked, introducing Louis and Claudia to everyone.

"This our enchanteresse... and her lover"

"Louis!" she hugged him. He smelt of despair but still a hint of magnolia flowers. "You look beautiful ..." he smiled, "Time has served you well..." Louis kissed her hand. "Mama..." she pushed through as Tiffany kissed her forehead,

"My sweet Claudia hasn't aged past 11 but has become a glorious young woman."

"Why don't you both stay with Stewart and me," she offered. The four were in her not so humble chateau chandeliers hung from the fixtures paintings from far-off countries graced the wall, Stewart who had given them teacups of blood, watching from afar their vampiric faces in delight as they spent the night catching up with each other.

"Stewart, come, I don't want you to feel left out..." racing over, he couldn't help himself but stare at Louis, for he had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. "I'm Stewart, her familiar..."

"Familiar?"

"He's more like a friend." she smiled at Claudia who's lids was getting heavy. Stewart blushed at the word.

He hadn't had many of those in his life.

And to have someone consider him as such was much an honor rather than eternal life.

"You returned!" Marko held Stewart in a tight hug, Tiffany and Stewart had just returned to California of the ship that God himself did in fact sink, and sadly by Tiffanys' face, she wasn't amused by the ride. Her hair in a Gibbson tuck, an emerald hairclip in her dark curls. "Marko, you can let me go..." he blushed in the arms of the man he loved so dearly. Still getting used to his fangs, he gave Marko an affectionate nip.

"Paul, I brought you something ... " Tiffany said, her gloved hands handing him a mourning eyeball ring, "It reminded me of you."

"Thanks, Tiffany."

" De rien Paul." she giggled as she then looked over at David, who was smoking a cigarette, coming from behind him. Tiffany took it from his mouth, exhaling the smoke, "Monroe, you're back." he looked into her eyes, taking his smokes back from the snobishly styled woman.

"Fine cold shoulder me, why don't you..." she huffed as she went onto Dwayne, who she had brought him a book.

" The Communist Manifesto... I know you like that sort of thing..." she looked up at Dwayne, his long hair braided as his shirt closed only by a few buttons, "Kind of you..." he kissed her hand, the blood from her latest meal causing her to blush, Stewart had watched from afar as Marko held him by the waist.

"How long do you think those three are gonna be oblivious..."

"Eh..."

Tiffany sat in the living room of Max's house, her hair in victory rolls. Marko, Paul, and Stewart had gone out for feasting and drinking.

The record player began to play, and Tiffany was sent back to all the letters she kept re-reading from David until he'd send another from the base. 1945 was hard on her. With the war on top of the usual racism faced, she found herself mostly staying home. "Something on your mind..." Dwayne asked, watching the way her dark blue dress hugged every curve of her hips.

"No..." she turned to face him.

Dwayne had been sent back from the war due to something stupid. His hair cut short as it was in a pompadour, holding up his shirt, Tiffany couldn't help but stare,

" See something you like?"

"You wished." She laughed, pressed against his chest, The two swaying the night away to the music playing, her hand on his chest until he twirled her around, "When did ya learn how to Swing dance." she laughed as Dwayne looked at her,

"A drunk night in Germany with David," he said, dipping Tiffany. If she were alive, her heart would have been racing from what she had seen,

"Tell me about it ..."

"Boring broads that weren't you." he smirked, bringing his lips closer to hers, "I don't think you'd wanna hear about it..."

"Tell me about it..." she kissed him, her hands in his hair as Sweet Sue, Just You played in the background, her dress now on his bedroom floor, standing there in only her corset and garters.

" Dwayne, what if the others come back and hear us..."

"Let them..."

Let's build a stairway to the stars

And climb that stairway to the stars

With Love beside us

To fill the night with a song

We'll hear the sound of violins

#Interview With A Vampire #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire lestat #claudia #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #tiffany the lost boys oc #new fanfic #new

10 notes · View notes

choptopsbigstinkyslut · 5 years ago

Text

Home

Did I do this self-indulging? Yes.

Did I do this because I would literally fucking die for this rat man? Yes.

Do I care if it’s cringe-worthy? No.

{} By the way, I vaguely remember someone giving Nubbins the name Percy. For me, it stuck. Thus the use of it. I do not remember who exactly gave him this name. However, if you remember please let me know! {}

{ Also! Let’s talk Canon for a second yeah? So I suppose in this timeline you could say they weren’t always cannibals. That it was a progressive trip to Cannibalism. Don’t like it- that’s cool. I do. Eat a shoe.}

Let me live cowards.

What had once been her favorite time of year turned to days that seemed to run together. Though that wasn’t anything new. For the past seven years, things hadn’t been the same.

For seven years, she watched tragically as the family fell apart. She watched Drayton grow more aggressive towards her, Percy and Bubba. Though he wouldn’t talk about it, Zoey saw that Percy seemed to feel the same way she did. A sense of emptiness.

Zoey had a vague memory of two girls from when she was in high school. The memory was foggy but she coulda sworn they were named Carol and Annie. That they were inseparable. That the two felt like they could tell each other anything. Taking some assumption from the bond those two had she assumed it was similar for them.

For her, she took the pain she felt in her heart and multiplied it by six for what Percy must’ve felt and most of the time, Zoey felt the most pain when she’d watch Bubba constantly walk past the big window in the living room, waiting for the day the rest of the family had been waiting for.

It was a fond memory. One that seemed to play over and over and over in her mind almost anytime the war was discussed on TV. She remembered getting the mail that day, reading over the names on the letters. Some things for Drayton, junk, more junk but then she saw something for her love.

She remembered picking up the pace as she jogged up the few stairs of the house and into the living room, distributing the mail to the respective owner before heading into the kitchen to get her tea. It was the last time she had drank green tea. The thought of making a cup of green tea scared her. If such news would arrive while she drank it, she didn’t want to risk drinking it again and receive the devastating news.

She couldn’t forget the tension that was felt in the room on November 18th. She remembered walking into the living room, sitting down beside him and the look on his face seemed to tell it all.

She knew something was wrong. Bright blue eyes trailed down to the paper he held. The feeling was so familiar. Her stomach dropped and her mouth felt dry. She remembered setting the tea down on the table with a soft clank and swallowing back her tears as she sat on the couch, her entire world felt as if it had just come crashing down on her.

For two weeks Zoey felt nothing but numb and she had cried more than she had in her whole life.

It was a present memory that Zoey was aware would stay with her for years and by God it had.

But for seven years, there were things that held her over. Letters were, of course, fortunate despite being rare and sporadic, Zoey appreciated and valued every single one. The other important thing that held her over was the simple ring clinging to her finger. She had worn it proudly for eleven years and would continue wearing it until he came home and she could add a lovely little wedding ring.

Those positive thoughts certainly helped, but now it was just a waiting game and had been for a while now. Every morning Zoey would wake up but felt no different.

However, that was far from the case this day.

Zoey had turned in early the night before, simply due to her own feelings getting to her. That stupid song had been playing on the radio all day. Multiple times. Damn Elvis for releasing it. Damn the radio for playing it over and over and over. Damn Drayton for keeping it on that day. By seven-thirty, Zoey had heard it far too many times and the memories had been too much to handle that day.

The memory of standing in the kitchen with the love of her life, wrapped up in his arms, swaying gently to Elvis’s soothing voice. It was a good memory in general but not today. Not when she was standing in the kitchen doing the dishes and it played for the sixth time that day. Not at all.

She had slugged her way up the stairs, into her room and shut the door gently, forcing herself not to cry as she peeled her clothes from her body, tossing her jeans onto the vanity chair, followed by her shirt and Bra and replacing it with a baby pink nightgown. Crawling into bed shortly after.

Zoey slept peacefully until six in the morning when her body had woken her up. She tried to go back to sleep but something inside her wasn’t letting her. Finally giving in, Zoey rolled out of bed.

A soft sigh escaped past her lips as she scuffed her feet across the wooden floors, trying to keep her volume down as she knew sleep was precious in this house. Especially for Bubba. Despite her need to pee, the need to check on him was far stronger. Gently her fingers gripped the soft white robe hanging on the back of the door, pulling it off the hook and wrapping herself up in the comfort of it all.

As Zoey gently turned the knob, she couldn’t help but cringe as a pained squeak escaped the door. Her heart dropped, terrified this whiny door had woken up those still asleep.

Zoey held her breath as she gently snuck out of her own room, looking around nervously for a moment.

She heard no rustling from any of the bedrooms and assumed she was safe. Zoey took one step and then another, now standing at Bubba’s bedroom door. Her fingers gently wrapped around the knob and pushed the wooden door open, praying it wouldn’t squeal out and wake him. Despite the darkness, Zoey felt at ease seeing that Bubba was asleep. A soft sigh of relief slipped past her lips as she gently shut the bedroom door.

But as one door shut, another opened, turning to face the bedroom at the end of the hall, Zoey’s eyes widened “D-Drayton?” She asked softly, already fumbling with her hands as she prepared to face the eldest brother’s rath. “Zoey. You’re up early, any particular reason?” He asked, seeming to already be dressed and ready to head to the station.

Zoey choked on her words before responding “Just uh, had to go to the bathroom but uhm...something in my heart said to just check up on Bubba.” She explained, her eyes looking past Drayton, a silent prayer that he’d buy it.

Fortunately, it seemed as though the eldest Sawyer brother bought her lie.

“Alright, sorry to bother you.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, not seeming to want to ask further questions. Zoey stepped aside to allow Drayton around her and down the stairs.

“Oh uh Zoey,” He said, stopping and turning to face her. Internal dread hit her as she turned around “Yes Sir?” she asked nervously ��Get Bubba up soon. If he ain’t up before Lunch I’ll beat both your asses.” He threatened before continuing down the stairs.

Zoey inhaled deeply, shaking it off “Water off ducks back...water off ducks back.” She said to herself, continuing on her path to the bathroom.

Once the bathroom door was shut, she sighed softly, unsure why she felt such a strange way this morning. It didn’t matter.

Zoey was quick to use the bathroom and decided to first try a shower to make herself feel better. As the water warmed, Zoey sighed, her body hurt and her being hurt. Everything just hurt.

Zoey feared that today was going to be a bad day. A day where every little memory she had of her and Paul would slap her across the face. Those were some of the most draining days. Days that she struggled to finish her chores or her food or finish much of anything. It really was simply a day she’d spend more time locked in the bathroom crying than living.

Either way, she had to get in the shower, her robe was pulled from her body as she dropped layers of clothing onto the floor before pulling her hair up into a tight bun to try and keep it as dry as possible.

As she stepped into the shower, she felt the hot water drench her skin, a sense of relief hitting her. It didn’t fix everything but it did make her feel somewhat better. As she washed her body, her mind began to wander. First to what she might head downstairs and find to eat than to what she was going to feed Bubba and then it began to spiral. It began to spiral to a place that wasn’t good for her to go.

She thought about what her precious Paul was eating. How miserable he must be, how exhausted he must be. It terrified her beyond belief.

“No.” She ordered herself “you can’t think like that. He’ll be home soon.” She reminded herself, continuing her shower, coating her body in a layer of Rose scented body wash. “Think positive Zoey. Think positive.” She insisted, rinsing off her body rather quickly.

She hadn’t intended to take a long shower, just enough to clean her body off and move on. Zoey turned the water off, exhaling heavily as she did and reaching out. She pulled the soft green towel off the rack, wrapping it around her body, trying to get her thoughts back on track, but, it was hard.

Seven years was a long time to only imagine his laugh, his voice, his embrace. She missed him so very much, every day was a struggle, not to mention the additional fear that one day the news would come around that her sweet snuggle bunny wouldn’t be coming home.

As Zoey brought her mind back to earth, she pulled the bathroom door open, stepping out and hurrying to her room. She truly did not want to be seen by Bubba. She didn’t need to traumatize him in that way.

When she had made it back to her bedroom, she made her way over to her dresser, painted in soft white, the top was covered in many things from a vase full of fake tulips to her little jewelry box to the shoe box she kept up there.

The shoe box was old and beaten, on the verge of falling apart but the memories outweighed its appearance. This box Zoey had gotten from her mother. It was the box her shoes came in for the Valentine dance she attended when she was fifteen. It was the first time she had gone to a school event with her lover. She still had the shoes somewhere, but they were not in the box. For her, she used it as a letterbox.

Every single letter that had been addressed to her was held in that box. Seven years’ worth of letters were in that shoebox and if anything happened to it, Zoey wasn’t sure if she’d survive.

Zoey pulled open the top drawer of her dresser, digging around for a moment before finding herself a pair of undergarments and a bra, tossing them onto the bed.

She was quick to turn to the closet, pushing the door open and the colors that met her eyes sent a shot of excitement down her spine. She scanned the shirts, jeans, and dresses that hung in her closet, trying to decide on what she wanted to wear that day.

Her eyes scanned shirt after shirt, bottom after bottom until her eyes landed on a dress. It was one she hadn’t worn in a long time but she liked it. She thought about it for a moment and it occurred to her that she wore this dress out on a date with Paul.

The dress was a mid-thigh black loose-fitting dress, long-sleeved of course but the shoulders exposed. On the bottom of the said dress, it was lined with shades of orange and blue pattern. Deciding it was the right fit, Zoey tossed it over her shoulder onto the bed.

Soft blue eyes trailed onto the shoe box resting on the dresser. Internally she wanted to get dressed and sit on the bed to read some but knew better. If she did she’d ruin her own day. She’d begin to miss Paul even more than normal and it would consume her day.

“Maybe Later…” She reassured herself, wanting to let her aching heart know that later tonight they could sit on the bed and imagine these words being said by him.

Now fully prepared to get dressed, Zoey dropped the towel to the floor with intentions on cleaning it up later and quickly got dressed. Underwear then bra and finally her dress.

Once fully dressed, Zoey turned to the vanity, tossing her shirt and jeans from last night onto the floor. Yet something else she would clean up later. Zoey was quick to pull her ponytail out and fluff her hair.

Gently Zoey reached down, opening up the top drawer, as she pulled out her hairbrush.

Beginning to run the bristles through her hair, she tried not to let her mind wander. But, she couldn’t help it. As the bristles of her brush ran through her hair she couldn’t help but remember how Paul would run his fingers through her hair. How he would twirl it around and around his finger when they’d cuddle together. How much he loved to play with her hair. She couldn’t help but visualize the smile on his face he’d have whenever she’d ask if she looked alright.

A shaky breath escaped her as she set her hairbrush down on the vanity. Staring at her own reflection. For a moment, just a moment she could see him in the mirror. She saw him sitting on the side of the bed, watching her get herself ready. It made her chest ache for a moment before shaking it off and standing up. She scooped up her laundry and tossed it into the hamper in the corner of the room before heading out. Shoes were irrelevant.

Zoey shut her bedroom door behind her, silently dreading a full day of chores. As Zoey made her way to the stairs, she stopped outside Bubbas door, knocking lightly “Bubba…” She said quietly, gently opening the door “Bubba...honey come on...it’s time to get up…” Zoey chirped, watching as the sleepy head sat up “Good morning Bubba!” She said softly, watching as he crawled out of bed “Hey Bubba, listen, I’m gonna go start cooking so uhm, just meet me downstairs once you’re ready okay honey?” She asked, keeping her voice down.

Zoey knew how much Bubba appreciated when she’d wake him up, only because she’d keep her voice down and warm. She watched as Bubba started getting ready for a busy day. Zoey took that cue to head on downstairs and start cooking.

Once she was downstairs, Zoey started cooking per Usual routine.

Slowly it all began to run together. Bubba came downstairs, ate, Zoey ate, did the laundry, swept the floors. It felt like every other day Zoey had been living for the past seven years.

As the sun began to set, Drayton came back and helped her make dinner. It was slowly becoming another day that Paul hadn’t come home.

That was until Zoey was in the kitchen, washing the dishes from dinner, her eyes glued on the window above the kitchen sink. Staring off into the distance, daydreaming about that moment. The moment she’d get blinded by headlights and she’d be reunited with her Paul.

But, it seemed strange. Her vision was slowly filled with bright lights...headlights.

Her hands gently turned the sink off “Uhm...Drayton? I don’t mean to bother you but I think someones here…” She said nervously, turning the corner to catch the eldest Sawyer sitting in his chair “Ah Dammit Zoey, are you sure?”

“I Saw headlights pull’ up to the house-” Zoey responded, watching Drayton rise from his seat. “Dammit-” He sighed, making his way out of the living room and off to go collect whoever it could be.

Zoey watched as he walked off, her heart sinking a little as Bubba flinched when Drayton walked past.

“Don’t worry Bubba...I’m sure it’s just another dumb lost tourist…” She explained quietly, on the verge of sitting down but stopped the second she heard the yelling outside.

“Goddammit Drayton where is she?!”

Zoey’s eyes widened “Uhm...Bubba, I’ll be right back okay?” Zoey said nervously before turning and hurrying off, flinging the front door open and tossing it back, now standing on the porch.

It took her a moment to process who was standing beside that beat-up truck but once it occurred to her who was here.

Her Paul. He was home. He was really back home. Back in Texas. Frozen in shock for only a moment longer before she shoved past Drayton and hurried down the stairs, pouncing on top of him. Her arms wrapped around him tightly with her entire body pressed against his. The comfort she felt wrapped up in his arms with his chin resting on the top of her head.

“You-You came back...You-you’re home and I-” Zoey sniffled, on the verge of continuing but stopping as Paul spoke, “Shhhh Darlin, Shhh.” He responded as his hand began to trail up and down her back.

For him, he was just as thankful and shocked to be home and holding her. “You look incredible-” He said, daring to let his hand wander down to Zoey’s bottom, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Zoey you look absolutely perfect-” Paul said, finally taking a step back to look at her and just admire how gorgeous she looked.

“I-” Zoey was at a loss, now finally having a chance to look at him.

She saw how tired he was. How thankful he was to be home with Zoey.

“Let’s get you inside hmm?” She offered, on the verge of turning to head back inside but Paul pulled her back “Zoey I dunno where you think you’re goin’ but I haven’t gotten a single kiss from you.” He insisted, keeping her wrapped up in his arms.

Zoey blushed lightly, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips and damn did he soak it all in. “Oh, my precious Zoey you’ve not changed since I left.” He said when she finally pulled away.

Zoey grinned “Thanks love, now can I getcha inside?” She asked, gently taking his hand in hers “Yeah...you can…” He said with a gentle smirk, letting his lovely lady drag him into the house.

That evening was spent well. After Bubba had said his Hellos to his brothers, Paul and Zoey were left alone. To be together.

To enjoy each other's company.

To be a couple.

28 notes · View notes

bibhabmishra · 5 years ago

Text

The Princess Bride

It feels downright inconceivableI to devote only one chapter in a book about lessons gleaned from eighties movies to The Princess Bride. Why, just off the top of my head, while standing on my head, I can name five life lessons that this movie teaches you that you don’t learn anywhere else: 1. “Never go against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!” 2. “Love is the greatest thing—except for a nice mutton, lettuce, and toma- to sandwich when the mutton is nice and lean.” 3. “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” 4. Eventually, you learn not to mind the kissing parts. 5. And most important, “As you wish” = “I love you.” Such is the depth of wisdom in this film that in 2013, twenty-six years after its release, BuzzFeed devoted a listII to the lessons gleaned from it. A BuzzFeed list! Who needs the Oscars, Princess Bride, when you have that ultimate of mod- ern-day accolades? The Princess Bride is so adored that it’s probablyIII now a clichéd response on Internet dating websites: walks on the beach, an open fire, sunsets, and The Princess Bride. And yet, despite this, love for The Princess Bride is not seen as desperately hackneyed or cheesily safe. The Princess Bride is what you’d need a prospective love interest to cite as their favorite movie for the relationship to progress,IV it’s the one film that would make you rethink a lifelong friendship if you found out your best friend “just didn’t get it”—not that they would ever say that, because I honestly don’t know a single person of my generation who isn’t obsessed with this film.

And not just my generation: in As You Wish, a very enjoyable book about the making of The Princess Bride, Cary Elwes—who played Westley the farm boy, of course—recounts being told by both Pope John Paul II and Bill Clinton how much they loved the movie, proving that The Princess Bride appeals to saints and sinners alike.V Now, having said all that, I have a confession to make. I was not the big Princess Bride fan in my family when I was growing up. That title instead went to my sister, Nell. Our mother took us to see it at the movie theater when I must have been nine and Nell was seven, and even though the film was— incredibly—something of a commercial disappointment when it came out, the cinema was absolutely packed with kids like us. In my mind, everyone in the audience was utterly in thrall to this tale of Buttercup (Robin Wright), her true love Westley (Elwes), and their battles against Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), Vizzini (Wallace Shawn), and Count Rugen (Christopher Guest), and their eventual assistance from the brave swordsman Inigo (Mandy Patinkin), the giant Fezzik (the professional wrestler known as André the Giant), and Miracle Max (Billy Crystal). Afterward, we stood in the cinema atrium as our mother bundled us back into our coats. “Did you girls like it?” she asked. Standing there in her corduroy dungarees and T-shirt, Nell looked in a state of semi-shock. “I LOVED IT. I WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN RIGHT NOW!” she practically shouted. Now, The Princess Bride is wonderful, but in order to understand how unex- pected this proclamation was, you have to know a little bit about my sister. Ever since she was old enough to throw a tantrum, my sister refused to wear dresses. She never played with dolls. She refused to let my mother brush her hair and had apparently no interest in her physical appearance. She did not like mushy stories—she didn’t even like reading books. In other words, she was the complete opposite to me. How much of that was a deliberate reaction against me, a younger sibling defining herself in opposition to the older one, and how much of it was simply an innate part of Nell was already a moot point when we went to see The Princess Bride: Nell’s parameters were so firmly set by then that her nickname in our family was “the tough customer.” She would consent to drink only one kind of fruit juice (apple), and buy only one brand (Red Cheek), and only if it came out of a can (never a carton), so there was absolutely no negotiating with her about mushy princesses. Lord only knows how my mother got her to see the movie in the first place. She must have hid- den the title from her. And yet, like the grandson in the film, Kevin Arnold,VI Nell found that, against all odds, she did enjoy the story, just as Kevin’s grandfather, Columbo,VII promises. I think Nell made my mother take her to see the film at the cinema at least three more times. As she wished. When it came out on VHS, we bought it immediately and it was understood that the videocassette was officially Nell’s, just as the videocassette for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was officially mine. When she found out that the film had originally been a book by William Goldman, who also wrote the screenplay, she asked my amazed mother to buy that, too. Nell read it over and over until the pages fell out, so she stuck them back in and then read the book again. The Princess Bride was the book that taught her to like books, as much as the movie taught her to relax some of her other rules. She developed a lifelong crush on Westley and, not long after, she started wearing dresses, too. The reasons why Nell loved this film so much exemplify, I think, why it is universally adored in a way that, say, the vaguely similar and contemporary The Never-Ending Story is not. It’s a fairy tale for those who love fairy tales, but it’s also a self-aware spoof for those who don’t; it’s an adventure film for boys and—for once—girls, too, but without pandering to or excluding either; it’s got a plot for kids, dialogue for adults, and jokes for everyone; it’s a genre film and a satire of a genre film; it’s a very funny movie in which everybody is playing it straight; it’s smart and sweet and smart about its sweetness, but also sweet about its smarts. Unlike, say, Shrek, there are no jokes here for parents that go over the kids’ heads: all generations enjoy it on exactly the same level. It’s a movie that lets people who don’t like certain things like those things, while at the same time not betraying the original fans. But most of all, The Princess Bride is about one thing in particular: “The Princess Bride is a story about love,” says Cary Elwes. “So much happens in the movie—giants, fencing, kidnapping. But it’s really a film about love.” This might seem like a statement of the obvious, but it isn’t, actually. Yes, the film is ostensibly about the great true love between Buttercup and Westley, and their most perfect kiss that leaves all the other kisses in the world behind. Both Elwes and Wright were so astonishingly beautiful when they made the film that, watching them, it’s hard to believe any love ever existed on this plan- et other than theirs. And they, rather pleasingly, were quite taken with one an- other. In his book, Elwes talks at length about how “smitten” he was with Wright, and she says precisely the same about him: “I was absolutely smitten with Cary. So obviously that helped with our onscreen chemistry. . . . It doesn’t matter how many years go by, I will love Cary forever.” Disappointingly, however, Elwes insists that they remained just friends. “Everyone asks if there was more!” he says, sounding a little exasperated, apparently unable to see what everyone else can: namely, that it seems against the laws of nature for two such beautiful people not to have had sex at least once. The last scene that Elwes shot was of him and Wright kissing on horse- back, creating “the most perfect kiss” of all time against a sunset. Surely that was romantic. “Well, not really. Robin and I were friends by that point so we kept laughing, and [the director] Rob [Reiner] was going, ‘Touch her face, touch her face!’ ” He laughs. But Westley and Buttercup’s love is only a part of the film, and only one of several love stories in the film. There is also, for a start, the great love between Inigo and Fezzik. The scene in which a drunken and broken Inigo looks up into Fezzik’s face in the Thieves Forest and Fezzik says a simple, smiling hello is much more moving than the moment when Buttercup realizes the Dread Pirate Roberts is actually Westley (not least because she’s just pushed him down a hill). Even if Inigo does become the Dread Pirate Roberts at the end of the film, as Westley suggests he should, it is as impossible to imagine him going off without Fezzik as it is to imagine Buttercup and Westley being severed. This love between the two men is at the root of one of the film’s subtlest lessons. Bad guys teach audiences how to think of opponents in life, and this is especially true of bad guys in books and films aimed at kids. Because stories for kids tend to be relatively simple, villains in these films are almost invariably evil, and that’s all there is to be said about them. Cruella de Vil, Snow White’s stepmother, the witch in Rapunzel: WHAT a bunch of moody bitches. This is also certainly true of movies for children in the 1980s, from the frankly terri- fying Judge Doom (Christopher Lloyd) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit to the enjoyably evil Ursula in The Little Mermaid. It’s a pleasingly basic approach, and one that validates most kids’ (and adults’) view of the world: “I am good and anyone who thwarts me is wicked and there is no point in trying to think about things from their point of view because they have no inner life of their own beyond pure evil and a desire to impede me.” The Princess Bride, however, does something different. It’s easy to forget this once you’ve seen the movie and fallen in love with the characters but Inigo and Fezzik are, ostensibly, bad guys. When we first meet them in the movie, they knock our heroine, Buttercup, unconscious and kidnap her for Vizzini. We are also told they will kill her. Our princess! In the eyes of children, you can’t get much more evil than that. They are hired guns in the re- venge business, which is not a job for a good guy in any fairy tale. But Gold- man flips it around. We quickly see Inigo and, in particular, Fezzik being ex- tremely sweet with each other, doing their little rhymes together and trying to protect one another from Vizzini’s ire. Their love for one another shows us there is more to these villains than villainy. Goldman then ups the ante even further by having Inigo describe to the Man in Black how he has devoted his life to avenging the death of his father, thus giving him the kind of emotional backstory kids can definitely understand, as well as adding another mission to the movie. Soon after beating (but not killing) Inigo, the Man in Black fights with Fezzik, who we already know has a similarly sad past (“unemployed—IN GREENLAND”). Plenty of villains were once good before crossing to the dark side: Darth Vader, many of Batman’s nemeses, Voldemort. The point in those stories is that the difference between true evil and true greatness comes down to one wrong decision, one wrong turn, and there is no going back from that. But The Princess Bride does something more subtle: it suggests that good people some- times end up doing bad things, but are still good, have stories of their own, and are capable of love. Inigo and Fezzik both killed people in the past for Vizzini, but they’re all still good people. This is quite a message for kids (and adults) to take in: not everything is clear-cut when it comes to good and bad, even in fairy tales. In the original novel, William Goldman goes into much greater detail about Fezzik and Inigo’s friendship, and this is one of the reasons why I—in all hon- esty—pre-fer the book to the film.VIII But the film alludes to it enough in order for audiences to understand the real bond between the men, and partly this happens through the script and partly through the actors, especially one actor in particular. At one point, Arnold Schwarzenegger was considered for the role of Fezzik, but, thank heavens, he was already too expensive by the time the film finally started shooting. Where Schwarzenegger is all jarring rectangles and jut- ting jaw, André the Giant was all soft circles and goofy smiles. Where Schwarzenegger palpably punished himself to a superhuman extent to get the body he clearly wanted so badly, the man born André René Roussimoff suf- fered from gigantism due to acromegaly and had no choice about his size, just as Fezzik didn’t, much to the latter’s misery (“It’s not my fault being the big- gest and the strongest—I don’t even exercise”). It would be a patronizing cliché to say André was born to play Fezzik, but he was certainly more right for the role than Schwarzenegger. By the time he made The Princess Bride, André was seven feet, four inches and weighed more than 540 pounds. Easily the sweetest stories in Cary Elwes’s book come from the cast and crew’s memories of the wrestler, who died in 1993 at the age of forty-six, and this is not mere sentimentality. Quite a few of The Princess Bride’s cast have, sadly, since died, including Mel Smith, Peter Cook, and Peter Falk, but none of them prompts the same kind of fondness as that felt for André. “It’s safe to say that he was easily the most popular person on the movie,” Elwes writes. “Everyone just loved him.” Partly this is due to the extraordinary nature of the man. Robin Wright re- calls going out to a dinner with him where he ate “four or five entrees, three or four appetizers, a couple of baskets of bread, and then he’s like, I’m ready for seconds. And then desserts. I think he went through a case of wine and he wasn’t even tipsy.” But it was André’s innately gentle nature that made him so beloved. His “compassion and protective nature,” Elwes writes, helped Wallace Shawn over- come his almost paralyzing fear of heights when they were filming the climb up the Cliffs of Insanity. When Robin Wright felt chilly when filming outdoors, André would place one of his huge hands on top of Wright’s head. “She said it was like having a giant hot water bottle up there. It certainly did the trick; he didn’t even mess up her hair that much!” Elwes writes. When he died, William Goldman wrote his obituary in New York magazine. The last lines were as fol- lows: “André once said to Billy Crystal, ‘We do not live long, the big and the small.’ Alas.” Next, on a smaller level, is the love between Miracle Max (Crystal) and his aged wife, Valerie (Carol Kane). Initially they seem simply like a squabbling old couple, playing purely for broad comedy (and their scene is the broadest comedic one in the film). But it soon becomes clear that Valerie is needling Max only because she wants him to get back his confidence in his work after Prince Humperdinck destroyed it by sacking them, and her little cheer when her husband agrees to make a miracle for Inigo is really very touching. By the end of their scene, they’re working together, finishing one another’s sentences, holding each other arm in arm, and whispering little asides to one another. As a portrait of elderly marriage goes, this one is a pretty lovely one. Finally, there’s the great love story that frames the whole movie: the one be- tween the grandson/Kevin Arnold (Fred Savage) and the grandfather/Columbo (Peter Falk). In the beginning of the movie, the grandson is irritated by his cheek-pinching grandfather and can hardly believe that he has to stop playing his adorably primitive-looking computer baseball game to listen to grandfather read a book.IX As the film progresses, the relationship between the grandson and grandfather progresses almost like a traditional love story: the grandson slowly gets more interested, clutching his covers anxiously when Buttercup is almost eaten by the Shrieking Eels; then he gets angry, banging his bed with his fist when it seems like Westley has been killed; and finally, he comes around entirely and tells his grandfather to come back the next day to read the book again. “As you wish.” His grandfather smiles, and the film ends. “That wasn’t actu- ally in the script,” Elwes says. “They came up with him saying that on, I think, the last day, and it really captures the love between the grandfather and grand- son. You can also see the tenderness between Fred Savage and Peter Falk.”

2 notes · View notes

cruddyborderlandstheories · 5 years ago

Text

mystery punk girl

alright fellas i gotta make sure i don’t embarrass myself this time, we got like, stakes and shit now. SO *breaks fingers* let’s make a masterpost of theories

aka i heard someone was interested in some mystery punk girl theories and decided to collect all the one’s i’ve gotten so far

tl;dr: mystery punk girl could literally be anything/anyone. we go over a few theories, notably ones that paint her as a younger sibling to the Calypso twins (Tyreen = First Sister). we also have one where she is a fraternal twin to Ava and mirrors Troy as the non-Siren-twin of a relationship. we also talk about why she hasn’t been getting a lot of cultist worship, like maybe she’s gone missing, or died. also that she may betray the twins (if! she was ever on their side to begin with! 👀) because her color scheme is one of a friend and tbh the twins seem suuuper close and she doesn’t seem to be getting any recognition from the cult.

from the numskull pin page, also where we learned she’s listed as ‘Punk Girl’

so to get to the point, the most obvious theory is that mystery masked girl is the younger (est?) sibling to the twins.

when mouthpiece talks in the beginning of the HBC demo, he calls Tyreen the ‘first sister’. I mention that in a post here (during my live post spamming of the event lol)

it’s mostly interesting because when you refer to someone as ‘the first’, usually the second part of that is what you’re referring to.

@sugar-high-viking brought this to my attention as well when the pins dropped, and also made a great point that she might be either a half-sibling (different colored hair), OR, to tie into my atlas theory about the twins, a similar experiment, but not blood-related (that part is in the notes of said post, i copied it here for easier reading)

which i adore because atlas twins is my favorite theory that’s probably never going to happen. (also hi if you’re reading this, sorry for the tag! i wanted to give credit because that was brilliant)

we do have a biiiit more stuff to go over.

take the mask of mayhem (yes im still working on that analysis, i promise!! i do like a facet a day if im not working on other stuff)

the whole backdrop thing feels to me like an order of importance.

we have the God Queen at the very top and in the middle.

on her left is the vault hunters, who of course are going to have a prominent role in the story.

on her right is Troy, her right-hand man (ala the cosplay guide)

and below Troy we have Mystery Punk Girl. can i call her MPG? i feel like i’m allowed to call her MPG

So her and Troy are about the same level as the Vault Hunters.

We can’t really infer that Tyreen is the oldest sibling (First Sister, with Troy possibly being the Second Brother? Or, Troy is the First Brother, Tyreen is the First Sister, and MPG is the Second Sister. i’d imagine the latter is correct because the former would have to use First Sibling to be correct) but we can guess that things on top are ordered in terms of importance.

And considering we haven’t seen NPG in ANY promo material or trailers yet? yeah i imagine she’s not shown off like the twins are, which would explain her lower level. now if that’s because she’s too important for them to be flashy with her, or if because they don’t think she’s worthy, or they want to protect her, or whatever, I wouldn’t be able to say.

Furthermore, we can also guess she’s not in an Angel-type situation. It’s heavily implied Ava is the Siren successor to Maya (but not officially stated). We know she has feathers on her outfit, but as I found out a bit ago, those (likely) aren’t meant to represent the wings that Tyreen and Lilith have on the MoM. They’re part of the clothing some cultists wear (possibly to emulate her looks like they do with Troy and Tyreen).

pictures for proof:

again, none of this is proven, as Ava nor Maya have wings on the MoM, but it is interesting to note. Also, if Ava does end up being a Siren (say her tattoos take a while to grow big enough for us to see, or they appear after her powers come in, fixing the Angel w/ no tattoos on jack’s desk “plot hole” we see in tps) then there’s no way for Punk Girl to have been a Siren.

unless.

ohohohoh...

okay, we know for a fact Troy’s red tattoos aren’t there because of Lilith.

As of right now, we have officially sourced stuff showing him with his red tattoos during the HBC (on the hologram), which we’ve proven takes place before the Sanc-III scene where Lilith gets her powers stolen.

there are plenty of theories as to why he’s got those tattoos then: because the twins were conjoined, they got the powers from a vault (the one shown on the walls of the HBC), they were experiments, they were experiments because they were conjoined twins, they’re fake Sirens, fake Sirens due to the experiments, etc, etc. i could go on for ages, but im not gonna, cause we’re not here for this.

im going to take the ‘the twins were conjoined’ theory and run with it for a secco. we had that interview where paul sage said at one point either in the development cycle OR in the timeline (the wording is not clear), the twins were conjoined twins. We’ve also seen that the spanish (i believe!) translation of the Calypso Twins yields the version that says they’re conjoined, not just normal twins. so we’re going to hope it’s the right theory.

we know there can only be 6 sirens in the universe. if tyreen was chosen but was still conjoined with her brother, it’s possible he could’ve been messed up by the magic or advanced tech or whatever it is that picks Sirens, and that’s where the red tattoos come from.

So what if MPG is the same way? twin to Ava, ended up not being the one who got the Siren power, rebelled and joined the CoV in hopes of getting her own powers, maybe even to get Tyreen to heal her since it’s possible having a twin with Siren powers can cause an affliction to the other twin.

It’d be really interesting if the two were abandoned at a young age and it ended up being that Ava was picked up by the Order of the Impending Storm and MPG wasn’t, as Ava was a Siren (like Maya) and MPG wasn’t, so she turns to the cult for help/support/whatever and the twins take a shine to her and basically adopt her as their little sibling.

(awww maaan i still gotta do my Maya masterpost. hmmm so much to do, so little time...)

tho, that’s 100% unfounded and me spitballing into the void. mostly cause i think she’s gonna end up looking a lot older in game than she does in the MoM. though, in defense, she is titled ‘Punk Girl’, not ‘ Punk Lady’ or ‘Punk Woman’ or whatever. so there’s that, and it seems wild they’d be introducing 2 young girls around the same age and NOT have them be related in some way. even if they’re just storyline parallels to each other (Ava having everything because she’s a Siren and MPG not)

A better theory, is that she’s the 3rd leader/sibling/figurehead of the cult. The game revolves around the number 3, it’s even acknowledged in universe.

cover art of a high-ranking cultist (the one with the rakk wings on the MoM, im assuming)

which is referenced in actual in-game art

we see it in the background of the behind closed doors intro

and i imagine there must be an in-universe reason for this very important cultist (TM) to be signalling the number three, right?

there’s certainly more than 3 Vaults. More than 3 opened at the time too.

3 pieces to the Vault Map? but the twins got that in its entirety. no reason to look for all three parts.

once lily gets her powers removed, there are 3 Sirens in play (that we know are 100% confirmed atm) Tyreen, Maya, Amara.

yeah, i think the most reasonable answer is that the number 3 is tied to the cult in some way.

while i find it hard to believe she’s something as prominent in the cult as a third figurehead (lack of statues, posters, acknowledge at all whatsoever), i could 100% see her being a third sibling, however.

So why isn’t she being worshipped like the twins? Maybe they’re keeping her out of the light for a reason.

Maybe she’s sick, like Troy, but Ty can’t heal her right away for some reason, or she picked Troy over her or smth (we’re told troy is the smart one, afterall, maybe Ty decided to pick the sibling she’d get the most use out of. or the one she’s closer to, being twins and all).

I had that dumb theory that Tyreen is Demeter (Troy is Demophon) and MPG is Persephone, taken away by the Vaults/Eridians/whatever in the twins’ attempt to heal her and either it locked her away somewhere, or it killed her. (Her being sick could also explain the ventilator she’s wearing, but i have another theory about that in just a secco.) And her being missing/dead is part of the reason Tyreen and Troy are trying to get the ultimate power, they’re trying to bring her back to life/heal her. And it could explain why she isn’t being referenced at all in most worship art, maybe the twins banned it or whatever. but if she is sick, i wonder why she wasn’t just miraculously healed by the Guardians (the Watcher specifically?) like whatsherface in TPS.

She could also be something like their secret weapon, maybe she has knowledge about something we don’t yet- be it warp travel, eridium testing, Sirens, Vaults, Eridians, etc, that’s giving the twins the better edge. Eridium testing could explain the ventilator, plus we see a giant waterfall of somethin’ glowing purple and i would bet it’s slag/eridium.

plus you know im a strong believer of my ‘the twins are using the chemical sludge of elpis to give their followers superpowers’ theory. i mean, if they actually are teleporting the moon (and NOT blowing it up), then it could almost make sense if they want their source of superjuice near their new base of operations/vault/whatever. mostly because we haven’t yet seen Ty give anyone Lily’s powers. As far as we know right now, she’s the sole holder of Lilith’s powers. at the very least, they’re mutating them with eridium/slag. but i wanna believe! so maybe MPG is their way of doing that. giving them insider knowledge of the chemical sludge on the moon, doing tests on it, subjecting the cultists to it, etc. We do see the big boy cultist smack dab in the middle of the mask with rakk wings, which are kind of a corruption of the angel wings we see the Sirens have. and since the Lost Legion Eternal basically have knockoff Siren/Guardian powers due to the chemical sludge on elpis, it would make sense.

she COULD also be our way into the cult. we know nothing about the gal, maybe she’s going to provide us a way to get insider knowledge. im sure whatever the twins post they’re fine with their cultists seeing, so we’d need someone higher up in the proverbial ladder to give us the good info. i do think it’s interesting she does not match the Twins’ colorscheme at ALL. she’s gray and black, yeah, but she’s also pink and orange (yellow?).

compare these two

to this:

it seems off that, if we are to consider them a unit, their colors clash so hard. (seriously, red and pink? oh my god!) I could almost see it as their way of hinting that she’s not 100% conforming to the twins.

I could also kinda see her being jealous of the relationship her older siblings have, how they’re so close because they’re twins and they share this bond over the Siren tattoos/starting a cult together. I could see her betraying them at some point because she’s sick of being pushed into the background. the pink and orange is a nice color combo compared to the reds and blacks. she certainly looks designed to be a friend.

anyway, that’s all i wrote today. im kinda tied, might add onto this later as i keep wrackin’ my brain trying to think of more theories.

#borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3 #punk girl #mystery girl #mystery punk girl #ooo i can do this all day #so i won't #you know who she is

17 notes · View notes

lordjohntheshow · 6 years ago

Text

John Grey and his boyfriend Stephan Namzten have a great life (and now three dogs) and are considering taking the next big step: marriage and children. Complications arise. This is a Modern AU set in 2019.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

VANITY FAIR, November 2017

A FAMILY AFFAIR

An excerpt from the actor’s forthcoming memoir WILD NIGHTS chronicling his early years growing up to his days as a struggling actor. In anticipation of the Royal Wedding enjoy his take on a wedding among Britain’s upper crust.

By: Percy Wainwright

Imagine my surprise when my stepfather George invited me to his third wedding, in London. He wanted me there with him as he took on his new life and invited me out for the “whole season”. I took one look around my tiny, non air conditioned studio apartment in the Valley and knew I had no other choice. Within 24 hours I was touching down in Heathrow. I wondered a little about why George invited me, but in a small way it made sense: he had no real family himself and didn’t want to feel left out. He let me have the use of his apartment- or “flat” as I learned to call it, having already moved in with his bride to be.

I then did what any self-respecting 22 year old with a large, empty apartment, an allowance, and too much free time would do. I went clubbing. That’s how I first met Kay*. It was sometime past midnight, and the DJ was trying out some experimental trance pop. I saw him before he saw me. He was small, but he didn’t have that obnoxious edge some short men get. Cute blonde hair a shade most boys grow out of. Muscular, but the white shirt and jeans he wore showed he didn’t really care about his appearance. He glided through the crowd, disappearing in the back room for a moment. I lost track of him until I saw him cut through the dance floor to leave. On a whim, I grabbed his hand and kissed it. He looked up at me and laughed, crinkling a pair of baby blues that would have made Paul Newman jealous. I pulled him to me, like he was water in the desert. The music was too loud to have a coherent conversation, but neither of us wanted one.

After three or so songs (who can really tell with electronica?) he was pressing me up against the wall outside the bathroom, kissing my lips, my neck, as if he wanted to swallow me whole. In fifteen or so minutes we were in my flat and I was flat on my back. When I woke up the next morning alone in that big bed, I actually laughed- I’m usually the one that leaves them high and dry.

I still went clubbing, but I didn’t see my blonde boy again. Four weeks before the wedding George invited me out to a dinner with the family. “They’re gentry, you know. You don’t have to bow or anything, but do you know the proper forms of address?” He’d asked me nervously, in the taxi on the way over. “Um.. milord and milady?” I’d said, trying to remember what I’d learned from my days of getting high and watching Downton Abbey. He sighed. “They’ll just think you’re an uncouth American, it will be fine.” He’d huffed in reply. It was cute, to see him so nervous to make a good impression.

How to describe the family. Everyone looked like one of those paparazzi pictures of the royal family on their time off: trying to look normal in jeans and a sweater but the outfit still cost 700 pounds. I suppose I’m not one to talk though, my style’s always been very Gucci via Goodwill.

My new stepmother’s flat also had that rich, lived in feel. There was a couch from 1972 next to what I’m fairly sure was a pair of original Chippendale settee chairs. Every flat surface or shelf was covered by books: leather bound ones in the library and slick, glossy ones in all of the real living areas. Yes, you read that right: this was an apartment. With a library.

We all sat down to drinks in the living room. I chose one of the Chippendales, of course. An actual butler took my drink order. Once everyone was arrayed and properly lubricated, the true conversation began. The son who was obviously serving as Head of the Family grilled me and George about our jobs, hobbies, acquaintances, and was probably about to start on what petty misdemeanors we’d committed when his wife patted his arm and started a real conversation instead of a background check. It was boring, but I was surprised to find I was enjoying myself. Mostly I was enjoying what I am dead certain were a pair of original Degas’ ballerina studies.

Nearly an hour in I was shocked out of my art appreciation when my own tiny dancer walked in. He was out of breath, dressed for work (a boring navy suit, so a professional of some type, I noted), and apologizing profusely, to his mother, his soon to be stepfather, his annoyed brother, and then his gaze fell on me. I’ll say this about him: I’d never want to play poker against him. There’s not a man alive better at controlling his face. For a moment I was certain he didn’t remember me (I mean, I was in a clean cut Oxford, not the neon green mesh tank he’d last seen me in.)

“Hello. You must be Percy. I’m Kay.” He said, warmly, holding out his hand for me to shake. The look he gave me, and only me, had so much heat I thought I was back in L.A.

He sat across from me when we moved to dinner, and chatted politely. I was annoyed to find someone so handsome was also smart, and funny, and kind, especially to his mother and my stepfather. Yet, when he raised his brows to me at the end of dinner- a challenge, and invitation- I was all mush.

The next four weeks went by quickly- too quickly. All the pomp and nonsense of what American hetero weddings have become pales in comparison to An English Society Wedding. There were morning suit fittings, tux fittings, and even normal suit fittings, to make sure I wouldn’t be looked at some poor American cousin. Forget a bridal shower at some swanky country club. There were at least three engagement parties, a trip to the Queen Anne Enclosure of the Royal Ascot (requiring another suit), and multiple days involving skiffs, yachts, polo ponies, and cricket. I was game: it was like being stuck in some specialty park at Disneyworld, and I love to learn the rules so I can break them. Here were a few I discovered:

-You can’t ask people where they go on vacation. You ask them where they summer, or winter, or, for the younger, sportier ones, where they ski.

-An American accent threw them, especially when I turned on the Southern drawl I usually kept safely packed away. If I wasn’t from Newport, or Vail, or New York, I was no one of importance.

-No one ever discussed money, but every conversation was about it: where children were going to school, what new homes or paintings were being purchased, who had just closed what deal.

-And unlike in L.A., where everyone bedecked themselves in the latest runway looks, here you often learned the richest people also had the oldest clothes. The Princess Royal attended one of these parties in a dress she’d had since 1983. I know the year because I asked her.

By the time the wedding rolled around, part of me was ready to go back to the plastic sheen and bounce of Los Angeles. Other parts of me, like my heart, wanted to stay in this weird world forever, because it’s where Kay was. If this world was a weird Disneyworld, than I was its Cinderella. I’d been scraping things together for so long, spent so many nights wondering where the money was going to come from, how I was going to eat, I cannot explain the relief of having that disappear. Of having someone ready to pick up the check like nothing- and unlike a lot of the men I’d slept with, not expecting a quid pro quo.

Kay and I spent a few weeks before we even had sex again- he was busy, and I was being pulled along to every wedding event anyone could possibly imagine. It’s the stolen moments I remember the most. The way his breath hitched when he saw me partially undressed during our tux fitting. How he always made sure I had what I wanted to drink, no matter the party we were at. When his hand brushed mine and we hooked our pinkies together, walking down this hallway or that. And the night we were finally together again: breathing our secrets together in the dark.

I told him I loved him. I didn’t actually say “I love you”, I’m not an idiot. I told him “I’ve never felt this close to someone,” and that “I’ve told you things… I’ve never told anyone before” and “I know this must sound strange.” He soaked it up, and looked at me, those blue eyes full of affection, rubbed my arm. “I care deeply for you, Percy. My heart… I think someone else has that. I can give you everything else.” He said it like he’d pried it out of himself… carefully and painfully.

I wish everything had been enough for me.

The summer swept along, and suddenly it was the day I’d come for all along: the wedding. It was held in a quaint village in a “small, country chapel” that sat the two hundred guests with ease. The interior looked like a florist’s shop the night before Mother’s Day. (Kay’s big brother had to take at least three puffs from his inhaler and everyone had to pretend they didn’t notice it happening.) All the women were arrayed in pastels, or florals, most looking ten years older than they actually were in the severe, pinned up styles the occasion demanded. One of the coach horses ate the fascinator Kay’s girl cousin had talked about incessantly over the summer. But seeing my stepfather trip over his words, bursting with happiness at his new life and new wife was truly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. In short, it was a perfect family wedding.

And then it was over. They were off on their honeymoon, backpacking in East Asia as if they were 22 and not 62. I’d seen my stepfather off. I knew he would always be part of my life, but that I wasn’t meant to live in his. I finally understood why they call it a flat: that’s all I felt walking around that apartment.

I wanted Kay to say: “I love you. Move in with me. Marry me, when it’s finally legal.” He didn’t. He was still caring, and attentive, and sweet, but we never talked about love or a future. Maybe that’s why I invited the Swede back to the flat on the last night before I left. Why I forgot that Kay was coming over to cook me a farewell dinner. Why I didn’t lock the door.

Turns out, he’s not as good as a poker player as I’d thought. I saw it all. Shock, dismay, pain, but never the anger. He left, never saying a word.

It wasn’t until the next day, somewhere 10,000 feet above Chicago, my suitcase full of a bunch of fancy clothes I’d wear only to auditions that I realized he always got quiet when he was angry.

*names, dates, and details have been altered to protect the innocent

#writing percy is hilariously fun #outlander fanfiction #outlander rarepair #john/stephan #john/percy #lord john grey #outlander modern au #percy wainwright #percy beauchamp

33 notes · View notes

cherryfloyd-blog · 6 years ago

Note

Yo I need to ask you something important. In your dream Led Zeppelin biopic, who’s playing Jimmy, Robert, JPJ and Bonzo?

Oh Christ, this is so difficult. I suck at casting people... Timothee Chalamet is the first person that comes to mind when casting Jimmy Page, or Robert Sheean if he shaved his mustache and grew his hair long! Both people are great actors and have slim features Tom Hardy is what comes to mind for Bonzo, because Hardy is a very versitile actor, I’ve seen him range from comedy to drama in a split second and do it well. Plus when he grows out his beard he resembles John in my opinion anyways, he’d also need to grow out his hair !I’d get Joe Keery for John Paul Jones, everytime I see him I think of Joe Keery

And Robert... I’m having a hell of a time placing someone to cast as him. I look at his face and it’s like its on the tip of my tongue, but coming up with someone just never seems to do him justice... I saw a website that suggested Finn Jones ... so lets go with that haha!

9 notes · View notes

missytearex · 6 years ago

Text

To Read List - Ziam

This list is purely for myself to keep track of everything I still want to read. Its gonna change as I actually read though them and find more stuff to add.

Find fics I’ve already read here.

Ziam

Four Arrows (Led You to Me) by transteverogers

An au where people get tattoos of their soulmates and everyone works in a hotel

(AKA the one where I wanted an excuse to do handy man!Liam and soul mates)

Playing With Fire (Never Felt So Nice) by transteverogers

Liam's known he's special since he was 7.

(AKA the one where they all have superpowers and go to a boarding school, where Harry's incapable of talking about his feelings, Zayn's not the ass for once and Niall just wants people to stop thinking about sex)

Six Degrees Of Separation by ghostrider

Where Liam is the bad boy and Zayn his sweet, smart, nerdy boyfriend. They are happy until one day, Liam breaks up with him. Zayn, however has fallen too hard to be able to pick himself up. So his best, annoying and stupid, friend Harry, comes up with an annoying and stupid plan to get his best friend his ‘dumbass of a boyfriend’ back. And that plan involves a certain Louis Tomlinson who Harry hates (loves) with a passion.

Everything On You Intoxicates by zipplekink

Where Zayn maybe stalks that fit guy from his Intro to Lit class on Instagram

until you believe it by lizee

And Zayn’s not usually like this, Zayn never volunteers to do extra work, let alone work that requires him to think and commit, yet his stupid mouth doesn’t seem to get the hint. “I could tutor you,” he finds himself saying. “English was pretty much the only subject I got decent grades in, even won an award or two in writing. I reckon I could help y’ out if you were okay with that, of course.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

or, where Zayn and Liam meet at a sixth form party and Zayn offers to tutor him. He doesn't expect himself to fall in love with the kid while he's at it.

The Money Maker by deniallisstrong

"This is who I gotta pretend to be in a relationship with?” Zayn whines, shaking his head when he sees the crinkly-eyed boy with the styled quiff, the hoodie, the sunglasses.

“You’re no looker yourself,” Liam snorts, squinting his eyes at Zayn as he pulls off his sunglasses. But he’s lying. Of course he’s lying. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut wood, his eyes bright enough to start a fire. But Zayn doesn't have to know that.

Zayn is perplexed—already—by Liam. He’s sharper, quicker than he expected. With a sigh, Liam slides down his hood, tiredly sliding his fingers through his hair. “Alright, well, let’s get this… thing started. I want it over as soon as possible.”

Zayn wonders suddenly what Liam’s hair feels like, has a strong urge to reach forward and kiss him back into the wall, find his own fingers in the boy’s brown hair.

Zayn's lying, too. But Liam doesn't have to know that.

(Or a fake relationship AU where Zayn struggles to hide his fond for Liam, and maybe--just maybe--Liam has the same problem with Zayn) [Started from the Tumblr prompt: Fake relationship AU]

Ridiculous by scottmcniceass

They are every cliched high school story. The jock and the rebel. The popular boy and the outsider. They shouldn't fit, and they definitely shouldn't work, but they sort of do anyways.

Nobody Knows You Baby (The Way I Do) by transteverogers

Zayn and Liam accidentally get nominated for cutest couple at school and Louis makes a bet with them that they won't win.

(AKA the one where everyone was betting and nothing is accidental)

You Know I Got You by zipplekink

“You don’t think I look stupid?” Zayn murmurs, fingers spreading across Liam’s thigh to tug him closer. He keeps his hand there, resting against his inner knee, gently cupping it and smoothing a thumb across the rough material of his jeans.

Liam snorts, he can’t help it. His breath is catching in his lungs just looking at Zayn because he is so beautiful, and he can’t grasp the concept of how Zayn doesn’t get it.

[Alternatively, the one where Zayn and Liam will do anything to protect and take care of the other, but admitting their feelings well -]

You Never Give Up On Me by sunshinexbomb

Zayn doesn’t know if it’s funny or a little sad that they keep skirting around this thing they’ve gotten themselves into. Sometimes it hurts knowing that Liam never asks him to stay even though Zayn knows he wants him to. He wonders how long he can keep doing this, can keep waiting for Liam, and he doesn’t know if it scares him or not that he could possibly wait forever.

In which Zayn is an English teacher tempted to write awful poetry about the warm coffee color of Liam's eyes, Liam is a primary ed teacher and single parent who thinks he's too busy to be in a relationship, Niall and Harry are the sickeningly cute newlywed teachers in the school, and Louis is a drama teacher who is not-so-patiently waiting for the day of his own wedding.

Let's Be Alone Together by we_are_the_same

After getting his heart broken, Liam escapes his life in London by boarding a plane to Amsterdam. Along the way, he finds someone just as lost as him. Together they might just be able to find themselves.

“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and road trips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs, but people more than anything else. You will need other people and you will need to be that other person to someone else, a living breathing screaming invitation to believe better things.” - Jamie Tworkowski

Thanks for being that person for me, Li.

ZM.

Or, maybe in the end it doesn't matter so much where you end up, as long as you aren't alone.

You Know How I Feel by LSFOREVER

AU. It all starts because Liam decides to take some classes at his Aunt's art studio.

Let Lips Do What Hands Do by erstwhiled

You're not supposed to fall in love with students, it's unethical or something.

a game that I'm destined to lose by we_are_the_same

college!AU. Liam doesn't like Zayn, because Zayn keeps falling asleep in class yet manages to get straight A's all the time while Liam barely manages to scrape by, and if you ask Liam Zayn is just a complete dick who thinks there's nothing wrong with becoming Liam's colleague at the on-campus coffee place.

Permanent by scottmcniceass

At twenty-six, Liam has made a name for himself as one of the best football players of his generation. He's in the prime of his game when a car accident threatens to end his career permanently. Depressed and hating the world, Liam heads back to his home town to take some time off and find himself again. He doesn't expect to find life pretty much the way he'd left it eight years ago, and he definitely doesn't expect to find something that might make him want to stay permanently, but that's what he gets.

say it out loud by ieatravioli

Liam has a younger sister who is deaf and he meets Zayn; an alumni from his sister's school. Zayn has just found out that he's qualified to receive a Cochlear implant and decides to go through with the procedure.

The Difference Between Knowing and Knowing by luxover

“They say I’m in a band,” Liam tells his mom. He squeezes his eyes shut, his phone pressed tight against his ear. “I don’t even remember any of it.” In which Liam gets temporary amnesia and forgets things even more important than the fact that he's in a band.

Cold Gym Floor Honeymoons by jannika

A High School AU where they are all in competitive Marching Band and out to make their senior year their tenth championship running. Louis wants to lead but not grow up, Zayn hates everything except for all the good things that keep happening to him, Harry is good luck and maybe just a little naïve, Niall only ever has whiskey and is glad he gets a guitar solo, and Liam has only ever done this in theory but he can't wait to put it into practice. Also featuring Louis crawling into Zayn's window a lot, which is no one is jealous of at all. Honestly. And a High school Zayn can't wait to get out of, even though the five of them sort of run it.

the truth or something beautiful by blackwayfarers

"Oh," Liam says like he's been hit in the sternum, turning to Zayn with his eyes wide and running his hands back through his hair. "Oh my God, that's it. Your family, they must have thought – like, because you invited me back home for Christmas and, oh, God – they think we're boyfriends."

Snail Jellybeans by thesilverwitch

Liam has been in love with Zayn since the moment he first saw him in the Hogwarts Express. Five years later, and he still hasn't quite figured out how to tell him that.

Or, the one where Liam and Zayn are pathetically in love with each other (but take too damn long to let the other one know), Louis refuses to admit he has crush on Harry, and Niall just wants there to be a food marathon.

the spark is not within me by crookedcrown

This is not how Zayn thought his life would turn out. He was going to go to university. He was going to be a teacher.

But now he runs errands for a gangster named Paul in South London - picking up packages, collecting money. Then he's sent to pick up a boy who's just been released from prison and...

Well, this isn't the life Zayn had imagined, but it's the only one he's got.

Don't Go by scottmcniceass

Liam's out of the country most of the year because of his job, but he needs someone to take care of his dog. Zayn thinks he's hit the jackpot when he starts renting the room in Liam's apartment. He gets the whole place to himself most of the year, and all he has to do is walk and feed a dog.

He never expected to fall in love with Liam, but it happens anyways.

Hear My Beating Heart One Last Time by khaleesiq

“Is this… is it normal?” Liam asks. “To get more than one result? “Not at all,” she replies, and Liam’s heart pounds a little harder in fear. “They have a word for it, but it’s dangerous and you can’t tell anyone, not even your parents, what you are.” “What am I?” Liam asks, getting more nervous by the second. “It’s called Divergent,” she tells him in a hushed voice. (Or, a Divergent AU that doesn't follow the book series at all and Liam is Divergent and hiding and Zayn is Erudite and trying to save Divergents.)

until the stars are all alight (orphan_account)

Liam is a retired former astronaut with the World Space Agency in the year 2134. He was once the ace pilot and pride of Britain until tragedy pushed him out of the service. He's approached by astrophysicist Louis to join a crew that's being assembled to go rescue an astronaut left on the Mars Space Station. This is Zayn Malik. Liam is the only pilot available with the experience necessary to fly a mission to a damaged station.

Slowish burn.

your albatross, let it go by darlingjustdont

They’re all here for a reason, Liam’s not stupid. They all have reasons to be in a safe house in the middle of Budapest, and here’s proof. They might need to talk about it soon. Not now, though, when one of them looks to be shaking apart at the seams.

They've all been so hurt, and they're trying to piece themselves back together.

Clean by unfortunate17

Liam's been in love with Zayn almost as long as he can remember and living in a heavily policed, alien, post-apocalyptic world doesn't change this fact. Things would be simple, he thinks, if Zayn would just come to understand the feelings he has for Liam (they exist, Liam is positive of this) and then maybe they could be happy together. But, Zayn is fickle minded, and he likes to mess with Liam's head - though sometimes, Liam is convinced there's something innately off about him and his memory. There's a reason why Zayn is like this, Liam thinks, but unfortunately he just can't seem to remember why.

A story that features: a house that becomes a home, two people with the same face, and a love that stretches beyond death.

I Think I'm Going To Win This Time (orphan_account)

“But this is my job, Louis. This has been my dream since I was a kid whose dad came home with his first pair of skates. I’m scared to lose this.”

“Who said you’re losing this?”

“No one is out yet Louis… We don’t know.”

“I can't tell you what to do, Liam. But he’s the happiest I have ever seen you with anyone and he looked so happy with you.”

“What should I do?” Liam deflates.

“Liam, I can't decide for you. Hockey is everything for us. It was once our hobby, our dream, our goal, and now it’s our life. But in a few years from now when we’re old and rusty and retired and watching young lads take our place. Is it Zayn who you want by your side or not?”

Liam has decisions to make and sometimes they're more heart breaking than the outcome.

Inside the Pocket of Your Ripped Jeans by ellipsometry

Fuck Niall, honestly. Fuck him for telling Zayn about this – he of all people should know that despite his leather-jacket-and-cigarette façade, underneath it all Zayn is just a hopeless romantic. And when dealing with hopeless romantics you can’t go serving mysterious, hunky, salt-water-washed strangers up on a silver platter. You just can’t.

It's a simple concept, really: Take a photo, then leave a photo. But, like most simple things, Zayn manages to make it much more complicated. So by the time Zayn meets Liam for the first time, he's been carrying a picture of him around in his pocket for nearly five months.

Iron & Ivory by transteverogers

Liam knows he's a shitty shadowhunter but he doesn't need Zayn Malik- the son of the reasons his parents are dead- of all people teaching him to fight.

(AKA the one where they don't hate each other and then do and then they sort of don't and they really do and then they really don't and then one hates the other until they actually fucking talk for once)

Clockwork by unfortunate17

Genetic engineering in humans, though declared illegal worldwide, wasn’t always forbidden. In fact, Zayn is a living example - wings sprouting from his back and an infinite number of languages ready for use on his quick, tongue. His boyfriend, Liam, brings back all the painful parts of his life with a father who worked on the Human Engineering Project, possessing a sort of fascination with these “hybrids.” Zayn hasn’t told him and doesn’t plan on telling him. But as he learns, there’s no way to run from your past - or identity.

So let's say, I'll come another day by sophieisgod

Zayn meets Liam in 1999, swinging on the gate in his back yard. Liam meets Zayn in 2010, killing time in McDonald’s on the most important day of his life. They have adventures, conquer the world, and fall in love. A story about fate, timing, free will, wonky genetics, parallel universes, significant tattoos, emotional haircuts, sudden nudity, sex crying, and a Batman t-shirt from HMV.

Or, in which Zayn is the time traveller’s wife. No spoilers.

Never the Same Tide Twice by sunfair

Zayn is a successful pop star from the UK, transplanted to LA. He is the product of completely contrived and neatly packaged PR and marketing, including a fake name. Liam Payne is a professional surfer who lives alone in a bungalow on the beach, taking a break after a string of successful competitions. When their paths cross accidentally and it's clear that Liam doesn't recognize him in the slightest, Zayn drops his tired pretenses for the opportunity just to be himself for once.

Somehow I Still Carry On, Burdened By Fears by slashter

He doesn't realize how much pain he's in until the hot water hits his shoulders. He hisses at the sting but lets the water pound his aching muscles anyway, washing himself with Liam's body wash and shampoo, then toweling himself off until he's practically pink. His knees are already buckling as he makes his way over to the dresser, grabbing a pair of clean boxers, and he eases himself into bed, wrapping himself in the cold sheets. He doesn't cry, no, not at all.

[Or the one where Liam's been kidnapped but doesn't remember Zayn and Zayn struggles with loss and love and heartbreak all over again]

we press play don't press pause by snuffleslove

in which zayn's a dancer of one sort, liam's a dancer of another, and harry, niall and louis are all damn good musicians. or, in which zayn's determined to prove that he doesn't fit in anywhere, and along the way discovers that he's fit in all along.

Connected by lazy_daze

Liam works at Poundland and Zayn does the windows displays - it's no Selfridges, but it's a start. When they open a musical box that Zayn borrowed from Styles Antiques, something interesting happens...

to this breathing end by magneticwave

Liam should know better, when he opens his email and the most recent message is from Louis with the subject line: YOU NEEDTO WWATCHI THIS IMEDIATELY. // Or, Zayn does a Hysterical Literature session and blows Liam’s fucking mind.

I'm a frail evergreen, be a bauble hanging off of me by jannika

Liam has a brand-new job just in time for the holidays and just in time to be assigned one of his brand-new coworkers in the annual holiday exchange. One of his brand-new coworkers who happens to be that incredibly attractive guy who works in the art department.

Or ridiculous holiday fluff in which Louis, Liam and Zayn are coworkers. Liam is trying to get to know Zayn, Louis has a master plan, Zayn's making a bet with himself, Niall's making a different bet, and Harry is a biased judge.

fooled around and fell in love by tachycardia

“I have a proposal - a proposition,” Liam corrects quickly. “For you.”

Liam and Zayn pretend to be engaged.

Some Love Wait Till Its Time by wasp

It hadn’t occurred to Zayn that they would start loving other people, people that weren’t each other. That it would be devastating but they’d survive, they’d keep on going with their lives. It hurts a lot more than Zayn expected.

University!AU where heart-in-the-right place but always-trying-to-save-people Liam Payne meets slightly pretentious hipster Zayn and tries to mend his broken heart.

higher than the moon by tinyweirdloves

au. zayn is an art model and liam should not be staring this much.

But the sun comes up instead by blackwayfarers

Zayn Malik, charming and confident fraternity vice-president, meets shy but achingly endearing high schooler Liam Payne at a kegger and everything just goes straight to hell.

Burning Away From Inside by scottmcniceass

They're a little too dysfunctional to be considered superheroes, but they do their best.

The List by scottmcniceass

Louis constantly gets Liam into trouble. Zayn is always there to get him out of it.

How Blue Is Your Heart by estrella30

The reporter smiles gently. “No pressure, it’s just that you’re at a gallery opening, so I was curious. Do you have any favorites you’re hoping to see?”

“Oh, you know.” Liam laughs softly. “Not really. I’m just along to keep Harry company if you must know; he’s the art guy of the group.

or, a Zayn/Liam fic based on the tumblr post here:

Zayn is a famous artist and Liam is in a famous boyband and they meet at an art gallery opening

Tunnel Vision by scottmcniceass

In which Zayn is an award-winning popstar with a knack for getting himself in trouble, and Liam is the bodyguard he didn’t want to hire who has a few problems with staying professional.

Some Girls by Rave

“I did some research,” Liam says, busily pulling up Safari. His voice sounds masterfully, miraculously steady in his own ears. “I think probably the best thing to do is like, get to know yourself. Um. And your, like. New equipment."

Zayn wakes up a girl. Liam tries to be helpful.

Hollow Creatures Don't Feel the Earth Shake by wasp

Zayn didn't think he'd ever see Liam again, that much was a fact to him. He never wrote and he never called. Zayn wrote letters, he wrote loads of them but he never had the courage to send them because it felt like Liam left him, didn't want anything to do with him and without Liam there to tell him otherwise, it was so easy to believe.

And Wonderful Is True by jannika

An AU in which Louis owns a bar he should probably close on Wednesdays, Niall turns down job offers, Zayn doesn’t make art anymore, Liam’s scones come premade and frozen, Harry cooks in other people’s kitchens, and two of them are lying. Or the one where Liam, Zayn and Louis are too tangled in each other to move anymore until Harry shows up.

When we meet on a cloud by retts

'By the way, Liam, Zayn here is your biggest fan. He’s a total fanboy. Practically lives in your tag on Tumblr, he does.'

Zayn is going to kill Louis.

Can I Keep You by scottmcniceass

Liam is always trying to do what's best for himself and his daughter, but raising a kid on his own at twenty-two, on top of juggling school work and a full-time job, isn't easy. Zayn just wants a chance to show Liam that he's not going to walk out on them. And Liam's daughter, Emma? She just wants to keep Zayn.

i'll see you down the line by blurrychildren (roadsider)

AU where Zayn works in the snack shop of the local skating rink and Liam’s a hockey player (worse, an attractive one).

Tangled Up in You by marcel

It turns out Zayn’s flatmate is essentially a disney prince. Zayn wonders how this became his life.

There's Probably a German Word for This by matchsticks_p (matchsticks)

Harry uses Nick's radio dj powers for evil and also for love. Or, a story about Harry and Nick pretending to date while trying to get Zayn and Liam to date for real.

wished upon parallel lines by pendules

AU. In which they go to a performing arts school, Liam is a piano genius, and Zayn has a secret.

do firemen dream of exploding sheep by blathering_kat, fiarra

It's Zayn's first year as an English teacher, and when he hears that the drama department is doing Shakespeare - and one that they're reading this semester - he has to see. He just wasn't expecting the exploding sheep.

Maybe One Day They Will Mean Something by wasp

Seeing Liam pressed up against Louis, soft, satisfied smile lighting up his face, does pretty much make Zayn want to crawl into a hole and stay there for a while but this is much much worse. He prefers Liam fussing over Louis to see him biting his lips until they’ve about to burst.

This Is What We're Doing Now by Rave

“Cursed me,” Zayn said mournfully. “Mm’a victim.”

“Bollocks. I dared him to let me turn him into a person who lets himself have a little fun in public,” Louis said. “Temporarily! Temporarily. He’ll be back to his sulky old self in a couple of hours.”

“You put a curse,” Zayn said. “On me. You’re a bad friend. Can I touch your hair?” (Hogwarts AU Yule Ball snippet.)

you're the answer to the question I didn't know I was asking by estrella30

everyone thinks zayn and liam are shagging. that is, everyone except zayn and liam

the boys of summer by countthestars

Louis cracks open his can and holds it up in a toast. “To the best summer of our lives,” he declares.

“To graduating high school,” Harry adds.

“To beer!” Niall crows.

Liam looks around the fire at his three best friends in the entire world, the rest of summer stretching out in front of them as vast and endless as the ocean. There’s nowhere on earth he’d rather be.

“To friendship,” he says.

Four cans clink together in a toast and just for a moment, Liam feels like he’s invincible.

;

Liam is 17 the summer he falls in love.

Take My Hand (I Promise) by sunshinexbomb

And really, that’s what Liam is, Zayn’s anchor. Keeps him from floating off in his own thoughts and fears and angers. Whenever Zayn needs him, Liam’s there with a gentle touch, a soothing gesture that feels just right.

or four times liam holds zayn's hand to comfort him and one time zayn does the same for liam.

Listen As We Go by sunshinexbomb

“What would people think?”

“What would people think of what?” Louis asks.

Zayn opens his eyes to glance at Louis’ confused expression. “Of the CEO of Malik Developments going out with an eighteen year old kid?”

AKA in which Zayn is a young CEO, Liam is his college boyfriend, and it’s all a big secret even though they both wish it wasn’t.

You Will Always Burn As Bright by sunshinexbomb

There’s no way anybody could truly love the boy with the black wings.

Beam Me Up by StormDancer

One Direction fans really are from everywhere...

Here I Stand by StormDancer

Zayn lifts his chin, turns so that he’s facing Harry. He doesn’t look at Liam, because he can’t bear to look, and because he’s really not trying to be mean or pointed. Liam can do what he wants. But Zayn drew a line in the sand a long time ago, and it matters. “I’m not hiding, Haz. This is who I am. They can deal with it.”

Cry Into Your Shoulder by StormDancer

It's 3 AM, Liam's world is falling apart, and all he knows how to do is to let Zayn fix it for him.

Cards on the Table by StormDancer

Slowly, very slowly, Zayn nods. “After the job,” he agrees, and turns to leave. But then he pauses, with his hand on the doorknob, and Liam braces himself because he knows the signs of a Zayn Malik bit of wisdom coming. “But Liam—” he talks to the side, not looking back, “You keep on wanting me to show my hand. But you--you’ve barely got any money in the pot.”

In which Liam pines, Zayn broods, Louis is manic, Harry charms everyone, Niall makes the best sandwiches, and stealing the money is barely the point at all.

As He Moves by scottmcniceass

Zayn thought he wanted to know where Liam worked. Apparently he thought wrong.

Burning Away From Inside by scottmcniceass

They're a little too dysfunctional to be considered superheroes, but they do their best.

Connected by scottmcniceass

Fed up with Zayn and Liam skirting around how they feel about each other, the rest of the band devise a plan to get them to own up to their feelings.

(Or, Zayn and Liam are oblivious and annoying, the rest of the band can't handle it anymore, and handcuffs were probably not intended to be used this way.)

Lover Dearest by scottmcniceass

"First rule, babe," Zayn says, leaning down. His lips slide over Liam's jaw, barely there, just a soft pressure, fleeting and gone as soon as it came. "Never trust a vampire."

He's grinning as he climbs off Liam, heading for the door. Liam watches him go, thinking that he's wrong. The first rule should be to not fall in love with one.

The Way It Is by scottmcniceass

Liam makes a habit of drunkenly stumbling into Zayn's room, and Zayn makes a habit of lying to everyone about how he feels.

Only Place I Call Home by scottmcniceass

Liam works at a coffee shop; Zayn is a homeless street performer who plays just outside the shop. Sometimes Liam brings Zayn coffee and donuts and in exchange Zayn sings for him.

Every Little Secret by scottmcniceass

It’s always Liam, isn’t it? Since he met the damn guy, he’s crawled under Zayn’s skin like he was made to fit there and the only way to get him out would cause Zayn serious harm.

(Or the one where all the boys are in boarding school except Liam, Zayn sort of hates the world, and he wants nothing more than to save Liam from it.)

What We Become by scottmcniceass

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“It’s okay if you are,” Harry says seriously. “I mean, I know I would be. Like, if there was ever a date that was destined to go bad, it’s probably this one. Werewolf goes on date with the son of a werewolf hunter, who’s also training to be a werewolf hunter when he’s older, while another pack of werewolves are practically massacring the town, and no one has no idea how to stop them. It's not a question of what could go wrong. It's a question of what could possibly go right, and I'm willing to bet the answer to that is nothing."

I'll Be Strong For You by scottmcniceass

When Zayn breaks his leg attempting to skateboard over Harry's car, he ends up stuck in the hospital for two weeks. The only thing he doesn't hate about the hospital is the gorgeous volunteer, Liam, who is almost annoyingly sunny and happy. But Liam's got a secret a secret hidden behind his impossibly bright smile.

Good Thing At a Bad Time by scottmcniceass

Zayn prefers to be on his own. It's easier to survive when you don't have to worry about anyone else. Liam leads a large group of people that have taken residence in an abandoned prison. When Zayn wakes up in a prison cell, all he can think about is finding a way out. Liam makes him want to stay.

Chaotically by scottmcniceass

The way Zayn plays makes Liam feel a lot of things, but mostly it just makes Liam want him.

Floating On The Water by scottmcniceass

Liam just wants to get through his last summer working at Malik Resort before University without incident. Of course, life is never that easy, and he ends up getting roped into giving the bosses son, Zayn, swimming lessons. That wouldn't be so bad, if Zayn didn't happen to hate him so much.

Your Fingertips, So Touchable by scottmcniceass

When Liam gets upset, he tends to retreat into himself. Zayn helps him through it.

Such a Flirt by scottmcniceass

Five times Liam thinks Zayn is playing around, and one time that Zayn proves to him that he isn't.

keep this love (in a photograph) by carissima

"So Liam asked you to slide down his pole then?" Harry yells over the music.

Zayn nods for a second before he starts frowning. “Wait, no, not like that! He was being nice!”

"You’ve called Liam nice like, ten thousand billion times tonight," Harry points out. "You fancy him!"

"Do not," Zayn protests. His head feels heavy so he lets it drop onto Harry’s shoulder. "He’s just -"

"Nice?" Harry supplies unhelpfully.

Or the one where Liam's a fireman, Zayn's a photographer and yeah, there's a calendar shoot or two involved.

i will hold you closer by carissima

"Liam, put your arms around my neck," he grits out, relieved when Liam nuzzles closer, probably seeking warmth, and his arms wrap around Zayn's neck. allowing Zayn to breathe again. "God I need to go to the gym," he mutters as he turns and heads for the elevators.

Or a five times (plus one) story because Zayn actually picked Liam up onstage and I had a massive meltdown over it.

silence and sound by carissima

Frustrated and tongue-tied, Zayn does the only thing he can think of in that moment and he surges forward, pressing his lips against Liam's.

The last thing he expects Liam to do is kiss him back.

Or the one where Zayn's jealous of Louis and Liam's closeness after Liam splits up with his girlfriend and it takes them a year to figure it all out.

Tower by threeturn

As usual Zayn is unreachable: a fairy tale.

When it came time to leave, it was never the right day by jannika

"Did you want me to come rescue you from the handsome not-really-a-stranger during the blizzard with the car I don’t have?" Louis asks.

AU. Zayn can't get home from work because of the snow storm. Liam lives right around the corner and isn't about to just let Zayn freeze. Fluff.

Baby, I Want You by slashter

Zayn's bruised and marked up good, shaking and moaning with Liam's name on his lips, and Liam doesn't think he's ever loved anyone this much before.

But Zayn's not there in the morning, and even though he's under an unnecessarily thick duvet, Liam feels so, so cold.

[Or the one where Zayn won't admit his feelings unless he's drunk and Liam pines. A lot.]

You Reflect In This Heart Of Mine by slashter

Liam bites his lip. "I, uh...wasn't happy with myself, really. It took me a while to realize it, but eventually I couldn't deny I was..." He pauses, contemplating. "...different. And I didn't like it. So I kind of forced myself to be with Anne and told myself to love her. I rushed into marriage and all that but it wasn't until we had Harry that I realized that I hadn't changed. And Anne was angry, of course, and she gave me Harry, but I'm so glad she did, I honestly wouldn't be happy at all if it wasn't for him." "I get it." Zayn says, finally. "I wasn't happy for a lot of my life because I'm also--" He smirks, winking at Liam. "--different." Liam's breath catches and his heart beats a bit faster, but he just nods and tries to play it off. "But I'm perfectly fine with it now, really." Zayn adds, turning his face back to the sky and closing his eyes again. "Me too." Liam says, softly, and it might just be a trick of the light, but he swears he sees the corner of Zayn's mouth turn up into a smile.

[Or the one where Liam takes Harry to a boy scout camp for the weekend and meets Zayn and Louis]

Marvel by sunnysideup

Liam saves Zayn's dog. Zayn steals Liam's heart.

it's a love story by robpatFF

Liam has a fever and Zayn makes incredible soup. Or alternatively, that one schmoopy sick!fic

Armour of Faith by photo41

In 2014, Zayn Malik, an army medic, is still out in the Middle East- he's stationed as humanitarian relief along the Iraqi/Syrian border. Exploring, he innocently touches a carving in an ancient cave- and suddenly finds himself thrust into a much different war in the year of our Lord...1188.

Hurled back in time by forces he cannot understand, Zayn's destiny is soon inextricably intertwined with the Knights Templar and the Third Crusade. He is catapulted without warning into the intrigues of knights, Lords and Kings that may threaten his life ...and shatter his heart.

For here, not only will he need to find a way home, but he also may find the love of a past-life.

Ring Me Up, Cash Me Out by ThankYouMerlin

“For you, yeah?” Liam grinned, almost shy, as he backed away towards the front door of the store.

“For me, yeah,” Zayn turned the peanut butter cup between his fingers. “Thanks, Leeyum.”

Liam blushed as he pushed through the door and left.

“Well,” Louis said. “If you two are quite finished.”

or, the one where Zayn, Harry, Niall, and Louis work at a convenience store in the town where Liam lives.

alternately titled: all i wanna do is (gun shot, gun shot, cash register noise) and make you my honey

You're My Favorite Story by ziammehome

A zombie outbreak leaves Liam teamed up with Zayn, a stranger with a motorcycle who saves Liam's life. Their world has been turned upside down, and all they really have is each other.

you'll never treat yourself right, darling, but i want you to by wafflehood

He loves it, the singing and the touring and the fans and the boys, his boys, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, not being a fireman or an Olympic runner, and he’s so, so grateful for everything he’s been given, everything they’ve been given. But sometimes he reads hateful tweets, or comments not meant to be hurtful but end up feeling like a punch in the gut anyway, listens to people belittle everything they’ve achieved, and he doesn’t mean to let it get to him, but it does.

(or, in which Liam doesn't love himself, (or think he deserves to be loved by anyone else), and Zayn tries to show him why he should).

The Visible Beauty of a Voice That Sings by luxover

"You have the most beautiful voice I've ever seen," Liam says, whispering because it's a secret, because it's truer than anything he's ever said in his entire life.

Good Morning (orphan_account)

It’s the last weekend before the start of University. Oh, and Liam's birthday. Leave it up to Liam’s best mate Louis to drag them all off to London for “a weekend you’ll never forget.” Liam doesn’t think Louis’ plans ever included meeting Zayn Malik… the one person who makes Liam’s birthday anything but what he planned it to be

let's pretend it's love by wafflehood

Pretend!boyfriends fic in which Liam and Zayn get papped while hamming it up for Louis and Eleanor, and management decides the easiest way to deal with the resulting hysteria is to let it run its course.

You're a good sign by retts

‘Anyway, thank you so much for your help. You didn’t have to. You could have just walked on by like everyone else.’

Did that make Zayn sound bitter? Perhaps a tiny bit but the boy just laughed, a bright sound that made people look at them even more weirdly, still on their knees and talking like they weren’t blocking the way.

‘I couldn’t,’ said the boy honestly, pushing his fringe back, revealing ears that were pink at the tips.

‘Then you’re the nice one,’ said Zayn. If niceness had a face, Zayn was probably looking at it. He stuck out his hand suddenly, startling the other boy. ‘Er, I’m Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik.’

The smile Zayn received sort of took his breath away.

‘Liam Payne. It’s very nice to meet you, Zayn.’

Or Liam and Zayn in four different seasons + one more because life is basically a circle.

My favourite book by retts

The thing he missed most was Zayn. All of him, from his cranky morning self to the wanton boy fucking down on Liam’s dick later that night (and sometimes in the afternoon as well). The one who could spout poetry like it was his native tongue and the one who could barely say anything when he was deeply upset. The one who wore fake glasses and felt at home in Liam’s clothes. The one who was mad for kids and shrieked at the sight of spiders. The one who cried in Ghana and the one who drew superheroes who looked like Liam. The one who didn’t eat pork and the one who quietly but fiercely loved Allah.

Zayn. Liam’s Zayn. The one who, not long ago, had whispered things in Urdu into Liam’s neck that felt like beautiful promises.

secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) by swallowsmateforlife

Zayn and Liam are in love. Everyone knows except for them. Cue romantic rides up the chairlifts, snowy weather feelings, and a whole lot of cute.

Written for the Ziam Winter Fic Exchange. The prompt I chose was: "The boys go skiing and get snowed in. Do they have to cuddle for warmth? How does their relationship change after 3 days of only each other’s company? Hint: SEX."

Yours Faithfully by threeturn

Planet-hopping popstars Liam and Zayn are used to odd presents from their intergalactic fanbase, but when an alien admirer gives them Harry and Louis, the gift comes at a particularly awkward moment in their relationship. Also featuring a gang of rebel girls and a sentient spaceship called Niall.

i'll always have you by somerdaye

what if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves?

i do the same thing, i get lonely too by detectivemills

Aside from creaming his pants for a fictional character, though, Zayn's doing okay. Except for the fact that he has to start most of his days by locking his cat out of the bathroom and wanking for twenty minutes.

O Green World by Suchthingbutnever

At the verge of summer, with his Bachelor thesis waiting and stale coffee in his cup, Liam stumbles over a person, hunched-over and blood-shot and so, so bright.

be a place that i call home by lightseep

sometimes, home is a person. and sometimes, home is lots of people and sometimes home is two very, very little people.

This Love Left a Permanent Mark by harrietelizabeth

Liam’s memory of Zayn is a summer afternoon, scraping enough money together between them for ice creams and a pack of smokes, the window open in Liam’s room to entice a breeze inside. It’s midnight conversations and early morning kisses, still half asleep. It’s all the words Liam never knew how to say until he heard them from Zayn’s lips.

And Zayn’s memory of Liam is….well, that’s the problem. Liam has no idea.

Be cruel to me ('cause I'm a fool for you) by frenchkiss

“Baba, can I get the same job as Leeyum when I grow up?”

“If you want, flower,” Zayn snorts, ruffling her hair fondly. “Liam here can teach you.”

“Oh, no, I can’t have someone who could potentially love penguins more than me threatening my job,” Liam says in a fake-serious tone. “I mean, Raani here even has a t-shirt and I don’t think I can compete with that.”

“No, no, Leeyum, I won’t steal your job,” Raani shakes her head hurriedly. “I’m only five, I don’t think I can steal your job until I’m old.”

Or the one where Zayn is a stressed out single dad, Liam might just be what he needs, Louis and Niall are always happy to babysit and Harry's a loud snorer.

Written for the Ziam Winter Fic Exchange.

I Think I'm Falling by wasp

Zayn wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t supposed to fall - he had wings. He had the biggest, strongest, most beautiful wings out of all of them. Liam made a deal for Zayn's life. It was the easiest decision of his life.

only fools rush in by vanessamary

"That rockabilly sound wasn't as simple as I thought it was." - Carl Perkins, 1954.

It's 1956 and Autumn is descending on the town, when Liam, Louis, and Jade find themselves expanding their horizons, learning abut life, love, and everything in between, all to the tune of that rockabilly music their parents keep warning them about.

The Underdogs by blackwayfarers

Zayn Malik hates everything about winter. He hates the snow, he hates scraping the ice from his car, he hates freezing every time he steps outside, he hates wearing hats and heavy jackets. In fact, the only thing he doesn't hate about it are his hockey player buddies and his childhood best friend, Liam Payne, the teenage star hockey player and captain of their small town team.

An AU about boys learning how to deal with a terrible Canadian winter.

I Taste the Sparks on Your Tongue (orphan_account)

He decides, in these shadows of his house, with this new feeling raised over his skin, that this is his favorite place – right next to Liam.

Or Zayn might've fallen for Liam a long time ago, but Harry is the one he awakens him to the idea that Liam has fallen too.

Baby You Were Meant to Keep by amazonziti

It’s honestly not Zayn’s fault Liam gets himself stuck in the Underworld.

we were just kids in love by transgenicveins

'it's just Liam and Zayn and red dirt and the hot sun and a whole new uncharted world of music.'

take this sinking boat and point it home by snuffleslove

Liam's on his way to get groceries when he hears the music. It's low and beautiful, seeping through his skin and settling in his bones and Liam forgets about everything else, makes a sharp turn towards the source of it, nearly turning over his bike in his haste. He rounds two corners before he finds the boy, sitting on an overturned bucket with a guitar in his lap and a bike carelessly toppled by his feet.

Or, a Once the Musical AU but I write a happy ending instead because those are so much more enjoyable. For anyone who hasn't seen the musical (you should), this is basically angsty zayn/li kidfic.

storm in my blood by snuffleslove

Zayn's managed to peel himself away from the window and he curls up, hides his face between his knees. Harry tries to offer him some kind of comfort but Zayn shrugs him off. He's closed his eyes but his body remains rigid and Liam's lost, has no idea what to do. He stares back at the girls. From this distance he can barely make out the phrases, but the neatly printed blocked letters that form the words Miss your uncle Bin Laden? We dont! and No burkas for Perrie! burn bright in his mind anyway, and he needs no reminder.

All the Stars and Boulevards by snuffleslove

A university AU in which Louis, Zayn, Harry, Liam and Niall are students at Columbia and take the city by storm.

Like Peter Pan (Or Superman) (orphan_account)

Zayn has spent most of his life up until now in a cloud of smoke, hiding from his past, being different. When a firefighter named Liam rescues him from a fire, Zayn starts to realize maybe Liam's saved his life in another way... and he's not quite sure he's ready to be that guy he should've been all along. But maybe, just for Liam, he can?

a tornado flew around by snuffleslove

just another achy ziam canon fic featuring a piny zayn and a piny liam and all knowing bandmates, and i'm really bad at summaries, just read, ok?

the bittersweet between my teeth by gaysubtexts

liam and zayn grow up together, louis, niall, and harry tagging along later on. that's it.

If Losing This Game Still Won Me the Bronze by jannika

An AU spanning a decade, in which the world is huge and they’re all just trying to find ways to handle it. Harry and Louis fight, Niall plays guitar, Liam runs, Zayn draws, and there are stars stuck on ceilings and chocolate and books Liam doesn’t read.

Once For Everybody Who Got Left Behind by pukeandcry

Liam doesn’t know how to wrap his head around this, because the question shouldn’t be -- the question should be how is there a ghost in his room, not whether or not he’s done something to offend it. “Well, like. I might’ve told him that ghosts don’t exist?”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t like that,” Louis says.

(or, the AU where Zayn is a ghost, and Liam moves into his attic).

two sets to one by retts

Whatever. They play tennis, except for Niall who's Louis' physio. And there are cameos by actual tennis people. And Harry's still a minor, so. And Liam and Zayn are signed by Adidas. Together. Because they play Doubles, of course. They are all so gay, except for Niall again who really needs to get some.

Romance and conflict in Melbourne Park. Bring on the heat.

to a very crowded place by blurrychildren (roadsider)

Zayn is arrogant and a fencer (and kind of an asshole, actually), and Liam really shouldn't be as good as he is, dammit.

Like Flying (orphan_account)

The Olympics are really just an excuse for falling in love. Plus fencing and gymnastics.

Let's be young, let's pretend that we never will die. by jannika

in group sessions they all have to repeat over and over that it wasn't their fault. It was like they had an illness, really. Couldn't be helped. But now that they're better they can be reintegrated back into society.

Liam wonders if reintegration will stop the nightmares he can't seem to shake during the day.

In the Flesh style Zombie AU.

The course of true love never did run smooth by Rosesnfeathers

He lets them talk to look around the room while eating his roasted chicken and to his own despair, he meets Liam’s eyes across the room from where he sits with Niall and their friend Sophia. She talks to Liam but it looks like he is not listening, he is looking straight at Zayn and even in the distance, he can see the coldness in those brown eyes. Zayn lowers his eyes then and concentrates on his food, his chicken being a lot less judgmental than Liam fucking Payne and it hurts a lot less to concentrate on his food than to stare into those eyes. Welcome to seventh year Zayn, nothing really changed and he still hates you just as much.

Or the one where Zayn and Liam are in Hogwarts and kind of hate each other.

according to your heart (my place is not deliberate) (orphan_account)

The fading light brings the world into prospective – the team standing shoulder to shoulder, halfway buzzed on alcohol and cigarettes, grinning goofily at the sky. His boys nudged hip to hip with him and he couldn’t think of another place to be.

(or: a university-volleyball au in which Zayn hates the game but he does it for a scholarship. And for Louis. And possibly for the new freshman setter who keeps teaching Zayn new things.)

And You Know For Me, It's Always You by takemeorleaveme

To be completely fair, the whole town fell in love with Zayn and his son, Tahir, long before Liam ever did.

The Gilmore Girls AU I thought would be a good idea and it turns out, it was.

with every last breath, i feel you on my skin by englandziam

Autumn is his favourite time of year, the soft colours inspiring new sketches in his mind and marking out mental images of distinct paintings. He’s also reminded of his favourite memories – bringing Aashir home on a late Sunday morning and Soraya’s first words uttered in between giggles of Liam decorating them in a flurry of falling leaves. Liam shyly sliding a ring into his palm with a soft, hopeful smile clinging to his lips after he’d woken Zayn with tea and toast in bed, the sigh of relief he’d breathed when Zayn had mumbled an inevitable ‘yes’ over his lips. .

we are the quiet ones by englandziam

Zayn feels invincible, in the midst of this small town with a couple of best mates and literature students who seem to get him. He misses home but as every day approaches these people feel less like strangers and more like family.

(Or a University AU where Zayn is an English student and Liam is the football captain).

I See You Babe, But We Are Both Blind by SoftlyandSwiftly

Zayn's fairly certain the world actually hates him. He's got the shittiest luck, and fate seems to want to fuck with him. But maybe that's exactly what he needs.

One Direction returns to London for a break from their Take Me Home Tour in August 2013, and after an unfortunate run-in at a coffee shop, Liam and Zayn find themselves in a fake relationship. Except, it ends up not feeling fake at all.

(Basically, I wanted to write fakedating!ziam).

They Fall in Love Like This... by SoftlyandSwiftly

Liam Payne meets Zayn Malik the day he auditions for the X Factor, and it's absolutely mental that Zayn is what he remembers most about that day.

The Killing Type by protagonist_m

Liam breathes hotly through his nose, eyes twitching shut as he squeezes a bit more on Zayn’s neck. “Do you know how dangerous what you’re doing is?”

Zayn draws in his own ragged breath. “Do you?”

Zayn is a doctoral student who goes to great lengths to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liam is heading the biggest serial murder investigation London has seen in half a century. And before this, he'd never been sent a love note via corpse.

simple truths of belonging by soofyahn

"He doesn’t think about Zayn, anymore. He doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t daydream and he doesn’t picture those dark eyes catching on his for only half a second, begging so many questions: what are you doing? Are you happy, now? How are you? No, really, how are you? Liam doesn’t think of him. He doesn’t."

Liam spends ten years building the career for himself that he’s always wanted, and spends the same span of time falling out of communication with the one person he can’t reason why he misses. They find each other, again, stumbling around each other for a moment until they fall together in new, unpredictable ways.

even as a dream by zadonis

Life was stable, and that's all that they could ask for, but both of them knew that the time would come with the University ran out of food, when there would be nothing else for them to feed to the fire other than themselves, and Zayn feared that day would come a lot sooner than either of them could hope for. The world has been frozen over for 15 years. Very few people are surviving through the struggle of hypothermia and hunger, but somehow Zayn is. He found a way, he found a love, and he'll stick with it to the end. (a ziam au where there's a lot of snow, a handful of cats and dogs, and a miracle or two in the middle of all of it)

give him the time, he'll know you meant it by Dreams

“What is it, Payne?” Zayn has his back to him, but it’s not like the puppy eyes were ever gonna work.

“I really, truly need your help in Potions. Please, Zayn.”

Zayn turns his head, still not looking at him. His profile looks breathtaking in the dim light of the fire. “You have one chance. Meet me at the Library tomorrow at four. We’ll see after that.” And then he’s off, rushing up the stairs.

(Or, the one in which Liam's failing Potions but then Zayn helps him and they fall in love.)

Together Making One by zenamored

Another thing he really likes about being with Zayn—he’ll never go hungry while he’s around.

Four times Zayn cooks for Liam and one time Liam returns the favor.

people fall in love in mysterious ways by vanessamary

He may be mad in inviting Zayn along tonight, prolonging something that was only supposed to last one night but he couldn’t stand the idea of never seeing Zayn again. He couldn’t get him out of his head, is the thing. Not the way he smiled - with his tongue between his teeth - or the way he brushed his fingers over Liam’s skin - as if he’d been there before and knew what spots to touch. It’s impossible to forget, even though Liam knows he just might have to. If he has to deal with Louis’ snarky comments and Harry’s pitying eyes, so be it.

or a Ziam Weekend AU

Every Step by zipplekink

Every step Liam takes, it's for her, Lily. And every path he's journeyed has somehow led him to Zayn.

I'll See You (in Gold and Blue) by iambluehead

Liam is a keeper for the Tutshill Tornadoes, a Hogwarts dropout, and, at seventeen, the youngest professional Quidditch player in England. Zayn is a seventh year Ravenclaw, most likely the next Newt Scamander, and maybe the only boy in the entire wizarding world who doesn’t keep up with Quidditch. It takes a dragon, three near death experiences, and most of the Daily Prophet’s gossip column journalists for them to figure it out but somehow, they get there in the end. Featuring Louis as Liam’s scheming teammate, Harry as a media intern who just wants an exclusive (and a boyfriend), and Niall as the world’s biggest Tutshill Tornado fan and Hogwarts’ biggest ladies’ man.

put no one else above us by tachycardia

Zayn moves into a house during his last year of university, and he finds people to learn and know and love.

and you take me the way i am (orphan_account)

It’s incredibly relaxing, even in this small space, the way they’ve always been. Such a distraction that he doesn’t think, not for once, about agreeing to lie to his family and Zayn pretending to be his date and how easy all of this might be.

(Liam needs a date to a wedding. His family loves to match him up with blind dates. He doesn't want that. He needs a date... and, well, why not Zayn. Pretending to be boyfriends for a weekend isn't the worst idea he supposes. Liam is horribly wrong.)

Literally, Not Figuratively by SoftlyandSwiftly

Louis locks Zayn and Liam in a closet to force them to confront their feelings. But he's missing a crucial detail.

(they say home) is where you go to rest your bones by darlingjustdont

There’s a warmth in his chest that expands until he feels buoyant almost. Like he could potentially fly. What a fucking cliche. “You okay?” Liam asks, sliding up behind him and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Never been better,” he replies. “Why do you ask?” “You’ve been staring into the cupboard for about three minutes, babe. I don’t think you’re going to find Narnia there, no matter how hard you look.” Zayn snorts and turns so Liam’s bracketed by his legs. “You’re a dork.” Liam shrugs. “You love it, though,” he answers easily and Zayn’s breath catches for a minute. “Yeah, I do.” Zayn's managing just fine as a single father. Louis and Harry are a help, as much as they are terrors, but it's Liam who brings him home.

we may fall (but we get up again) (orphan_account)

It's Liam's favorite moment - helping someone else create a memory. He's always the best man, the one holding everything together at a wedding. And, one day, he's going to fall madly in love and create that moment for himself. And he knows it in his blood - that moment won't include some cynical, smug bloke named Zayn Malik.

(alternately: a 27 Dresses AU where Liam is everyone's favorite best man and he just might be madly in love with his boss ... and maybe with an arrogant writer who hates weddings as much as Liam loves them, too)It's Liam's favorite moment - helping someone else create a memory. He's always the best man, the one holding everything together at a wedding. And, one day, he's going to fall madly in love and create that moment for himself. And he knows it in his blood - that moment won't include some cynical, smug bloke named Zayn Malik.(alternately: a 27 Dresses AU where Liam is everyone's favorite best man and he just might be madly in love with his boss ... and maybe with an arrogant writer who hates weddings as much as Liam loves them, too)

I was a king under your control by frenchkiss

Liam Payne, co-captain of The Rogue and notoriously fierce pirate of the Seven Seas, meets runaway Zayn Malik. This is their love story.

Die Young, Stay Pretty by teaandtumblr

Zayn is happy being a hairdresser who minds his own business; that is, until someone called "Liam" has to come in, dragging his friend on the back of a bet. And, really, Zayn didn't stand a chance.

Remember Me by burymeinziam

In which Zayn and Liam need to forget before they can remember.

kettle and mirror by yasgorl

The delivery truck made it halfway up the long, rutted road, quickly turning white in the evening snow flurry, before leaving its burden at the turn into Liam’s driveway.

Or, the one where Zayn is a robot.

Riding The Horizon by burymeinziam

Zayn has a choice. He’s on the edge, riding the horizon, blurring the line between life and death and he has a choice.

I Don't Know Who I Am (but i find myself in you) by unfortunate17

in which zayn is a controversial, international RnB star and liam never leaves his hospital room.

You've Got Me. by whatisthistho

He took a step closer to the edge of the pier, peering down over the railing before pushing himself up and over it, his hands holding onto the railing that was now behind him. He’d thought about this so many times. So many different ways to do it – but none appealed to him but this because well – Liam couldn’t swim.

Or - Liam is spiraling and Zayn wants to save him.

Viva la Vida by iambluehead

In which Liam is not a princess, but needs saving anyway; everyone is just a pawn in a dangerous game of politics and brutality he’s not sure anyone knows how to play; there’s more than one side to everything and maybe no right side to anything; and you can find and love and learn to live without people even after you’ve lost them. And instead of a princess that needs saving, there might be a boy who never needed anything, except maybe something worth dying for.

(Or, Liam is the crown prince of England who gets kidnapped by rebels and finds out that the world is a big, ugly place full of beautiful, broken-up people who may never get a happily ever after, no matter how hard they try.)

you can coax the cold right out of me by loveontherocks

“Give me a week.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Give me a week,” Liam repeats. “Seven days. Just come hang out with us and let me show you what we do. Please? If by the end you still hate us and everything we stand for, then I won't stand in the way of your petition. Just let me show you.”

“A week?” Zayn asks. “That's it?”

It's a good argument. Seven days and he can meander around hungover college kids and make a list of all the reasons Greek Row shouldn't continue.

Nodding, Liam reaches out his hand to touch Zayn's arm. Zayn doesn't brush Liam off.

“Alright, fine. One week, Liam. And I'm not easily amazed, so I hope you've got something interesting to show me.”

Laughing, Liam rescinds his hand from Zayn's forearm and shakes his head. “I think you underestimate us, honestly. But just you wait.”

or; zayn drafts a petition to shut down the frat houses, but liam convinces him not to.

i'm begging you to keep on (haunting me) by loveontherocks

If Zayn were anywhere but here, he’d think it’d be hilarious. For fuck’s sake, he’s arguing with a goddamn ghost.

And, if Zayn was in complete denial, which he sort of is, he’d think this was a fever dream from knocking back too much alcohol and too much caffeine.

He’s probably lying over the dining room table, in a coma or something, because fuck, he lives alone.

or; Zayn lives alone in a blue house until he doesn't.

you're writing lines about me, romantic poetry by loveontherocks

There’s a moment where there’s just the soft quiet, a calmness that blankets Liam and this boy, just the sound of their breathing, the rain pelting the glass, the turning of a page. And then, the boy begins to read in a voice that’s akin to a whisper, accent thick over his words, the lilt of his tongue serenading Liam with romantic poetry he’s never heard and probably won’t remember, but Liam takes the time to listen the boy’s voice, the words he speaks and how the lines of poetry curl around his heart and make a home in his arteries.

or; Zayn reads poetry to Liam in the middle of the night, in the middle of a bookshop, because they're in love.

Work by coffeewordangel

Turns out Zayn is kind of shit in bed. Liam really loves him anyway.

You Make Me Strong by justyrae

Liam's a pro-boxer, Zayn is his trainer and it turns out Liam has a jealous streak.

When My Heart Is Lonely by Hannyski

19 year old Liam Payne is looking for a way to fund a University course in Behavioural Psychology when he finds the advert for a job playing au pair to three kids. The money sounds too good to be true but it’s worth a shot and that’s how Liam ends up standing on the doorstep of one of the biggest mansions in Bradford, wearing a suit two sizes too big for him and an earnest smile that refuses to falter.

Zayn Malik is 17. Zayn Malik does not need a babysitter. Zayn Malik resents being called a kid. Zayn Malik is spiralling out of control.

Zayn Malik is the oldest sibling placed in Liam's charge.

Inevitably, they clash.

Lifeguard by Mintyshark

Liam works as a lifeguard in his grandparent's neighborhood. But when being distracted on the job leads to a near fatal accident, he finds out how to forgive himself.

Christmas In August by catholicschoolgirl

It sounds so cliché to say that it just happened but – it just happened. Or the one where Zayn is a teen father.

Should Call You That More Often by SoftlyandSwiftly

Based off of a prompt sent to my tumblr: ever since zayn left 1d i've wanted a fic where liam and zayn try to make their relationship work even though they wont be seeing each other as much. skype dates and liam flying zayn out for a tour gig or liam flying home any break he gets to see zayn. for the smut, i imagine zayn being very desperate for liam, constantly wanting his cock and maybe jumping him as soon as he sees him, maybe liam's desperate to eat zayn out, open him up for his dick. ;)

(including a skype call, a phone call, and desperate, needy Zayn but sadly not any tour gigs)

Sounds a Lot Like Love by SoftlyandSwiftly

Zayn doesn't give into this feeling often, but sometimes this is exactly what he needs.

Where Else Would I Be? by SoftlyandSwiftly

Zayn's home again after leaving One Direction, and he's having more trouble adjusting than he'd thought. He's just tired, and he misses the boys. Luckily, a certain boy fixes that.

Literally, Not Figuratively by SoftlyandSwiftly

Louis locks Zayn and Liam in a closet to force them to confront their feelings. But he's missing a crucial detail.

What the Word Means by SoftlyandSwiftly

Zayn's been a little (a lot) in love with Liam for so long now that he doesn't even really think about it anymore. It's just a constant hum in his veins, and he's fine with it he swears, even though Liam has no idea. But then a certain word slips out of his mouth, and well things change.

Just Let Me Know by SoftlyandSwiftly

Zayn wakes up in a hospital, eyes blurry and head pounding, only for a doctor to tell him he's lost two years of his life. And if that's not awful enough, something's different with Liam, off like something has changed, and Zayn doesn't understand. Until he does. And then it's somehow worse.

wanting, wishing, waiting by words_unravel

This is Liam, fourteen to eighteen. This is Zayn, doing his best not to notice.

Not Even the Bad Guys (Could Take it All Away) by iambluehead

"Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away" Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

For Liam, Forever Ago by ThankYouMerlin

And you know it's different now but that doesn't make it easier.

A Full Course Meal by LibbyWrites

Liam had been dreaming about having his own restaurant for a few years. Money was always an issue, though, so when he heard the Food Network was recording a few episodes of Chopped in his city, he let his best friend talk him into participating. Many things could go wrong along the way; from ruthless rivals to impossible ingredients, from unforgiving judges to his own mind getting in the way. He spent long nights fretting about the possibilities and still, he never could have guessed what Chopped really had in store for him.

Life is so simple when I am with you (orphan_account)

Liam rings the doorbell and steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. After twenty seconds or so the door opens and that’s when Liam’s entire everything does a complete rotation.

Because it’s Zayn who answers the door but it’s not Zayn. Zayn was oversized Nike hoodies and plastic chavvy necklaces and an almost shaved head but now… Zayn is… pretty?

Or the one where Zayn is a manipulative little shit, Liam wants a someone, Harry can sleep through anything, Louis wants to give Liam a kick up the arse and Niall's everyone's fave. Featuring Doniya as Liam's bestie.

i could drink a case of you by lovely_ziam

Liam is a firefighter. Zayn is an art journalist, and neither of them do this - (until they do)

Boy Most Likely by saltwatergirl

Zayn’s the chair of the abstinence club, Liam’s the last person anyone expected to join it.

Long As There Are Stars Above You by alienharry

"There's a meteor shower tonight, actually. Thought this might be something you'd like."

Zayn watches Liam for a moment, takes in his soft grin and honest eyes. He's nothing short of breathtaking on a normal day, but when he does these small simple things, Zayn's head gets a bit fuzzy with it. "This isn't a date, you know"

"I'm aware,” Liam laughs.

"Just making sure."

If Zayn were ready to start dating again, he'd want this. He'd want nights alone on the roof and sharing takeout. He'd want the bookstore dates, silent films, watching meteor showers on the roof and teasing each other until they're both giggling. And he'd want it all with Liam.

This isn't a date, it can't be, but God does Zayn wish it was.

Zayn's just finished his undergrad and is ready to stop messing around with strangers and get more serious about his studies as he prepares for his dream job. No relationships, no sex. Which is harder than it sounds when Liam Payne comes into his life.

#ziam #one direction #1d #to read #mine

13 notes · View notes