#So I think if this was sold earlier in my life. I would have So gotten on that

[llatimeria]

The most important invention of the 2020s so far is chocolate-dipped fruits that you can just buy in bags in the freezer aisle of many groceries. please for the love of god keep this up

[nerdie-faerie]

So I'm supposed to be in London tomorrow for a 9am meeting. Just went to check my ticket which I specified I wanted to arrive at 8am for..... and it departs at 11:35pm and gets me there....... the day after my appointment 🤦‍♀️

[randombush3]

labor omnia vincit

alexia putellas x reader

words: 7538

summary: well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

content warnings: a little bit of drugs and alcohol

notes: HEY HEY HEYY. this is a TRILOGY and here’s the first part. enjoy the build up x

2015. London. 

You groan at the thought of singing another word. The mug set haphazardly on the ledge reserved more for instruments than crockery, half in the air after the last time you returned it to its place, is now empty. There is no hot water left to soothe your burning throat, and there is no patience remaining in your finite store. 

The girls, on the other hand, seem to soldier on. A harmony is incorrect? They sing it again. The producer, a fat old man called Dave whose taste in music might rely on his taste in women, isn’t a fan of a certain beat? They are thinking of ways to change it. 

Ever since your single was released two years ago, this has been your life. Or, at least, the less glamorous side of it. The other side, consisting of sold-out arenas, exclusive clubs, and a world tour that only increased your total domination over the music industry, has been paused while you and the girls slave away on the second album. Apparently, you’re being uncooperative. You would call it boredom. 

“It’s four in the morning, Dave,” Anya states, jabbing out her index finger towards his Rolex, paid for with the revenue from the last single you released. It topped the charts for days. Dave glances down at the clock face with a grunt. “Look, Y/n’s already left us and gone to bed.” 

“Still here,” you murmur, rather unconvincingly, from your spot on the far-too-comfortable sofa behind the mixing desk. Sprawling out even further, you wrap your legs around the third member of your group, Gio. She squeals as you pull her on top of you. “I want to go home, though.” 

“Don’t we all know it,” Gio giggles. She’s had at least six cups of coffee since you arrived at the studio for the second recording session of the day – a solid nine hours ago. That was only after a break for a late lunch or early dinner (whichever your dietician preferred to call it). 

“We need to finish.” 

“I need to sleep,” you reply. Gio scrambles off you in time to avoid the glare you are sent by your producer. “And I’m not sleeping here again. Last time it gave me a crick in my neck and I’m fairly sure the cleaner felt me up.” 

“The sexy cleaner is mine,” Anya declares, jerking you upright. Your stomach lurches with emptiness. “Otherwise, I agree. Let us fuck off home. Please, Dave.” 

He looks at the three of you, bags under your eyes, making long rubbed off (or cried away, in Gio’s earlier over-emotional state). You have changed out of the outfit the paparazzi pictured you in earlier, opting for the stained, grey joggers you folded away in your Birkin. Anya and Gio snuck in so that they weren’t caught in their pyjamas. 

Dave sighs. 

“Tomorrow, don’t go for lunch with any of your silly boyfriends. Come here for noon, and we’ll finish when we finish. We’re getting this album done, and you can’t fire me until it’s out.” 

His sense of humour is appreciated, even if his work ethic is not, and you practically bolt out of the studio, friends in tow. 

Anya grabs your hand as you rush down the corridor, making your way to the exit. “No lunch with your boyfriend,” she repeats Dave’s words, mocking his gristly voice. You roll your eyes, snatching your hand away from your friend before pushing open the back door of the studio, heading towards your new BMW i8. 

You have been friends with Anya Kazi and Giovanna Bartoli since the age of two, meeting them on the first day of nursery, specifically after cutting one of Gio’s ringlets off with safety scissors. Though Anya happily clapped along, she did not defend you, and so you went for her hair as well. Your teacher, hoping to quell the budding animosity, placed all three of you in time-out, where a united front was formed. It hasn’t been broken since that moment, though a few years ago, you were terrified it would be. You, with a well-concealed preference for women, however, have managed to keep your friends. They assured you that they 1) already knew and 2) could not care less. 

“You don’t even like cars,” Gio scoffs at the sight of your latest purchase, your last name printed proudly on the number plate. “Was this an ‘I’m famous’ buy or did your daddy get it for you?” 

“He emailed me a few recommendations,” you answer off-handedly, sliding into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. It growls with a mean, menacing precision, the engine’s quality known and heard. “And don’t pretend that your family doesn’t have a Roll-Royce parked in the driveway of their million-pound townhouse.” 

“You are just as much from Hampstead as I am, girl.” 

You roll your eyes, stifling a yawn. Anya pulls out in front of you, no doubt speeding off to avoid the boy-racers you and Gio become at this time of night. 

Your flat has progressed from that of the one you shared with the girls in Princess Park two years ago. It’s nicely decorated, you like to think, with most of the work being done to it while you were touring. 

The walls are hung with artwork; some your own, some not. The canvases and frames adorn every room, dictating the vibe, declaring your individuality to any visitors who choose to admire the paintings and sketches. Then, if they were to look at the shelves dotted around the space, they’d see books with matching themes to the art. Your living room has a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, blown up in a gilded frame, hanging above your green leather sofa, adding colour to the white walls, and then a bookshelf filled with navy-bound novels about whatever you fancy. You’re quite chuffed with the design, though it was really the interior designer you hired who came up with the idea. 

Without a second glance to any of the intricate details of your home, you stumble your way to the bathroom, going through the motions until it is time to get into bed. It’s a big bed – one that often feels too big for just one person – but the mattress is inviting and you dive into a deep sleep head-first, knowing you will not be getting up until someone calls you tomorrow morning. 

…

Barcelona, seven hours earlier. 

The bar is busy, as most are in Barcelona at this time of night, and the girls are out for dinner and a post-training drink. The wine glasses have deceived them all, though, because they have been emptied and refilled a few more times than Xavi would be impressed with. 

A young, budding star does not drink during the season, the alcohol drought both self-inflicted and encouraged by every coach who promises to take her far. Her eyeliner must be smudged by now, but Alexia can’t leave yet because Jenni has promised that she can stay over at her place and she needs her to take her back. 

The reason for her temporary relocation is that Alexia is fed-up with her mother’s pestering, seeing as it is only one week into the season and she is already being called a workaholic. She can’t stay in that house tonight, especially when her little sister is the complete opposite: sleeping with anyone who gives her a chance and never doing anything that will help her future. Eli Segura is baffled by the lack of balance in her life – two daughters, two extremes – but she is the most concerned with her eldest, angering Alexia to no end. 

Alexia is also fed-up with this conversation. It’s all the girls seem to be talking about these days, utterly consumed with this new English girl group just like the rest of the world. 2sday has completely taken over all interesting topics of discussion, and Alexia doesn’t think she can handle being asked which one of their songs she likes the most one more time. 

She likes them, she guesses, but so does everyone. Todo el mundo is in love with all three members. 

The girls are discussing who their favourite is. 

“She’s Italian though, and that’s cool of her,” Jenni argues, putting forward her case for Bartoli as if she chose to have parents from a certain country. Alexia hums in thought, thinking of the pictures she saw from the world tour – how long her legs are, tanned and sculpted and shown off nicely by the mini-skirt she wore. “Did you know that her little sister is a model? She’s called Cristina or something. The beauty is practically in her DNA.” 

“Aren’t all three of them models?” asks Marta pointedly, finger tapping the photoshoot on the magazine cover.

“Well, all three of them are sexy,” Jenni replies, remembering just how enamoured the world is with the three break-out stars. “Ale, which one is your favourite?” The magazine that had sparked this conversation is slid towards the twenty-one-year-old, and she looks at the picture on the front page: you, Gio, and Anya, all dressed in oversized suits with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and eyes piercing, ‘girl power’ brandished over the bottom of the photograph. 

“Y/n L/n,” Alexia answers easily, fascinated by the sculpture of your face. She thinks you are beautiful, in a less crass way than her teammates. “And you lot sound like men with the way you talk about them.” 

“Ooh, Alexia is getting all high-and-mighty,” Jenni teases. “Looks like it’s time to take the baby home.” 

“She’s cranky because she’s tired and it’s past her bedtime,” adds another teammate, though Alexia is too wound up to really care who. 

They all make little pouty faces at her as she finishes the last of her glass of water, the clear liquid standing out against the deep red of most of the table. Jenni rolls up the magazine and swats her shoulder with it, before handing it over to its owner and finally allowing Alexia her rest. 

In silence, they sit in her car – an old Ford in need of replacing but not on the footballer’s list of things she will buy with the money they are now getting. FC Barcelona Femení has become, at last, a fully professional team, and Alexia looks ahead to the future with a hopeful dream and the knowledge that she will need to work hard if she ever wishes to become the best. Jenni has become a good friend ever since she joined the club last year, and she brings a global ambition to the friendship that she knows Alexia does not have. Jenni is from Madrid, and plays for Barcelona because she can, not because it is her club. Her team is the same as her grandfather’s, and she often expresses to Alexia her wish to play for them someday, as well as scoring in every league she possibly can. Young Alexia Putellas has never once considered stepping foot outside of Spain. 

Not only that, but her father died three years ago and here, in Barcelona, is where she feels closest to him. She cannot fathom a life past the plazas and the cobbled streets of her home. And she’s glad. She’s safe here, and she needs nothing more than her team, her family, and a football at her feet.  What more could she possibly want? 

As she settles on Jenni’s sofa, blanket pulled over her body, head resting on a plump cushion that smells faintly of Jenni’s dog, Alexia decides to watch whatever is on TV right now. Jenni, in an attempt to learn English, has found an English news channel that seemingly reports on ‘exclusive’ celebrity news. There you are, plastered on the screen, your picture zoomed in to the point of the pixels blurring.

The woman speaking has a high-pitched and critical voice, saying words that Alexia does not hear. She stares at your picture, considering the life you have, imagining that, one day, footballers like her have the stardom of Beckham and Messi and Ibrahimovic. Though she herself does not crave that exposure, well aware of her shyness, she thinks about the future with a wistful sigh, lost in her dream as the English woman narrates what she can see, judging how you have opened your mouth to take a bite of the food, listing the brands you are wearing. 

And, in her weird, exhausted haze, she sees your face. It’s probably only because you’re on the screen and she’s staring at it, but you are there as she pictures the growth of women’s football. You’re there in the stands as she plays in front of a sold-out Camp Nou, cheering and singing along to Catalan chants she knows you’d never actually know in real life. Slowly, she falls asleep, and, just before she closes her eyes, you are there: back to her, dressed in a familiar shirt. Alexia. 11. Somewhere in a far-off fantasy land, Alexia Putellas marries you that night. 

…

It’s Sunday. 

You drive to your parents’ house in Hampstead, only twenty minutes away from the flat you now live in, to reluctantly attend their weekly Sunday Roast. Before, it was a condition of remaining on the booking list for the annual family holiday, seeing as you had declared university was going to wait until after your gap year and then had become a popstar instead. Now that both you and your brother can afford to come anyway, the tradition is there for sentimental value. A world tour made you realise how much you love them all, even your annoying older brother. 

Your parents are lawyers who met at university and found love in a city that they never moved out of, both of them doing extremely well for themselves. They raised you and your brother to ski, horse-ride, and attend prep schools and public schools, although boarding school was not quite desirable. Your dad speaks in a booming voice, received pronunciation an act used for court, slight Mancunian accent lilting his words whenever he relaxes. 

“Darling!” your mum exclaims, surprised at your attendance just like she is every week. “Come on in, come on in. Daddy has the footie on, and your brother is on his way. Don’t you have songs to sing? How come you’re here?” 

Ushered inside your own home, you smell the brief scent of your family before adjusting to it all and fitting right back into the chaos. There’s beef in the oven, and the roar of the crowd playing faintly from the kitchen where your dad must be preparing the potatoes. He’s proud of his potatoes. 

You slip off your shoes – a new pair of Uggs – and follow your mother to the kitchen. Dad is there, doing exactly what you’d expected, hands working instinctively as his eyes focus on the TV, mouthing along with the commentary as Manchester United take on their opponent. “Sit down,” Dad says as soon as you walk in, pointing at the stools tucked into the island. “We’re not doing too badly, and today should be an easy win.” 

“I know. I do watch the football without you, Daddy.” 

He tuts. “Yeah, but you don’t get the same level of commentary on your own. Plus, United isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I have thought of a publicity move that you should definitely make – it would really help you guys out.” You entertain his suggestion, knowing that’s what dads do, sitting back on the stool with a smirk on your face, already thinking of an interesting way to tell him he is being stupid. “So, what I was thinking was that you guys do a half-time show! You love football, and the girls love footballers – what isn’t to like? Plus, I bet any club would jump at the chance to make some money from extra tickets sold just to see you.” 

“And you haven’t already contacted our manager?” you check, finding your father to be quite unpredictable and rash. His ego is also far too inflated by clients who don’t see him for the kind but bumbling fool he truly is, and so he often takes it upon himself to put forward any ideas he has to your management team, much to everyone’s inconvenience (the last thing they need, amongst sorting out photos of you snogging girls and your friends in various compromising positions, is an old man telling them what he thinks will boost your image). “It’s a good idea, I must admit. I’ll bring it up.” 

“Good stuff.” There’s a clang of metal as the potatoes go in the oven too, and the fridge opens with a pop as your dad begins to fish out the carrots and parsnips to complete your meal, Your mother is responsible for everything else. “Try to get it at Barcelona or Real Madrid,” he says off-handedly. “Imagine singing in the Nou Camp. That’d be crazy.” 

“Not the appearance I dreamt of when I was little, but I’d still get to touch the grass,” you agree. 

“Y/n, we knew you’d never be a footballer. You haven’t got the coordination for that.” They tried to support you, they really did, but then music lessons took over and the sport became a form of entertainment, not exercise. “Women’s football is really something, though. In twenty years, it’ll be good. Maybe you should invest.” 

“I know zero women’s footballers, apart from – what’s her name? Kelly Smith. The English one?” 

“The Arsenal player, yeah. It’s a shame we don’t have a proper women’s team.” 

“Should I fund one?” you joke, but his face lights up and he has taken you seriously. “Okay, I know we’ve been successful thus far, but we haven’t raked in that much. Who knows! It could all go to shit and I could end up right where I started, in my childhood bedroom with no degree and no choice but to mooch off my parents.” 

“I get the sense that you’re slightly stressed about this album,” Dad says slowly, smiling wide, proud to have worked you out. He has always been good at that; knowing what you are feeling. It is a wonderful trait for him to have, seeing as your mother struggles with emotional connection of any kind. She is too much of a corporate big-shot for that, anyway. 

“It’s killing me.” You sigh, slumping on the stool. “It’ll be released and then we’ll hop on tour and I’m so tired. Anya has a crush and Gio’s dating someone and now all of our songs are about love and I just… I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I will ever know about that.” 

And, though he hesitates, Dad walks around the island and places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you will find the right man someday. 

Deep down, he knows that the daughter who loved to watch football and never once commented on their hairstyles or pretty faces – the girl whose crushes on members of boy bands always seemed half-hearted and forced – is not a daughter who is going to bring home a man one day, with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He knows. It is quite possible that he has always known. Whether he is going to bring it up before you feel comfortable to talk about it is a different matter, especially since your mother has dreams of her daughter’s husband that she has whispered to him ever since they found out their second child was a girl. 

Sunday is pretty routine, which you are grateful for. Your brother, also a lawyer, discusses his latest case, resembling the stories your father used to tell at the dining table: stories you’d both yawn at when you were younger. You dish out a few industry secrets, recounting your most recent trip to Cirque Le Soir. With disdain, your mother berates you for any possible drug-usage, scolding you for something you have not admitted to but somehow knowing that you are guilty of it anyway. It feels much like the family dinners of your teenage years, but you suppose that pop stars never really have to grow up and decide that it isn’t all bad. After all, you drive home in a very stylish car.

Then, the week starts with another gruelling, waste-of-time day at the studio, where you go inside before the sun comes up and emerge long after it has set. Dave is decently pleased with the vocals so far. There are another seven tracks to go, but most of those are being written by other people. Mark Ronson, you’ve heard, is open to working with your group. It’s all very exciting, even if you feel like you have run a marathon by the end of the day. 

On Tuesday, you remember to tell your manager and publicist (she’s a woman of many talents) about your father’s idea. At first, her reluctance is extremely evident, but it later dissipates once she thinks about it, having promised you and the now-excited girls to see what she can do. 

You are on a private plane to Barcelona before you can realise what is happening. 

Bags packed with more make-up and spangled underwear than proper clothes, and sunglasses shielding your hungover eyes courtesy of last night’s consoling of a newly-single Giovanna Bartoli, you try your best not to vomit while in the air and even squeeze in a spot of light reading. The girls laugh (wincing at the sound) when they see you revisiting the Aeneid. You like Virgil, though, so you don’t mind. 

“How many days are we here again?” Anya asks, equally hungover. 

“Three,” replies your manager, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Please check if the players are married before you do anything with them.” 

“I’ve sworn off men,” mumbles Gio miserably. She stretches her legs out with a sniffle, and then draws them back in to protect her broken heart. “If I’d get off with any woman, I’d like her to be Spanish.” She clears her throat, the lump of tears disappearing as she retrieves her GCSE-level Español, giving it a shot. If not to be serious than to at least piss you off. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Quieres dormir conmigo?”

“What? And then you’re going to shove your tongue down her throat?” Gio looks at you with a smirk. “That is not how you kiss a woman.” 

“Hey, you can’t keep them all to yourself!” 

You laugh, though your manager’s attention has been caught and she is already showing her disapproval. “It would be better that I did if that’s how you think it works.” 

“None of you are kissing women.” 

“That’s not fair,” Anya protests, upset that she didn’t even get to join in the conversation before it got shut down as swiftly as a rowdy houseparty in an American teen-movie. 

“I agree. That’s not fair on Y/n, who actually needs to kiss a woman so her knickers aren’t in a twist all the time.” 

“I’ll twist your knickers in a minute,” you threaten, fist raised to Gio in good humour.

“See what I mean? She needs to let off some steam.” 

“Well, do it discreetly if you must. Do your shows, go out with the players, and bring whoever into your bed as long as they have tight lips and no vendetta against you. Gio, we’re going to have to say something about him ch–”

You gulp, not wanting your friend to cry again. “Wow, the view is really nice,” you interrupt, catching Anya’s appreciative nod in the corner of your eye as you splay your palm on the glass of the aircraft’s window, marvelling at Barcelona’s plazas and cobbled streets. Imagine this being your home, you think to yourself. 

…

Jenni is squawking when Alexia makes her way into the circle of players during their drinks break. Alexia knows her friend is excited to go to the men’s game later on today, but she hadn’t realised it is to this extent until she gets grabbed by the forward and shaken as though she is a snowglobe. 

“I got the golden ticket,” Jenni shouts in her ear, making their teammates around them laugh. “Me, you, and Mario are going to the match tonight!” 

“I already knew that?” They don’t really get free tickets, but they can be heavily discounted. Tonight isn’t a super big deal, though Alexia may stand corrected. “Was I not supposed to know that?” 

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Mariona says, squirting some of her water at the midfielder. She recoils from the droplets, but they land on her training top anyway, and Alexia is already pissed off with the entire world. “Alexia, do you seriously live under a football-shaped rock?” 

Alexia takes a moment to brush off the teasing, picturing the bursting trophy cabinet that is almost within her grasp. “Yes, and it is very homely.” 

“Madre mía, you are one of a kind,” Jenni says with a sigh, movements less aggressive as she drapes an arm around Alexia’s shoulders. “Guess who’s singing at half-time tonight. You’re going to drool so much that the people below us will think it’s raining.” 

At this, Alexia knows exactly who Jenni is talking about, and she blushes though it could easily be mistaken for redness from exercising. 

“I just think she’s pretty,” comes Alexia’s slightly defensive reply. They walk to the middle of the training pitch, rejoining the team as Xavi explains a confusing drill. Neither really listen. 

“Is this your first celebrity crush?” Mariona jibes, overhearing the conversation and finding it necessary to join in. Any excuse to poke fun at the baby of the team. 

Jenni ruffles Alexia’s hair, ruining her neat ponytail. “Alexia’s in love with a straight girl,” she sings. 

It’s then that the whole team chooses to get involved, ears perking up at the mention of Alexia’s lovelife – a more or less forbidden topic. Their captain, Marta Unzué, even chimes in with a ‘we’ve all been there’. Like a stroppy teenager, Alexia folds her arms over her chest and turns to focus entirely on football, something that she knows she loves and loves her back. They leave her alone for the rest of the training session. 

She even manages to forget about what comes after the first forty-five minutes of the match, sitting comfortably in a stadium that is her version of heaven. 

You, on the other hand, cannot distance yourself from the nerves of performing in no less than ten minutes. 

The players were nice when you accompanied Anya to speak to them, and they spent a good while fumbling their way through English to invite you all to join them tonight at Pacha. You took photos with Messi and Neymar to show your father. 

The outfit, if you can call it that, is tight and could possibly show your entire bum to eight-five thousand Culers tonight if you’re not careful. Silver eyeshadow glistens in the mirror when you peer at your reflection, inspecting the bejewelled bralette and tiny shorts you are wearing. 

Anya and Gio, who both look dazzling in their own silver combinations, tell you that it is time to get your microphones sorted. When you stand in the tunnel, ready to go out, you see that they have laid out a sheet on top of the grass so your heels don’t ruin it. Part of you wishes that you were in a football strip and boots. The music starts before you can get too reminiscent. 

You sing with the same adrenaline you always get, and the crowd becomes a blur in your mind as you lose yourself to the melody. The bass hits your heart just like the lyrics do – especially since this song was written by Anya about her last boyfriend – and you hold back tears as the choreography leads your limbs in an energetic dance that must be entertaining to watch. 

When it finishes, and your chest is rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath, Alexia thinks you almost catch her gaping at you. Your eyes seem to be scanning the stands. Maybe you see her. 

Maybe that is why you, in your big, black hoodie and paparazzi-proof baseball cap are sitting in the stands of Estadi Johan Cruyff the very next day. 

Alexia does not point you out to her teammates. You make it clear to all who recognise you that you are trying to be incognito, and either the fans at the stadium have no knowledge of popular culture, or they are granting you your privacy.

She is now the entertainer, shining under the spotlight of the bright sun, a ball at her feet like that is where all balls were made to be. And you watch carefully – she can feel it – but you do not stay long enough for her to even think about approaching you. 

…

2016. Somewhere in the sky between LA and New York. 

This time round, the tour has confirmed your hatred for all plane journeys, hotels, and sold-out concerts. 

You’re dead on the inside, numb to the glitter and sparkles of your life, and your eyes are always halfway to being sealed shut in the deepest slumber humanly possible. 

There are a few things that ease the disdain you have for your career, but none of those compare to the channel you have found that streams Barcelona Femení’s football matches. Your excuse, made to no one other than yourself, is that Manchester United has no women’s team. Of course you’d watch them instead, if you could. 

“This is peak lesbianism,” Gio comments, her fifth time saying the exact same thing, prodding a napping Anya to alert her to your boredom-killer on the flight. You’re glad these planes have wi-fi. “We’re in America, which has all the women’s football in the world, and you still choose to watch your crappy little stream on your cracked iPad.” 

“If you hadn’t decided to jump out at me, the screen would be just fine,” you grumble, transfixed on the way Alexia Putellas dribbles with the ball, turning and passing to Jennifer Hermoso who slots the ball right into the bottom-right corner of the net. The pitch looks damaged, and you really have researched how you can help out the sport, but it is hard to dispute anything the girls say about your crush on an unknown squad member when everyone knows you could get your football fix from the Premier League. 

You’re yet to tell anyone that you have just bought this season’s Barcelona shirt. You’re not sure if you’d be invited on the family ski trip if your father were to find out. 

“Sorry, sorry,” replies Gio, hands raised in the air, a gesture of surrender. In hindsight, your response was clipped. “Didn’t mean to distract you from such an important task. When will you tell us who it is that you fancy? We’ve been waiting for you to come to us, but, fuck me, you’ve got tight lips.” 

“And, before you say it – we’re not nosy. We just care. And we find it cute.” 

“And…” 

“What?” you practically grunt, biting your tongue as a hefty challenge sends Alexia Putellas face-first onto the patchy grass. It makes your heart jump. 

“Well, it’s not like she won’t want you, so make your move.” 

“Just like you made your move on Justin Bieber?” She winces. “We did warn you, babe.” 

“It’s alright,” Anya comforts with a small smile, though you are well aware of how funny she also found the situation. Being in LA, as a celebrity, is always an interesting experience. In Gio’s defence, she did not know about a certain model standing right behind her, and you are fairly sure she had run off to do lines with someone or other earlier. “But, yeah, seriously. Y/n, do you want us to guess?” 

“Go on. Guess.” You smirk, because they’ll never–

Anya’s hand flaps as she puts her privately-educated memory to good use. “What’s-her-face?” she squeals, hand slapping down on her thigh as the name eludes her, the flapping resuming once she remembers. “Alexia Putellas!” 

You rip your eyes from your cracked screen, widened in horror. “How did you know?” you ask, voice a whisper as you swallow your shock. 

“You talk about her all the time. ‘Ooh, she’s the future’ this, ‘watch her grow’ that. Just talk to her. She’ll fancy you back.” 

“She’s not a celebrity. Normal people don’t slide into people’s DMs like we do, and I have no clue whether or not she can speak English,” you reason, having said the same thing to yourself every time your finger hovers on that feature of Instagram. “And I don’t like her? You saw me kissing–”

“God, drop it. You know she kisses anyone with a mouth, and you also know that you’re lying your arse off. Whoever this footballer is, just talk to her. If anything, it’ll be good for you to spend time with someone who isn’t going to drag you right into their own closet.” 

“Closets in LA can be very big,” you say with a sigh, having already received a lecture about the damage-control your publicist always seems to be doing. You don’t really think it’s ‘damage’ if a photo of you enjoying yourself with someone, but your publicity team deems any picture of you with a woman one to be locked away in some encrypted file and never released in the papers. 

…

You: Hola! Congratulations on the win. :)

You cringe so hard, but you send it anyway, your friends leaning over either shoulder as they egg you on, wishing your closet gobbled you whole and spat you out somewhere further away than Narnia.

Alexia, in Barcelona, groans at the sound of her phone buzzing, wondering who on Earth is texting her this late. 

And she drops the device on her face when she sees what the notification is. 

Because it really does not make sense, and she is not used to the idea that women’s footballers could one day fraternise with celebrities like you without feeling out of place. (And she’s had a crush on you for about two years and you’re texting her at midnight to congratulate her.)

You, on the other hand, are gripping onto your phone with trembling hands, holding on for dear life. Anya, who claims her C in A-level Spanish was unjust and incorrect, is brainstorming your next message, adamant that you’ll seem cooler if you display some knowledge of her mother tongue. You don’t tell her that, of course, Alexia’s first language would have been Catalan, because you don’t want it to be obvious that you have done a little bit (a lot) of research. 

Gio tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear for you – a comforting gesture. “Hey,” she says kindly, “what’s the worst that could happen?” 

She tries. 

She fails. 

You have compiled a list within a millisecond. “I don’t know,” you start, but, oh, you do. “She could screenshot the conversation and leak it to Twitter? Or she’s not a lesbian and she is disgusted that I am? She could have a girlfriend? She could think my account’s been hacked and report me and everything’ll be deleted? Or all of the above?!” 

The chat is still open on your phone, but you can’t see past your tidal wave of anxiety. 

“I think you’re just nervous.” Understatement of the century. 

Before you can make a snide remark saying exactly that but to Anya’s face, your message is no longer the only one present. 

“She replied!” you shout, volume a concoction of fear and excitement and a thousand emotions in between. 

Alexia: Gracias por ver :)

“Thanks for watching,” Anya translates. 

You exhale. “Okay. Done. No more.” You ignore both of their facepalms with the sort of blissful ignorance you’re sure only delusional people possess, but it is better to have a healthy heart rate than to understand the lyrics to whatever ballad the two of them have in the works. 

…

“Kiss her.” 

“What?” 

“Just kidding,” Jenni giggles, winking at Alexia and stealing her glass of something-not-too-strong. 

The team has been invited to a party with the men’s team, all because their favourite girl group is back in town and are treating the club like a pit-stop on their way to Madrid for the European-leg of their tour. The album has been in the top ten worldwide ever since it was released.

Alexia looks good tonight, as said by Jenni who thought her wardrobe consisted solely of football strips and Barcelona merchandise, and she revels in her little secret. Your little secret. She hasn’t told anyone that you messaged her two months ago, even if the conversation ended with her response. 

Which is why Jenni is set on teasing Alexia about her non-existent chance with you, especially when you have spent your entire night on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with Neymar Jr., who is not shameful about his appreciation for the plunging neckline of your tight dress. He has a girlfriend, but Alexia has seen enough tabloid headlines to know that most famous people don’t care. 

Your glass is always full, though that is your own doing. Something about the way a pair of hazel eyes have been watching you from the minute you walked in makes the air around you feel heavier than it should, and alcohol helps to dull your fluster. 

Anya and Gio have circled back a few times, adding to their persuasion each lap. When you see Gio heading your way, a small smile playing on her lips as someone or other trails behind, you excuse yourself from your conversation with your personal hero (who, sadly, would be able to describe your boobs but not your face if he were asked) and clasp your fingers around her forearm, pulling the two of you even further from a certain women’s footballer on the other side of the room.

“She’s staring,” says Gio in a low voice, leaning in to speak into your ear. “She’s staring at you like she wants to eat you.” 

“I’d let her,” you reply, lips loosened from the champagne you’ve been drinking. “She is beautiful.” 

“She is still staring.” 

You decide to be bold. You stare back, and Alexia is trapped, frozen to the spot. “She is so beautiful.” 

“Now you’re both staring.” 

“I’m going to talk to her.” 

“You should,” she encourages, slurring. The blur might come from your distraction, your drunkenness, or her own intoxication. You don’t care. 

Absently, you nod. “Yeah.” 

She presses her fingertips between your shoulder blades, cold hands making you shiver. “Go. You got this.” 

“Yeah.” 

She pushes you away from her, in Alexia’s direction. Your feet carry you on what feels like an inevitable path. 

And you… walk right past her, out of the door, and into the warm air of the evening to have a smoke instead. 

Behind you, Gio lets out a silent scream, turning right around and giving up on your happiness because what more can she do? And Alexia, who is confused about what just happened and bored of this event anyway, is glad to be given an excuse to leave. 

Except, you are blocking her exit, cigarette pressed to your lips as you inhale the smoke like it is a lifeline. She frowns, lips a tight line of disappointment, really. “¿Tú fumas?” she asks, though she knows both the answer and of your incompetence when it comes to her language. 

You let your eyes meet hers, and Alexia shivers, though she tells herself it is only because it’s November. “Hola,” you reply. 

For some reason, Alexia is drawn in. She steps closer to you, and you don’t have anywhere to go, backed against the wall you are leaning on. You’re drunk, and the cigarette has burned down to a stub of orange and black. She’s also drunk – less so than you – and she has nothing to lose right now. She is no one, in her mind, and you are far from prudish. 

She decides, once she is barely ten centimetres away from you, that your dress is provocative, but it only adds to your existing beauty. You push your chest out, standing up straighter. 

The dance is very still, and very silent, but you can imagine what it feels like to kiss her and you know that she is thinking the same thing. 

“You can, if you want to,” you whisper, hoping she understands. 

Luckily, she does. 

Alexia fumbles her way through the first tentative second, shocked that this is what she is doing, but she finds her footing and relaxes into the taste of champagne and cigarette smoke, the heat of your body sparking a fire within her. You pull her closer, pressing her body into yours, and you are now consumed by desperation. The kiss grows messier, and Alexia’s hands begin to roam, mind lost in a haze of desire. She is explorative but she is gentle, and you gasp into her mouth as her tongue pushes past your lips and a hand settles on the curve of your bum, the other cupping your jaw. 

Briefly, she wonders how many girls you have done this with. You seem experienced. The thought, while a little disturbing, sort of spurs her on, feeding into her competitive nature. This will be unforgettable for her regardless of the outcome because it’s an interesting story to tell, but what about you? Are you even aware of what you’re doing? Are you straight? No, you can’t be. You messaged her, so you started this. She is only… finishing it? 

You sense her distraction, pulling back with a blink and a deep intake of fresh air. She tries to move back, afraid of what comes next, but you don’t let her go, clutching onto the hardened muscles of her arms to hold her in place, ready to kiss her again.

The moment is spoilt by a voice – an English voice – and the theft of your attention. Your eyes, previously hooded and dark, widen as they flit towards the door behind her, terribly upset that your friends have developed the worst timing known to man. Gio shouts again, telling you that it’s time to go. You have to get to Madrid, and the pilot would be incredibly annoyed to hear that the flight was delayed because you were too caught up in snogging a girl you may or may not fancy. 

“We really need to go!” Anya repeats, growing impatient with you as you debate giving up your entire music career. “Like, it is insane how badly you need to get your arse over here to say your goodbyes and then jump in the taxi to the airport with us.” 

“Can it just–”

“No!” they both shout in unison. 

You sigh, looking at Alexia, the proximity prodding at a feeling low in your stomach. She doesn’t squirm under the intensity of your gaze, instead sporting a lazy, blissfully ignorant grin. And you’re about to break her little heart. 

“I have to go,” you say softly, forehead resting on her shoulder as you mumble your words out. You have a duty to your job, or, as Virgil puts it: labor omnia vincit. Work conquers all.

“You have to…?” she tries. 

“Go.” 

“Tiene que irse,” Anya translates, reminding you of her presence (and her much better comprehension of Spanish). “Ahora.” 

“Ah.” Alexia’s hand cups the back of your neck as you raise your head, and she kisses you, though the kiss is short. 

You pat your body down with a sudden haste, wandering past your alcohol-clouded thoughts to remember the location of your ticket, reaching down to grab your clutch from where you’d dropped it on the floor while having a smoke. It pops open as Alexia watches your movements, and you retrieve a pen and a scrunched up ticket (you have no idea why that’s in there, but you are grateful that it is). 

“Here.” You hand her the ticket, pressing it into the palm of her hand and then sealing your goodbye with a quick peck to her lips. 

Then, you are gone, running off at an impressive speed in those heels, chasing your friends into the building. 

She pauses herself in time for a moment, drawing back her grasp on reality as her thoughts still and she breathes in your lingering perfume. And then she blinks – blinks her way back into midnight in Barcelona. 

She opens her palm to see what your gift was, unfolding the piece of paper with an overwhelming curiosity that almost rips it at the edges. 

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in fresh, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows. 

Eleven digits. 

Twenty-two-year-old Alexia Putellas, the catalyst for change in women’s football as the world knows it, suddenly sees her future set right out in front of her. Because there you are.

[wilwheaton]

I have a small part in the 1987 television movie (failed pilot) version of The Man Who Fell To Earth. Lewis Smith played the titular character. Beverly D'Angelo played my mom, his love interest. (Fun Star Trek connection: Bob Picardo is also in it).

My character was a Troubled Youth, which I gotta tell you was not a stretch for me at all. I was deeply, deeply hurting at the time we made it. I was struggling not to suffocate on all the emotional and financial burdens my mom put on my shoulders, and fully aware of just how much my dad hated and resented me. You need a kid who doesn't want to be an actor, whose eyes can't hide the pain? I'm your guy.

Anyway, one of the scenes I was in took place in a record store, where Troubled Youth steals some albums, before he is chased by the cops and saved by the Man Who Fell To Earth, who uses a glowing crystal to save his life from ... some scratches on his face.

We filmed the interior of the record store at Sunset and La Brea, in what I think was a Warehouse, and at the end of the day, I was allowed to buy some records at a modest discount.

I was deep into my metal years, on my way from my punk years to my New Wave years, so I only bought metal albums. I know I bought more than I needed or could carry (I was making a point that I was allowed to spend my own money, mom), but the only ones I can clearly remember are:

Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind

Judas Priest - Turbo and Defenders of the Faith

W.A.S.P - The Last Command

(I know this was in March of 1987, because Turbo had just come out.)

Of those, Piece of Mind is the only one I never really stopped listening to, even through all the different it's-not-a-phase phases. I still listen to it, today.

Ever since I became an Adult with a Fancy Adult Record Player And All That Bullshit, I have kept my records in two places: stuff I want right now, and stuff I keep in the library because of Reasons.

Generally, records move in one direction toward the library, even if it takes years to happen. I just don't accumulate albums like I once did, because I'm Old and set in my ways.

Earlier today, I decided that I wanted to listen to an album while I cleaned up the kitchen, and because I wanted to make my life more interesting, I opened the library cabinet for the first time in at least five years.

There was the very same W.A.S.P album from that day in March, 1987. I don't have any of the others -- I looked -- but The Last Command was right there.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I put it on the Fancy Adult Record Player and dropped the needle.

I watched four decades of dust build up with a satisfying crackle, and there was something magical and beautiful about hearing all the skips and the scratches, realizing I remembered them from before.

The title track was just as great as I remembered it. It struck all the same chords in me that it did in the late nineteen hundreds. The rest of the first side was ... um. It just didn't connect with me, and for the few moments I spent trying to find a connection, I don't think it ever really did. I would remember.

But I did remember how much I loved making those mix tapes, and what a big part of them that song was. I did remember how empowering it felt to not just spend my own money that I earned doing work I didn't want to do, but to spend it on music my parents hated, right under their noses. I did remember how impressed Robby Lee was, when I showed him my extensive heavy metal album collection.

Remembering all of that, in one of those cinematic flashes of rapid cut visuals and sped up sounds, told me why I kept this record, while I gradually sold or replaced the other records I bought that day with CDs, then mp3s, then lossless digital files, before finally coming all the way back to records, where I started.

I didn't listen to the second side. I didn't need to. I took it off the Fancy Adult Record Player, and put it back into the library, next to the George Carlin records.

[anton-luvr]

can you do childhood enemies to lovers with sungchan please 🤞 i love ur writing!!

# MR. CONSIDERATE.

𖦹 childhood enemy!sungchan x fem!reader | fluff | ce2l au 𖦹 note ; tysm for requesting anon!! i had so much fun writing this i love sungchan </3 thank u for waiting and i hope u like it!

Sungchan's yawn changes into a frown when he notices the pair of unfamiliar shoes by the door.

His aunt never mentioned about having guests over.

Thinking he had to endure another awkward social interaction, Sungchan sighs as he takes off his own shoes.

Don't get him wrong, he loves his aunt to bits.

But oftentimes, the friends she had over would nag him till his ears were ringing, endless questions about his college and non-existent dating life thrown his way.

So when he steps into the hallway to see that it's only a girl about his age with his sister in the living room, he's instantly relieved.

Until he notices his aunt is nowhere in sight.

"Somin," he calls out suspiciously, making his way over to the living room. "I'm home!"

The little girl squeals in delight, and she rushes over to hug Sungchan tightly. "'Chan, meet my new friend!" she says excitedly, pointing at you.

The smile on Sungchan's face freezes.

When he last saw you more than ten years ago, he had celebrated the fact that he would never have to see you again, but here you were: standing in his aunt's living room and staring right back at him.

Memories rush through his mind like a rollercoaster: childish fights over ice-cream, competitive glares exchanged when the teacher gave back your grades, and the promise he made to himself to hate you forever.

"S-Sungchan?" you sputtered, snapping him out of his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

And just like he used to, Sungchan gets defensive. "What are you doing here? This is my aunt's house." he asks back, tone sharp and bringing an edge of hostility.

"She's the new babysitter!" Somin replies, unaware of the situation. "Her name is Y/N, isn't she nice?"

"Y/N, this is my brother! His name is Sungchan." Somin continues, grinning brightly at you.

You bite on your tongue to hold back from snapping back at Sungchan, feigning a surprised expression in response to Somin's introduction.

"Okay, bye! I need to go watch TV now." she sings, dashing off.

A heavy silence settles between the both of you as she leaves you alone, and Sungchan fakes a cough to break it.

"Sorry about that." he muttered.

"Oh, it's fine." you lie, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

Sungchan shakes his head strongly at this, making his way into the kitchen.

"No, it's not. It's our first time meeting after forever, and this is how I treat you." he sighs. "Here, let me get you something to drink."

Not saying another word, you simply follow him into the small but cozy kitchen.

You watch as he pulls out two cans of soda from the fridge, and a small smile rests on your lips when you recognize the brand.

"I didn't know they still sold these sodas." you said, sliding into a seat by the kitchen counter.

They had been the most popular ones when you were a kid, and you would save your allowance to buy them during the scorching summers.

Sungchan makes a huffing noise as he places them on the counter, sliding one towards you. "You won't believe how expensive they are now." he complains. "It's almost five dollars a can!"

Hearing him complain like a grumpy middle-aged man, you couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asks, confused as he takes a sip from his can.

"You sound like an old man." you giggle, pretending to dodge when Sungchan picks up his soda as if to throw it at you.

The silence from earlier returns as your laughter dies down, and you wrack your brain to think of something to say.

Thankfully, Sungchan beats you to it.

"So... how's life? How have you been?" he asks.

Shrugging, you take a sip. "Not much. I'm on summer break from college, so I thought I'd earn some money at it while resting."

Sungchan hums, leaning back on his chair.

"And my aunt hired you to babysit my sister? Yikes." he mumbles jokingly.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "I see that you're still the same, huh?" you retort.

As if you had accused him of a great crime, Sungchan gasps and dramatically clutches at his chest. "Hey, if this was us back then, we'd already be fighting and screaming at each other on the floor!"

The fact that it's happened before makes you chuckle, shaking your head.

It was crazy to think about how you used to hate him with all your guts, but here you were, having a conversation with him in his aunt's kitchen.

And as if on cue, you hear the front door rattle open and the loud chatter of ladies fill up the house.

"Oh God," Sungchan groans, mortified as he buries his face in his hands. "My aunt brought her friends over again."

You didn't understand his reaction till they swarmed over, chatting away like a coop of chickens.

"Oh wow, who's this gorgeous lady?" one of the ladies asked, waving enthusiastically at you.

"Is this your girlfriend? You never told us you had one!" another lady teases, whacking Sungchan on the shoulder.

He chokes on his soda, shaking his head frantically. "W-We're just friends! She was taking care of Somin, that's all!"

"Hmm, and maybe she can take care of you too!" one of them adds in, smirking at Sungchan.

"Someone's turning red!" Sungchan's aunt notices, laughing along.

Sure enough, his face was the color of a strawberry. Embarrassed, he stands up quickly, pulling you up with him by the hand.

"Okay, it's getting late, I have to take her home." he rambles, tugging you after him as he squeezes his way to the door.

"You do?" you echo, following him in surprise.

"Aw, our Sungchan is all grown up! He's bringing a girl home, how sweet!" one of the lady coos, and Sungchan's eye twitches.

"Bye!" he shouts, slamming the door shut behind the both of you.

All noise fades the moment he does, and the peace of the night wraps around you like a hug.

"Sorry about that. My aunt's friends are... something." Sungchan mumbles, annoyed.

"It's fine." you say. You were sure you had at least five aunts from your family who were the same, if not worse.

"Wait, but are you actually going to take me home?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the brown haired boy.

Eyes widening, Sungchan plants his hands on his hips. "Of course I am! What kinda douchebag do you think I am to let you go home alone in the dark?" he scoffs, seemingly offended.

Shrugging, you laugh as you walk away. "Well, let's go then, Mr. Considerate."

He catches up to you with a "Hey, wait for me!", your footsteps falling together in a rhythm as you make your way home.

"Anyways, how about you? How's life?" you ask.

Sungchan hums at this, kicking a random rock on the sidewalk. "It's good. I'm finishing up my degree in engineering, then I'll probably start working."

"Oh, cool!" you say softly. "I would never have guessed you wanted to be an engineer." you laugh. "You were so obsessed with being a fireman back then."

Your words unlock another memory for Sungchan, and he smiles to himself.

Silence falls between the both of you again, but it felt more comfortable this time.

And as you continue walking together, Sungchan can't help but look at you from the corner of his eye, the old hatred softening away into unfamiliar adoration.

And he realized his aunt's friends were right. You really were gorgeous.

Your eyes still had the mischievous glint he used to hate, your cheeks a soft pink from the cool autumn breeze, while the orange street lamps overhead cast a soft glow on you - almost like an angel.

His face burns in realisation when he catches himself admiring you, and Sungchan's about to slap himself when you stop in your tracks.

"Alright, this is it. Thanks for walking me back." you smile, pointing at the apartment complex you stayed at.

Sungchan smiles back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "No problem," he says. "It was nice seeing you again."

You nod, waving as you walk up to the entrance.

"Goodnight!" you call, pulling out your access card.

But the beep of verification has barely gone through when it's cut off by Sungchan, shouting.

"Y/N, wait!" he calls.

"Do you want to go get a coffee or something tomorrow? J-Just to catch up." he stutters, eyes shining with what seems to be nervous anticipation.

"Sure," you say immediately, surprising yourself. "Text me the details?"

"I don't have your number though." Sungchan says, smiling sheepishly.

You face palm yourself, dumbfounded. "Sorry," you laugh awkwardly, taking his phone from his outstretched hand.

He watches in amusement as you type in your number, failing at least twice because you kept pressing the wrong number keys.

God, you were so cute.

"Still struggling with numbers?" Sungchan teases when you pass his phone back to him, and you slap his arm. "I passed math in high school, get it right." you scold lightly.

He grins, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Well, you can tell me all about it tomorrow," he says casually.

His words make your cheeks warm up, and you nod.

"Bye!" you call out, stepping into the lift.

Sungchan waves back as the lift doors close, and he can't help but smile like an idiot.

It seems like he wasn't going to hate you forever after all.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[itsclydebitches]

Though I adore the dynamic myself, it struck me as odd a few months back that fans were taking a "Monster loved for the first time" approach to Astarion. Part of the allure of a vampire (for me anyway) is the act of transformation; the horror and tragedy of having lost who you were before—including all those everyday, human experiences. There were debates about precisely how old Astarion was when he died and at the same time fans were screaming over him having his first hug, his first real romance, this is the first time someone has helped him without ulterior motives, etc. and I'm going, "How is that possible?" This is an elf who lived a life before being turned, even if it was short compared to what his race would normally experience. Astarion had a family. He had a job! Yet the fandom (and to an extent the game as well) treats Astarion as more of a Phantom-esque character: deemed monstrous from birth and blindsided by the simplest acts of love because he was denied them from the get-go.

Of course, it's easy enough to read everything through the lens of slavery and torture. Sure, Astarion had all this at one point but it's been so long and his life as a vampire has been so unimaginably torturous that it's eclipsed those earlier experiences. I get that... but time as the answer still didn't fully convince me.

Not until I started romancing him and hit this line:

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

This is in response to asking Astarion what color his eyes were before they turned red. Can we just sit with that for a moment? He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. This line was a game changer for me because I can't even CONCEPTUALIZE that. Mirrors appear to be pretty common in Faerûn—it's not like this is a setting devoid of all modern inventions and Astarion, as a member of the upper class, absolutely would have had access to various ornate mirrors like the one he starts this scene with—so what does it take to make you completely forget such an ingrained bit of knowledge about yourself? 200 years as a dehumanized slave, obviously. Still, my mind continues to trip over the idea. I have blue eyes. That's a fact I've known since I had any real sense of self. If my eyes were to suddenly change tomorrow I can't imagine forgetting that they were originally blue. Even if I'd put it from my mind for an extended period of time I'd expect the very pointed question, "What color were they before?" would fire some old synapses and drag the information back. Obviously none of us have any idea what 200 years would do to a human brain (or, you know, an elf's) but it still feels firmly in the real of impossibility that I could ever completely forget something like that.

Yet Astarion has and this line more than anything else has sold me on his Baby Monster Loved For The First Time characterization, both in-game and in the fandom. He acts like he's never been hugged before? Of course he does! The guy can't remember his eye color and you think he's going to recall any probably-treated-as-casual-and-thus-didn't-solidify-as-significant-memories hugs while alive? When was the last time you were hugged? I'm not sure. I know I HAVE hugged recently but was the last one with family over Thanksgiving? Did I give my friend a brief side-hug before we parted? I'm lucky in that hugs are such a normalized part of my life that I don't give them much thought... which means that if you were to suddenly enslave me and keep me isolated for 200 years, yeah, I'd probably forget what they feel like too. Or that I ever had any at all.

(Self-hatred is going to play hell with memory too. Once you feel like you don't deserve something and it's continually denied to you it's easier to convince yourself you never had it to begin with.)

So yeah, Astarion acts like someone who was always the monster because he has, on a literal canonical level, forgotten what it was like to be anything else. Which just sets his relationship with Tav into such angsty, terrifying focus. Here's someone who has lost his previous identity. He (rightfully) despises the identity Cazador forced on him. Even if he didn't, Astarion is now miles away, the tattered remains of his self threatened by ceremorphosis. He stares into a mirror knowing he'll never see anything, but doing it anyway because he needs to figure out who he is—and that's precisely where most of us would start. What do I look like? What do others see when they see me? Is that the person I want to be?

Then Tav offers to be his mirror, just like they offered to sketch out the poem on his back. How exquisitely horrible for Astarion. He's being given precisely what he wants but he's in NO position to take it. All his sense of self placed in the hands of another? Asking, "Who am I?" and hearing, "I'll tell you. I'll be the keeper of that knowledge"? That's a far more intimate, potentially destructive power than anything else Astarion is looking to get his hands on AND he's trying to manipulate YOU at this point in the story! It just makes me crazy because Astarion is desperate to figure out who he is, but circumstances have ensured that, at this point in time, he needs to put his trust in someone else to begin answering that question... and the one thing he does know about himself is that he's a manipulative, mistrustful rogue who's only out to keep himself safe. Allowing someone else to take the reins with his identity (again) is probably the least safe thing he could possibly think of.

It's this messy tragic loop that yes, Astarion is working to break by the end of the game (depending on your choices) but in Act 1? Goddamn. No wonder he's trying desperately to maintain control of this relationship. No wonder—despite his best efforts—he's still undone by the simplest acts of kindness.

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-eleven

(gif created by me, the fallen nightmare. feel free to use, simply give credit)

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: This is a long one so buckle up and enjoy! The heartbreak doesn't end here.

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse

"Are you sure you don't want to come out with us?" Bryan asked as the two of us walked around backstage.

I nodded. "Yeah, I want to spend as much time with my mom as I can before we leave tomorrow night."

"Maybe we can get some time before the show and I can show you the programs I used to edit my photos."

"I'd like that," I smiled.

We talked another few minutes until we reached the green room where he held the door open for me as I walked in seeing Noah and Jolly in the room. Both Nick's headed back to the house for the night, both wanting some time to themselves. Noah, Jolly, and Bryan were going out to a local bar tonight for a few drinks to celebrate being back home for two nights and first night of a sold out show.

Hearing us walk in, Noah looked towards us and when our eyes locked memories of us in the closet earlier tonight rushed back into my mind causing my face to flush. Tonight during the show, I could focus on work by taking pictures or videos of the guys so I had little time to think about Noah and me. Now, however, seeing him sit there in his black cargo pants and blank tank top with his chin resting in his hand, all I could think about was the way he tasted on my tongue.

It wasn't an official way to ask me out, but we both agreed that we were each other's and Noah said that he was here for me with whatever I needed, and I believed him.

"Hi," I smiled while walking towards him.

"I thought you left already," Noah reached for my hand and pulled me into his lap.

My legs dangled over his lap as I sat sideways on him. We shared a soft kiss then as I pulled away; I noticed a smile playing on his lips.

"I wanted to say goodbye before I do," I said, fingers toying with the silver chain that hung around his neck.

His long fingers grazed over my thighs. "You don't want to come out with us tonight?"

"It sounds like fun but I want to be home when my mom wakes up so I can spend some time with her."

It was just after eleven in the evening and Lana texted me a few hours ago to let me know my mom had a good night and was asleep in bed. I thought about going out with them but truthfully; I was exhausted and couldn't wait to sleep in my bed even if it was for one night.

"Maybe we can grab dinner before the show tomorrow," he suggested with hopeful eyes.

I nodded. "I'd like that."

Noah patted my thigh to have me stand up and when I did he followed while linking our fingers together. "I'm going to walk her to her car then we can head out."

Jolly nodded, and bidding him and Bryan goodnight, I let Noah walked me out of the venue and to my car in the parking lot. Our hands swung together and every so often, Noah's thumb would brush over mine, the gentle touch warming me.

"Let me know when you're home?" Noah asked when we came to a stop in front of my car.

"Only if you do the same," I shot back with a playful smile.

Noah wrapped his arms around me so he could pull me into his chest, his lips dropping to meet mine in a kiss that started as slow but when my hands grabbed a fistful of his shirt, I forced my tongue into his mouth. He moaned into the kiss and I felt myself being guided backwards until my back hit the cold metal of my car.

"Angel," Noah hissed when my nails scrapped underneath his shirt, over his stomach.

I rutted my hips up into his, needing that same friction from earlier. When his thigh pushed my legs apart so I could rub my core against it, my head fell back onto my car as the ecstasy filled me like a high. Noah pressed his thigh into me harder when his hands gripped me hips, guiding me over him. Just like that night in the Airbnb.

My insides ignited as an orgasm began to slowly build. The taste of it was sweet on my tongue as I devoured Noah's mouth. I was a woman starved and the only way to fill that hunger was to feast on him, in every way.

"Noah," I broke the kiss reluctantly so I could look into his eyes.

They were blow wide with lust and as much as I wanted this to continue; I knew I had to get back home to let Lana leave.

With one final hard kiss, I gently pushed Noah away, him whining in protest.

"I have to go," I whispered, voice laced with arousal.

Noah brought my hand to his mouth, leaving a few kisses across my knuckles. "I'll call you?"

"You better," I pecked his lips before sliding into my car.

Through the rearview mirror, I noticed he watched me the entire time I drove through the lot until I turned left, disappearing from his line of sight. The drive home was quick thanks to not having many people driving and as I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the kitchen light was one.

"Lana?" I called out while stepping through the threshold.

I left my bags near the front door since I would need them tomorrow and walked into the kitchen, seeing Lana drinking a cup of tea. Her grey hair was falling out of his perfect high bun and the lines in her forehead were creased tight, the darkness of the bags under her eyes made me realize she was exhausted.

"Go home, Lana," I took the empty mug from her and helped her out of the chair. "Enjoy the day off tomorrow. I'll have a neighbor watch my mom tomorrow night so you don't have to worry about coming back until the following morning."

She hesitated while grabbing her jacket. "Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes," I nodded firmly. "You deserve it. I'll call you tomorrow."

I walked her to the door, and we bid goodnight with a hug and I watched until she made it safely to her car before shutting the door and locking it. With all the lights shut off downstairs, I slowly climbed the stairs as a loud yawn fell from my lips and after peaking on my mom seeing she was fast asleep, I entered my room. It looked exactly the same way I left it weeks ago.

As I fell into bed, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Make it home, angel? -Noah.

Seeing his name grace my screen my heart flutter as I typed out a reply.

Yea. I'm about to pass out so I'll talk to you in the morning. Be safe and have fun tonight. Don't let too many girls flirt with you.

I sent another text with the emoji sticking its tongue out, letting Noah know I was kidding.

Mostly.

Noah's response was immediate, but I didn't see it until way later after I was retreating from the bathroom, freshly showered and in a pair of pajamas.

You're the only one for me. Sweet dreams. I'll let you know when I'm back home so you don't worry.

With a smile covering my entire face and heart swarming with butterflies, I snuggled closer into the familiar bed and let the exhaustion of the day carry me into the darkness.

Burning eyes filled with unfamiliarity but hatred. Anger radiating like an aura in the room. Deep shallow breaths fanning over my exposed skin. Muttering voices chanting something over and over.

Was this a dream?

It had to be.

But why did this dark presence looming over me with vacant eyes feel so real?

My body jerked awake with a start as the chanting became louder, more persistent.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!

Glass shattered next to me and I scrambled out of bed just intime for a bat to be swung at my head, nearly missing me and instead hitting the wall behind my bed. The noise of drywall splitting sounded in my room and I stumbled to my knees on the bed as I tried to gain my barrings. I was still in my room and it was the middle of the night, the soft hue of the moon breaking though my curtains, and glass lamp that was on my bedside table lay on the ground in a shattered mess.

"What the fuck," I cursed, ice cold fear filling my veins.

My mom stood at the edge of my bed with a death grip on a metal bat that she swung wildly again at me, this one I didn't get out of the way fast enough. It hit me in the knee causing me to tumble to the ground below.

I hissed out in pain, tears spilling from my eyes as I clutched my knee.

"Get out of my house!" My mom screamed as if she was possessed. "This is my house! You don't belong here!"

She made her way towards me again, ready to swing the bat for a third time, however this time I was ready; not much faster because of my shattered knee, but I could still scramble out of the way. I dragged my leg behind me as I rolled over the bed while my mom jumped over it.

"Mom, its me!" I cried. "Y/N, your daughter!"

My mom shook her head wildly. "I don't have a daughter. I have a son and his name is James."

I blinked, standing frozen in front of her. While she constantly forgot who I was, she mentioned nothing about having any other kids. As far as I knew, I was an only child.

Maybe her brain was so far gone that she was making up lives now?

"There is no James!" I yelled. "It's just me; Y/N!"

My anger and hysteria probably wasn't helping during her manic episode but my knee had doubled in size because of the smack from the bat and right now, I wasn't thinking clearly.

"NO!"

My mothers scream bounced off the walls as she began destroying almost everything in my room with the bat; pictures on the wall, the window, the mirror, my old computer, and television. Glass rained down around me as I slunk up against the wall, tears flowing from my eyes down to the floor as the sounds of destruction drowned my sobs out. I covered my ears with my hands as I slide down along the wall, hoping that maybe this was a dream and I'd wake up any second.

I'd never seen my mom like this and Lana mentioned nothing like this. As far as we knew, as long as my mom took her medication, she wouldn't have these episodes. And Lana was sure my mom was taking them.

"M-mo-mo-." I choked out, scratching at the skin of her wrists.

She somehow pinned me to the ground, her hands wrapped tightly around my throat while I fought underneath her. My mom was typically a small women and any other moment I'd be able to overpower her but because of her episode, it was as if she gained super human strength.

Wild eyes stared down at me, death the only thing I could see behind them and as my vision blurred around the edges, I felt my fight give way. Everything in me fading back to the darkness but this time, I was afraid I'd might not wake.

I tried once more to claw at my mom to get her off but that must have angered her more because teeth bit down on the skin of my neck and I screamed out in pain.

"You don't belong here! Get out before I call the cops!"

Nails scratched against my face as she slapped me, blood pooling into my mouth from the cut on my lip. I spat out the copper taste but all it did was dribble down my chin.

She reared her hand back to slap me again and using this small opening to my advantage; I rolled my hips up and around causing her to fall off of me. My feet did typical cartoon run in place as I climbed to my feet and ran as fast as I could to my bed where my phone lay.

My finger shook as I unlocked it but because of the tears, I could barley see the screen. Hearing loud noises coming from downstairs, I limped my way to the banister of the stairs and could see my mom trashing the house, screaming so many things that I couldn't tell what was real or not.

"I have a son, his name is James."

"Where's Lincoln? He'll know what to do. He can get this witch out of here."

"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"

Who the fuck is Lincoln and James? My dad's name was John and as I thought, I was an only child.

Fearing for my life, I slid down each step on my ass since I couldn't bend my knee and as I did, I could feel blood trail down my neck from where my mom bit me and the split lip burned as my tears rolled over my face.

She was in the living room ripping apart pictures from the photo book on the coffee table and I couldn't be bothered to care that it was my baby book; I needed to get to the kitchen to hide the knives.

Once they were locked in the liquor cabinet, I let out a few deep, shaky breaths and wiped my face clean of any tears. My fingers still shook as they clicked on Noah's name, his number dialing immediately.

"Hey it's Noah. Leave me a-."

Straight to voicemail so I tried again.

"Hey it's Noah. Leave me a-."

I hung up before redialing only to be met with the same thing. Two more times and the same fucking thing.

"God damnit, Noah!" I cursed with a sob. "Why aren't you answering?!"

By now my mom had moved to the office off of the living room and was ripping apart the desk, papers flying about.

No other option left, I dialed Folio's number and crossed whatever part of my body I could that he would answer.

On the third ring, his sleepy voice brought me immediate ease.

"Lo'?"

"Folio!" I sobbed while clutching the phone. "Oh, fuck!"

My mom hurled a book towards my head, and I ducked behind the kitchen island, missing it.

"YN?" Folio's voice was more alert now hearing my sobs. "What's going on?"

I sniffled. "Where's Noah? His phone goes straight to voicemail."

There was rustling on Folio's end for a few seconds. "Bryan's. Noah had a few beers and didn't want to drive home. His phone must have died."

I banged my head against the cabinets behind me. "What the fuck."

"What's going on?" Folio asked again, this time more urgency in his voice. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head with fresh tears. "No, I need your help. Please, Folio. I can't stop her. She's going to destroy everything and hurt me."

"Who?!"

Sobs plowed through me as my shoulders shook. "My mom."

Folio cursed, and it sounded like he was getting dressed. "Let me call try calling Bryan to wake up Noah and he can.-"

"No!" I interrupted. "He's atleast thirty minutes away. You're staying at his and Jolly's place right?"

"Yeah."

"You're closer. Please Folio, I don't know who else to call," I screamed when my mom began throwing plates from the cabinets from the other side of the kitchen island. "Hurry!"

Before hanging up, I rambled off my address and Folio promised he would get to me as soon as he could. Once off the phone with him, I tried to call Noah again.

"Please pick up," I begged.

"Hey it's Noah. Leave me a-."

I screeched and threw my phone on the floor, it not breaking, at hearing his stupid fucking voicemail once again. This was exactly why I didn't want to tell him anything. The one time I really needed him, Noah wasn't there.

Did he even text me to check in after he left the bar?

Not caring at the moment, I gripped the counter and hauled myself to my feet. My knee was so swollen and the surrounding bruising looked nasty. It wasn't broken since I could put a little pressure on it but it was sure going to have some insane bruising for a while.

I noticed my mom was standing in the middle of the kitchen, still clutching that damn bat and covering the floor was various sizes of shards of glass. A loud hiss fell from my lips when a piece cut the sole of my foot.

"Mom?" I hesitated moving towards her. "Give me the bat."

Through the corner of my eyes, I could see the destruction she caused but couldn't dwell on it right now; I needed that fucking bat.

My mom gripped it tighter. "Who are you?"

The way my heart shattered, pieces falling to the pits of my stomach made a broken sob escape me. I was so tired of explaining who I was to her. With a quick glance to the kitchen table, I noticed Lana left her medical bag here and could faintly make out the small vial and syringe. She told me that medication was strictly for emergencies, and she would only use it for such.

Though, she wasn't here, and this was an emergency.

"Give me the bat," I tried again while extending a hand to her. "Please."

My mom's eyes darted to the bat then back to me before the metal clanged to the floor and I let out a breath of relief. She lowered herself into the one standing upright chair and using this as an opportunity; I ripped a piece of paper towel off the holder and pressed it to my bleeding neck, hissing in pain, not worrying about the one on my foot right now.

"Fuck," I cursed when I looked in a mirror that was hung on the opposite wall of the fridge.

The bite wasn't terrible but it would leave a mark. The bruising of fingers around my throat made me swear again under my breath. They were deep and purple already and knew that I would have to explain it to Noah.

Hell, I would have to explain this whole mess to Folio when he arrived.

Suddenly, there was pounding on the front door and when my mom made no move to answer, back into her catatonic vacant state, I dragged my foot behind me as I shuffled down the hallway to the front door. Immediately once it opened, Folio bounded inside ready to fight whoever was causing me harm until he looked around at the destruction then finally to me.

"Shit," he breathed while cupping my face. "Are you alright?"

"No," I cried while burying my face into his chest.

His large hand soothed my back as his soft voice hushed my cries. I stayed in his arms, shaking and crying, for a long while until there was no tears left and my breathing calmed. Folio then slowly pulled me away from his chest so he could look into my eyes.

"What happened here, Y/N?"

I stammered, not knowing where or how to start. Everything happened so fast that my brain was still trying to comprehend it all. However, before I could, I washed pushed to the side as my mom came barreling through the front entryway, hands wrapping around Folio's throat.

His eyes were wide as he watched me fall to the ground onto my bad knee and I bellowed out in pain. I bit down on the inside of my cheek so I didn't cry and pulled myself slowly to my feet. I was done crying; I needed to grow a fucking pair and deal with my mom; who currently was doing her best to choke Folio out.

"I told you not to come back here Jonathan! You're not welcome here. She's not yours anymore."

What the actual fuck?

My mom thought Folio was my father? Who's not his? And why wasn't my father welcomed home any more?

Too many questions, not enough time to deal.

"Mom, get off of him!" I tried to pry her off but like how it was on me, her grip was a death lock.

Folio stood frozen, not knowing what to do. Since he was stronger than me, he could handle my mom's weak hands around his throat. I glanced over to my shoulder into the kitchen where Lana's bag still sat and not giving it a second thought; I hobbled my way over to it and snatched the vial and syringe. Lana mentioned before that my mom needed little to knock her out so filling the syringe with what I'd assume was a good enough amount, I snuck up behind my mom. Just in time to see her remove her grip from Folio only to scratch down his neck. He hissed out a few curses while touching the fresh red marks.

"Lincoln told you to stay away from us! Y/N is not your daughter. Stay away!"

The needle pricked the skin of his neck, and I forced the liquid into her bloodstream. It was exactly like how it was in the movies. Two seconds of my mom's hand dropping away from Folio for her to turn around facing me was all it took before she fell to the ground in a heap.

Thankfully, Folio scooped her up at the last second before she hit.

"Can you legally administer that?" He asked with curious eyes.

I shrug and wipe the snot from my nose on the back of my hand; I must look a mess right now.

"I had no other choice. She wouldn't stop."

I followed his gaze from my mom to the stairs.

"Upstairs. Second bedroom on the left." I told him, finally taking a much needed breath of air.

While he took my mom back to her bedroom, I stood there like a deer in headlights as her last words replayed in my mind.

"Y/N's not your daughter!"

She thought Folio was my dad, or well who I thought was my dad. So if Johnathan wasn't my father, who was?

Lincoln?

"No," I muttered while shaking my head. "She made these people up in her mind. They don't exist."

If my dad wasn't actually my dad, they'd tell me.

Right?

"Y/N?"

I turned on my heels only to cry out in pain as it jerked my bad knee and I gripped the railing of the stairs so I could keep myself upright.

"Shit, you're bleeding," Folio carried me bridal style over to the couch and brushed away the torn pictures before setting me down. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Kitchen sink."

While he rummaged for it, I pulled out my phone to call Noah. This time it rang. And rang. And rang. Until his damn voicemail picked up.

Well, since it was ringing maybe he finally put it to charge.

I noticed I had an unread message from Noah just after two in the morning.

Angel, my phone is going to die. If you need anything, text Jolly. We're staying at Bryans. I'll call in the morning.

When I looked to the clock on my phone, my heart fell into my ass. It was almost six in the morning. How long had I been dealing with my mom before Folio came? How long had my mom been standing over my bed?

Shivering at the thought, I saw Folio return with the first aid kit in his hand. He sat on the coffee table in front of me and began working on cleaning the cut on my foot.

"Asshole," I spat when the peroxide touched my skin.

He chuckled before his usually happy face turned serious.

"What the fuck happened? And don't give me some bullshit excuse, Y/N. You cut your foot, your lip is busted, you've got a nasty bite mark on your neck. I don't even want to look at your knee because it looks fucked up."

My head fell, disappointment fleeting every other emotion in my body. He already knew something about my mom and now what he saw, I couldn't lie to Folio any more. So with a very deep breath, I told him everything. From the first few months after my moms diagnosis to Lana staying with her while I was on tour with him and the rest of the guys. I even talked about how I was struggling to pay Lana and the rest of my bills so I started an Only Fans page.

His gaze lifted from cleaning the wound on my neck to my eyes as I kept them straight ahead. My cheeks burned with shyness, knowing that he understood finally why I had nudes on my phone.

"That's why you had the nudes on your phone?" He asked, shocked.

I shrugged. "It was the only way I could think to make extra money. This was before the promotion but even then, it wasn't enough."

Folio tossed the soaked cotton of peroxide into the pile with the rest of them then taped a small piece of gauze on my neck. As he sat farther back on the table, he softly lifted my bad knee into his lap so he could look at it. I was wearing my cotton pajama shorts, so it was easy for him to see.

"Does Noah know?"

"No. He doesn't know any of this. Not about my mom or the Only Fans. It's bad enough that I'm posting pictures of myself naked when we're somewhat dating. He'd be so hurt if he found out."

Folio hummed under his breath. "You need to give Noah more credit. He wouldn't force you to stop something unless you wanted too. And he'd be by your side helping you deal with your mom."

I snorted. "Right. Then how come he isn't here?"

Folio gave me a look that screamed 'don't pull that shit' and I slunk back into the couch suddenly feeling terrible for blaming Noah for something that technically wasn't his fault. He texted me when he got back to Bryan's and let me know his phone died.

But how could he not hear the constant ringing of his phone?

"Well," Folio's soft voice brought me back from my thoughts. "I don't think it's broken since you can bend it but I'm still going to wrap it, so you don't strain it even more."

I nodded and let him work on wrapping my knee, still trying to understand everything that happened.

Was what my mom said the truth or all lies? If it was the truth, how could she remember that but now who I was?

Once he finished, Folio gently set my leg down and pressed a finger to the two scratches on his neck.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, guilt lacing my voice.

He waved me off. "It's alright. I'll be fine."

"I should clean it," I offered.

Again, Folio waved me off. "You need to rest that knee. Sit back and I'll make you something to eat before I get started cleaning up."

That made me sit up with a start before letting out a groan of pain.

"You're not cleaning this up, Folio. You should go back and get some sleep. Don't you have to be at the venue by noon for sound check?"

He forced me to lie down on the couch and dropped a blanket over me. "I'll be fine, Y/N. I'll pound a few coffees then a few beers and be good to go."

I didn't laugh or even chuckle as he disappeared into the kitchen for some time. This was not his mess to clean up but the fact that he will without a second thought made me realize how great of a friend he'd become.

"I think maybe you should stay home tonight. You shouldn't be jumping around on stage taking pictures." Folio came back into the living room with a tray that had a steaming cup of coffee and a plate full of eggs and toast.

I thanked him with a greedy smile and took a long sip of the coffee, almost moaning in delight at the richness of it.

"To be honest, I think it's best that I leave the house before my mom wakes up. Clearly me being around isn't helping her," I said with a sad smile.

Folio left a kiss to the top of my head. "It'll all work out. Are you going to tell Noah?"

I thought about his question for a long moment, eyes staring down at my phone hoping he would call.

"I-uh-I think it's best that I focus all my time with getting my mom the help she needs. A relationship would only complicate it."

"Knock knock!" A voice called out.

Mine and Folio's heads snapped over to the front door as Lana stepped through the doorway.

"Dear, I forgot my medical bag so I-."

Lana's voice died off when she took in the mess of the house then when she saw me laying on the couch bandaged up, she scurried over to me in a panic.

"What happened?!" She demanded. "Who did this to you?!"

Her gaze snapped over to Folio when she noticed him standing there and eyed the marks on his neck with a curious eye.

"Okay, I know you kids nowadays are into some pretty rough sex but this is ridiculous," Lana pointed at me.

Seeing Folio blush was undoubtedly the cutest fucking thing but I couldn't enjoy it, even though my own cheeks burned, because I needed to tell Lana the truth.

"Lana, this is Nick Folio. He's the drummer for Bad Omens," I introduced the two.

Her blue eyes sparkled. "Ah yes. He works with Mr. Sebastian."

Folio chuckled. "It's nice to meet you. I'll let you two catch up while I bring some more coffee."

After he was out of earshot, Lana sat on the couch next to me and took hold of my hand.

"He's very cute, dear." She winked.

I rolled my eyes with a laugh. "He's just a friend, Lana. A really good friend that I could count on when I needed someone."

Unlike someone else.

"What happened to the house?"

With a firm squeeze of a hand, I forced myself to utter the words I never wanted to say.

"We need to talk about putting my mom in a facility."

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Hello!! I went back

I would like to ask Rhysand something, I imagine something where maybe in the store where the reader works some people don't like the reader and make fun of her, and the reader always stays quiet about it, not fighting back, and maybe her bond with Rhys is recent and they are still getting to know each other, so no one respects the reader and Rhys doesn't know anything, but after a while, maybe one day when Rhys goes to visit the reader in the store where she works, Rhys sees people making fun of his partner and gets angry and defends her?

High Lady.

Rhysand x f!Reader

Warnings; swearing, scary Rhys.

Masterlist.

Hiii welcome back in my requests I'm so happy to see you again! I had so much fun writing this! Hope you enjoy it!

“Hey Colin have you heard what Y/n says?” Ivy your coworker shouted.

“What?” Colin quirked a brow, amusement flashing in his eyes.

“She told one of her friends that came here earlier that she went on a date with the High Lord” Ivy burst into laughter with Colin following suit.

“Is that true y/n? Did you dream about being Lady Night yesterday?” He exclaimed making your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I wonder what our High Lord would say if he heard the rumors this peasant spreads around. I mean have you seen him? He would never waste his time with someone like her.” Ivy looked at you with an arrogant expression.

You lowered your gaze to the ground and gritted your teeth trying to hold back the tears. “Aww you’re making her cry” Colin cooed with a smirk.

“She deserves this for disrespecting our High Lord.” She scoffed and turned her attention to the customer that walked in.

That was your daily life ever since you started working in the jewellery store. The first day on the job you managed to sell the most expensive necklace of the store and the owner immediately became quite fond of you. Your coworkers though feared that you would get a promotion and decided to make your life a nightmare in hopes you would quit. It hurt you deeply, but you decided that the job was more important, so you didn’t give up, you just tried to ignore their comments.

You focused on the costumers and once again you sold more jewels than everyone else.

Great, tomorrow they will treat me even worse. You mentally groaned.

“Bye” you mumbled as you grabbed your bag and left the store.

“Look at her, she is in such a hurry. Is the High Lord waiting for you?” Colin howled.

You shook your head and quickly walked away. You wanted to scream “Yes he is” but you knew they wouldn’t believe you. Usually, they liked to mock you for your looks and intelligence but now they found the perfect topic. You cursed your self for talking loudly with your friend, you didn’t mind when they made fun of you but making fun of your relationship? It hurt you deeply. You only met Rhysand two months ago and the insecurities of not being enough for him were still on the surface, so their mockery cut you like a knife.

With a sigh you unlocked the door of your apartment and walked in. You hanged your coat in the closet and hurried to the kitchen to cook dinner.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts and you smiled. You quickly took off the apron and checked your self on the small mirror next to the door before opening.

“Hey beautiful” Rhysand’s deep voice filled the silence. He gave his signature feline smile and offered you a bouquet of roses.

“Hi” you chirped and stood on your tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. “It smells so good.” He murmured into the kiss, and you giggled.

“I’m kissing you and you’re thinking about the food?” you feigned a hurt expression. “I have to stop spending so much time with Cassian.” He chuckled and let you guide him inside.

After dinner you sat in front of the fireplace with two glasses of wine, talking about your days and stealing kisses from each other.

“I feel like something is wrong” Rhys said softly.

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Like something is bothering you… you usually smile more” he explained.

“Oh I’m okay just tired.” You avoided his gaze.

He stared at your face for a few seconds and sighed “you know you can tell me everything, right?”

“Yes my love. I’m okay.” You smiled.

You spent the night in his arms, sleeping peacefully as his warmth made you feel safe.

Morning came and you slowly got up without waking him up. You got ready for work and left a note on the counter before leaving.

Off to work, I left a key so you can lock the door.

Have a nice day ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The moment you stepped into the store Colin raised a brow and smiled mischievously. “How’s the high lord?”

You rolled your eyes and placed your stuff in your drawer.

“Oh come on, we care about our High Lord… is he okay?”  he continued.

You had hoped that he wouldn’t make fun of you today that Ivy isn’t working.

The day went by painfully slow, your hands shook by the constant mocking and even some customers looked at you with pity. Colin was telling everyone that you are so desperate for attention that you started rumors about dating the High Lord.

The sun was setting, and you started cleaning the counters and preparing for closing when Ivy walked in.

“Oh hello Lady Night” she chirped and exchanged looks with Colin.

“Hi” you replied and continued counting the money you made.

“So, are you really dating the High Lord or he’s just wetting his dick?” She howled.

“Is this the way to speak to your future High Lady?” a growl sounded from behind you.

“Rhys?” you gasped and turned around. Your mate was standing in front of the door looking more intimidating than ever. His night-kissed power shook the floor making some of the jewels clink against each other.

“My Lord…” Ivy gaped “I’m so sorry I- I didn’t know.”

“Who do you think you are to treat my mate like that.” He snarled, his voice was different, more intimidating, more terrifying and it made your knees tremble. You quickly understood that this voice was filled with authority. This voice didn’t belong to your mate but to the High Lord of the Night Court. The most powerful High Lord in Prythian. Thus, your colleagues fell on their knees, bowing their heads and shaking in fear.

“You’re both done here. If I ever see you again near my mate I will fucking end you. I will turn your brains into mist.” He smirked as both got up and sprinted out, nodding their heads repeatedly.

“Rhys, what is my boss going to say? He will fire me.” You spoke.

“He wouldn’t dare.” He replied and moved closer wrapping his arms around your waist. “And even if he did, you wouldn't have time for this job anyway. You will have a court to rule my High Lady.”

Your eyes watered and you pressed your forehead on his chest.

“Thank you for defending me.” You whispered.

“Anything for you my mate. I love you.” He said softly and you gasped, you had never said it until now.

 “I love you” you replied.

He cupped your jaw and lifted your face so you could stare into his eyes.

“My High Lady.” He whispered and captured your lips with his own.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Heyyy can I request something? It's readers birthday and she wanted to wear a particular white dress that she saw while strallinga round velaris one day. She couldn't buy it that time because maybe she was running late to something? But when a week before her birthday she takes Azriel with her to buy that dress and finds out it's already sold out and can't get it again. She's very sad because she wanted to wear that dress but can't now and az sees this and gets sad too but on her birthday he surprises her with it🥲🥲

This literally happened to me yesterday but the thing is I had to wear my back up outfit because I literally couldn't find my dress anywhere 😭😭😭 I wanted my birthday to be perfect this year because I turned 18 and it was except the dress🥲

Happy Birthdays

Summary: Fate seems to be enjoying making Y/n's life miserable too much.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: I'm soo sorry you had to go through that 😭 it really sucks when something you want gets sold out or you can't find it. I wanna come there and comfort you, but I can't do that, so here is the fic you asked for.

•○🌑○•

Her day was going like shit, and she wanted to smash something to pieces.

In the morning, she was woken up after having a nightmare where she was chased around by a hound with a stick. And the hound was running on two feet while the other two held the stick like a sword.

After that, when she went down to her kitchen to get breakfast, she realised her favourite breakfast cereal box was empty. She then had to eat some buttered up toast. Not that she disliked it, but she was really craving her favourite cereal.

When she decided to get ready for the day, she stubbed her toe on the dresser.

She had decided to go get her cereals and some items for dinner tonight as her mate would be coming back from a mission, and she was planning on making his favourite meal for dinner.

But of course, her day was apparently fated to be stressful.

The nearest store was closed, so she had to walk to another store to get her items. When she was returning home, she spied one of the most beautiful dresses she had seen in one of the displays of a shop.

But she had to go home and make preparations for dinner, so she decided to return in a few hours, just before Azriel came home, so she could wear the dress and surprise her mate.

Today being her birthday would also be a good excuse to treat herself to a beautiful dress.

So she walked home as fast as she could to finish the preparations for the elaborate meal she wanted to make for her mate.

•○🌑○•

The dress was all she could think about. Apart from her mate's return, of course.

She had finished making dinner an hour ago, and now as she stood in front of the store, she wished she'd worked faster. Or already bought the dress before.

Because the figurine in the glass display of the shop was now wearing another dress. Y/n nearly screamed in frustration.

Why was it always her? Why did she always have to have bad experiences on special days?

She didn't have any hope, but she still decided to check in with the store owner to make sure that the dress was truly gone.

"You mean the dress which was on that figurine?" The owner questioned, pointing. Y/n nodded. "Oh, I am so sorry my dear, we just sold it to a male a couple of moments before you arrived."

Y/n's heart sunk. She didn't even have to be hours earlier. If she'd only walked quicker or just winnowed, she could have had the dress. "It's– it's alright. Thank you."

Y/n quickly made an exit, trying not to cry as all her emotions became a jumbled mess. Her day had just not been good, and the one thing that might have made her happy other than her mate was gone. She just hoped the mother didn't play any more jokes on her and extend her mate's mission. That would truly be the cherry on top.

She pushed open the front door to her and Azriel's house, her head hung low as she tried not to cry. Her mate would be home any second, and she didn't want to worry him.

But the faelights were on, so it could only mean one thing.

Azriel was back.

She rushed in, wiping at her face in case any tears had escaped.

She found him in the kitchen, smiling at her.

"I was searching for you love." He mumbled as she came closer. He looked thoroughly exhausted, his hair windblown and his wings drooping just the slightest bit. But he looked happy, excited even.

He searched her face as he lifted his arms to pull her in for a hug, frowning and probably wondering why his mate was looking half dead, just before Y/n buried her face in between his neck and shoulder. "What happened, my love?"

And then all the frustration and pent up emotions of the day came tumbling out as she cried into his neck, telling him about how her day had just gotten worse and worse as it progressed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry my love. I wish I could make it better." He stroked her back, pressing gentle kisses into her hair. "What did the dress look like? Maybe I could help and get a similar one for you? There must be similar dresses."

Y/n shook her head. "It's gone now Azzie. Let's just forget about it. I know I sound so silly crying over a dress, but my day had just been so frustrating."

"I don't think it's silly Y/n. It's okay to want to be sad over something you wanted but couldn't get, especially on your birthday." After a moment, he went on. "While returning, I got you a dress as a gift. It might not be what you wanted, but it's beautiful nonetheless. Do you want to see it?"

"Sure Azzie." She gave him a small smile, wiping at her face as he pulled out the bag with the dress from his shadows.

He handed it to her, a faint look of anticipation in his eyes as she peered in. The color of the dress was the same as the one she had seen, and her heart seemed to slow down before speeding up again. Could it be...

She quickly grabbed the dress and pulled it out, shaking it open as her mouth fell agape. She was sure her jaw was on the ground as she stared at the dress she had wanted and been crying for.

She turned to Azriel, who furrowed his brows at her reaction. "Love?"

"Azzie, this is the same dress I was telling you about!"

He blinked. "What?"

"Yes! This really is the dress I wanted!" Her eyes started yo fill with tears again, but they were happy tears this time.

"If you're sure, then go get changed. Didn't you want to wear it today?"

She laughed. "Yes, I'll go get changed."

Y/n rolled onto her tiptoes and kissed Azriel's cheek, to which he smiled. And then she slapped the smile right off his face.

He gaped at her. "What was that for?!"

She lifted her chin, turning to go into her bedroom and change. "For making me cry."

"How did I make you cry?"

"You got the dress, and that made me think it was sold out, and it made me sad, so that is why."

"That's not fair!" He said angrily, but she could hear the smile in theose words.

"Never said it was."

She grinned as she heard him laugh. The type of laughs he only did when he was in her presence, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his body, his chest rumbling.

Some time later, after she had put on the dress, she flounced down the stairs, twirling and grinning as she showed it to her mate, who smiled as he leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed at his chest.

"Happy birthday my love." He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head when she finally stopped flitting around trying to show him her new dress.

She smiled up at him before she tugged him down so she could kiss him.

This birthday of hers would have been a disaster, but now that she had her mate, she knew he would stop at nothing to make her happy.

Knew that he would stop at nothing to make sure her birthdays were actually happy.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless

[vexcraft]

Writing prompt:

Cub and Scar have had naturally white hair ever since they sold their souls to the vex. They dye it though cause they just prefer having black/brown hair.

However, nobody except them are aware of this fact. Not because they’re hiding it or anything, it’s just cause it’s never really considered it a possibility. It’s a bit of a shock to everyone when eventually news gets out.

There’s a tug at Cub’s hair and he instinctively tries to shy away from it, only to create a painful pull on his scalp. 

“Cub’s getting old again! His hair’s getting white!” Bdubs yells and Cub hisses at him from where he’s crouching on the floor trying to fix redstone so they can continue playing the game. The other man lets go of his hair and Cub turns to glare at him. “I knew it was some magic trick that’s now wearing off!” Bdubs adds almost proudly, more directed at Cub than the others. 

Cub rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not getting old,” he says a little defensively. Scar had told him he looked fine earlier!

“That’s not what white hairs from age look like,” Etho comments, leaning over Bdubs’ shoulder to inspect the crime scene. “Bdubs, you should know that.”

“What?!” the man gapes. Cub watches Etho take a few steps back before Bdubs turns around in faux rage. It’s quite amusing. “What do you mean I should know, are you calling me old?! Wait, how would you know what those look like? All of your hair is white!”

“I’m not stupid?” Etho suggests and there’s a wave of laughter from the few other hermits present that are actually listening to their conversation. 

“Etho’s right,” Cleo says, walking over. “That’s definitely root growth.”

“Like from hair dye?” Bdubs questions, his intense gaze switching between Etho, Cleo, and Cub’s hair at light speed as he tries to make sense of the situation. “You dye your hair?” 

It feels a little demeaning to have everyone stare down at him – especially at his apparently not very well dyed hair – while he’s just trying to fix his game mid event. 

“It probably wouldn't look like that if I just did it myself,” Cub grumbles. “Where did Scar go? I have a few words to say to him.”

“Scar dyes your hair?!” Bdubs asks unnecessarily loudly. “Dude, I would not let that man near my precious hair with hair dye in a million years!” 

Cub almost disagrees and points out that Scar isn’t too bad with it, before remembering the very situation he’s in right now. Speak of the devil and he shall appear – Cub watches Scar walk over, probably alerted by Bdubs’ yelling.

“Who’s talking about me?” he asks with a wide grin, too-sharp teeth on display. Cub gives him an unimpressed stare.

“Is it true you dye Cub’s hair?” Bdubs questions instantly and Scar looks a little taken off guard by the sudden question thrown his way.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies casually. “It’s a vex thing, the white hair. What about it?”

Bdubs stares at him like he just said something more outrageous than that, clearly not impressed by the nonchalance. “A vex thing- does that mean your hair is white too?!”

“It is, yeah,” Scar shrugs. “I prefer brown though. I thought you knew this, my hair was white in Last Life when I didn’t feel like dyeing it.”

“I thought your hair just kinda did that or something!” Bdubs tries to defend himself and Cleo snorts. “Don’t laugh! He could’ve dyed it white or something, I didn’t think he'd been dyeing it brown for like, what, seven years! And Cub too, he does not strike me as a hair dye kinda guy! Don’t act like you guys knew about this!” 

Etho and Cleo both shrug. The other hermits don’t disagree, though Cub knows Joe already knew this but seems to have decided to remain quiet, probably for his own entertainment.

“Well, the more you know,” Scar replies cheerfully. “I don’t think I’ve really talked about it to anyone to be fair. How did this come up anyway?”

“You said I look fine this morning,” Cub finally speaks up and Scar turns to look at him. “But apparently I have root growth. Scar, I look stupid.” 

Realization finally dawns on Scar’s face as his gaze shifts from Cub’s sour face to his hair, noticing his mistake. His smirk turns into a sheepish smile. “Whoops?”

[roguecs17]

So, I want to talk about Helluva Boss, namely episode 1 of season 2

I namely wanted to talk about a few main things, buts let’s go scene by scene

First of all, baby! Stolas is precious, and precious and gay

While it did break my heart it was good to learn he and Stella didn’t marry for love, considering their present situation. It wasn’t so much that they fell out of love over time, but that they never loved each other at all, only getting together out of the need to bare an heir.

Even if Stella were a good person (which she is definitely not!!!) their relationship would probably have never worked out considering that Stolas is completely, utterly gay.

I mean, look at his face when he sees Blitz, that is a boy with a puppy love crush.

Honestly learning they’d met when they were kids makes their later arrangement that much more heartbreaking for a number of reasons

While I don’t have the screen grab for it, one thing I did wonder is if ‘worm horse’ was foreshadowing (is it foreshadowing if we already know the shadow) to Fizz losing his arms and legs.

For one, while it clear that Blitz was made aware of why he was sold to the Goetias it might have been that Stolas was never told that his father literally paid for Blitz to be his friend.

Also isn’t it utterly fucked up that Blitz’ dad LITERALLY sold his son for five bucks, and manipulated is scared child into stealing for him, which if Blitz had been caught I have no doubt that Stolas’ father would’ve killed him for it, especially since he is just an imp.

It was especially difficult for me that when Buckzo (I think that’s his dad’s name) talked about ‘helping pa and ma’ and Blitz says ‘of course I want to help ma’ not you or you guys, just his mother, which is just really sad considering the end of the last episode.

It also makes me wonder if Stolas got into trouble because of Blitz’ stealing, as much as it was fun in the moment, and fun for the two kids that day, there had to have been an afterward

Another note, which really hurts is that Stolas told Blitz about his grimoire and how it could take demons to the human world.

Which is later how Blitz knows to steal it, using that knowledge from the day when they were friends.

While I don’t think Stolas was pining for Blitz all these years, he was his gay awakening, and it makes sense for those feelings to come rushing back when he says him again later, though it’s obvious that Stolas is not as suave and forward as normal, despite his flirting.

It’s, almost sweet how they end up flirting, especially since it wasn’t coercion. Stolas was openly and enthusiastically wanting Blitz, and Blitz definitely could have made up with the book, especially since they didn’t really keep it quick

The last thing I wanted to talk about was Stella. Originally had had some sympathy for her, and with the knowledge given that was understandable. Her husband cheats on her with someone she views as beneath her, and she rightfully gets pissed, to the point of actively wanting him dead.

However, my view point has changed with this episode.

We’re shown and told that Stella and Stolas never loved eachother, that isn’t why they got married, as mentioned earlier.

We’re also shown that Stella, even pre-adultery, was incredibly mean and nasty towards Stolas. Publicly humiliating him, throwing things, yelling, and insulting him- and shows sick glee and making him suffer.

I really like the scene at the end, here:

You can see that Stolas actually looks, frightened, of Stella, and throughout this scene you see his exhaustion turn to anger, and while he is drawing back in the end he really does stand up for himself and his happiness as he forces the divorce

I really love this last shot, the finality of it, that Stolas is truly cutting Stella out of his life

All in all, fantastic episode, well worth the wait, and thanks I didn’t need my heart

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

I LOVE YOUR VEES HEADCANONS AND ANALYSIS SO MUCH! THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR IDEAS THEY ARE SO GOOD! WOULD LOVE A VELVETTE CRUMB :3

THANKS FOR LIKING THEM ILYSM <3

Okay, so I mentioned earlier that I thought she became an Overlord so quickly after her death because Vox reached out to her after sensing her power. However, I was a fool back then. While writing her into my fanfiction, I reflected on that idea and now think it was quite the opposite.

Velvette found herself in Hell and immediately felt at home. She did her research, learned about this man running a media company, and decided she wanted to meet him. She was so determined to have an appointment with him, Vox allowed it because she kept harassing Voxtek employees, and that made him curious. Honestly, he probably hoped to get her soul. But Velvette had a different idea—she basically demanded he give her a job.

You obviously have no idea how to run social media, old man. Give me a chance, and I'll make you so much money you'll choke on it.

She definitely made an impression with her resume, and Vox hired her to run the social media department. He likes to think that he made her, but in truth, he merely provided an opportunity she expertly exploited to climb higher on the corpses of her competition. Absolute girlboss. It must have been challenging to establish herself alongside two grandiose men, but her intense energy and charm won them over.

She transformed the social media department into her own company within Voxtek and also launched her own fashion brand.

Also, I like to imagine that her company looks like a darker and more twisted version of Stefanie's company from BoJack Horseman, very #Girlboss #SelfMade #GirlPower yet with an undercurrent of terror.

She honestly despises this whole #ItGirl aesthetic so he hijacked it and twisted to her liking.

Also, aside from doing the official business, she's responsible for a large part of Vee's intelligence. Valentino gathers information about his establishment's clients, Vox has his surveillance cameras, while Velvette follows trends and collects gossips from Hell's socialites during fashion events and manages multiple influencers who sold their souls to her, and now she can use them to target different demographics.

Other posts with Velvette headcanons:

Life and death | Silly Vees | Silly Vees 2.0 | Velvette's sexuality | Domestic Vees

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

warnings: none really?

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: A wet nurse raised you to keep you from being killed by your uncle. After her death, you ended up as a slave and developed a crush on a boy in Dunholm, who you never saw again after Kjartan sold you to someone else. You eventually became a warrior and a bounty hunter. After an eventful life you found back your brother, Uhtred, and joined his men. And one of those men used to live in Dunholm.

word count: 3,1k

Note: this was a request! I hope I did the idea some justice, and thank you for your patience :)

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylas-the-grim @anditsmywholeheart

'They call her the widowmaker,' Finan huffed. He looked at you from across the alehouse, as you laughed at something Uhtred had said. 'What d'ya think of that? Because, I think,' Finan burped, 'we should stay away from the woman. She might just kill us.'

'Why would she kill us? We don't have wives,' Sihtric scoffed, 'or a bounty on our head. Also, she is Uhtred's younger sister, he knows her and wouldn't risk letting her serve him if she was a danger,' Sihtric got up and threw his cloak around his shoulders, 'anyway, I am going to get some rest.'

'Yeah, yeah, leaving me with the baby monk again, aye?' Finan laughed as he rubbed Osferth's head, who slapped his hand away quickly and Sihtric nodded with a smile. 

Sihtric kept his eyes on you as he walked out, hoping you would meet them, but you never did.

'So you were raised in a secluded forest?' Uhtred smiled, 'that explains why you're tough as nails now. You did well for yourself, I am proud, sister. You get good silver for the bounties you take?'

'Good enough,' you smiled, 'but it wasn't always like this, Uhtred. My wet nurse took good care of me when she feared Aelfric would want to kill me too, like he wanted to kill you as a young boy. But she died, years ago. And then I fell into the hands of Kjartan.'

'Kjartan?' Uhtred raised his eyebrows, 'Ragnar killed Kjartan.'

'So I've heard,' you smiled proudly, 'I spent some years there, as Kjartan's slave, but I was sold again before Dunholm was taken from Kjartan. It was then that I learned how to become a warrior, to take care of myself. I don't need anyone, Uhtred, but I am so happy the gods made me cross paths with you again.'

'You will always have a place with me and my men,' Uhtred said and you drank to that. 'Speaking of Kjartan,' he continued, 'one of my most loyal men is Kjartan's bastard son. He helped us take Dunholm.'

You nearly choked on your ale. 'One of your men?' you took a quick glance at Finan and Osferth. You didn't know their names yet as you had only just found Uhtred earlier that day, but you had seen three men around Uhtred from a distance, and you didn't recognize any of them as a son of Kjartan. 

You had known his sons, they were present when you were a slave. Sven was a horrible boy, and you were happy to hear he died a horrible death. The other son, you remembered his name as Sol, was different from everyone else in Dunholm. He was your age. He was kind and gentle, but you only ever met him at night. It was unheard of to be kind to slaves, so Sol had to sneak around in the dark to talk to you, to make sure you were okay. He looked after you the best he could as a young boy, he always brought you food and water. You called him Sol because you had a crush on him and he always made you feel warm, like the sun. And in return he called you Mani, because your skin was, and still is, as pale as the moon, which he thought was beautiful. But when you were sold as a slave again, you never saw Sol again. And you always wondered if he was still alive. You remembered Sol had two different coloured eyes. As a little girl, you believed that one eye was lighter because he had the goodness of the gods in him, and that his other eye was darker because his father was Kjartan the Cruel, and it resembled the shadow that his father would always cast on him.

'Yeah, one of my men,' Uhtred smiled and looked over to Finan and Osferth, only to see Sihtric wasn't there, 'oh, I see he has left. Finan!' Uhtred yelled, and Finan stumbled over to your table.

'Lord?' he said, and deliberately kept his distance from you.

'Finan, where is Sihtric?'

Sihtric, you thought, I don't know anyone named Sihtric. But knowing Kjartan, he probably had at least a hundred bastard sons.

'Sihtric left, lord, he said he wanted to rest. But I think,' Finan paused, looked at you and whispered, 'I think he is afraid of the widowmaker. We all are actually, lord.'

Uhtred snorted and looked at you, 'sister, this is Finan, one of my men. And he tells me that they are afraid of you.'

'Are your men married?'

'No.'

'Do they have a bounty on their head?'

'Not that I know of,' Uhtred laughed.

'Then they have nothing to fear,' you grinned at Finan.

'Aye, see, that is exactly what Sihtric said,' he shuddered.

'Whoever Sihtric is, he is a smart man.'

'I wouldn't say that,' Finan grinned.

'Well, Uhtred, Finan,' you bowed your head to the Irish man with a devilish grin, 'I will also get some rest. Killing men is quite exhausting.' You winked at Uhtred, who wished you a good night, but he called your name before you could walk away, 'now that you serve me, tomorrow night you will guard the fortress with one of my men.'

'Fair enough. I hope it's with him,' you chuckled at Finan, who looked as if death had just spoken to him and he clutched the cross around his neck in his fist.

—--

The next day you spent hours at the stables, until evening, taking care of the horses and checking if everything you had with you was still intact. If you needed a new saddle or reins, now was the time to get them, before you would join Uhtred and his men on their journey in a few days. It was cold out, but you kept yourself warm by moving around. What also made you somewhat heated, was that you felt a hard stare in your back for a while already. You had glanced over your shoulder several times, and saw it was the man Uhtred and Finan had called Sihtric. He had dark, short hair with the sides shaved, exposing a tattoo that ran from his neck up to one side of his head. He had a sharp jawline and an intense stare. Normally, you would be flattered, as you thought he was handsome, but you were annoyed because you remembered Finan telling you they all feared you. If this Sihtric was really afraid you would kill someone, he should know better than staring you down. You had no plans of killing any men here, but Sihtric was high on your list right now if you decided to go on a killing spree.

After you had your dinner later that evening you made your way to the fortress stairs and climbed up. You had never stood watch before, but you figured it would be rather dull. You had been here for only one night, but it seemed rather quiet. Darkness had already taken over and the torches made for a warm atmosphere. You were in a fine mood, until you saw that the man you had to stand guard with was the man who made your blood boil earlier that day.

Sihtric quickly stood up as he saw you appear and he bowed.

'My lady,' he said. You gave him a quick nod and sat down several paces away from him.

This will be a long night, you thought to yourself when you saw Sihtric was fidgeting with his rings, not saying another word to you. You also had no desire to talk to him, so you just sighed and hoped dawn would approach soon. After what seemed like forever, you became more agitated with Sihtric's fidgeting. First with his rings, then he kept touching his mjölnir pendant as he quickly glanced at you, and soon he started to hum. And if there is anything you hated, it was humming. A shame, you thought, he is handsome, but useless probably.

You sighed loudly, again, and looked up at the moon. She was full tonight, and shone brightly over the fortress. The moon made you remember the boy from your childhood, Sol, and you smiled weakly. You didn't know Sihtric watched you, and to this day he would swear his heart had stopped when he saw you smile.

Just when you thought that Sihtric couldn't get any more on your nerves, he cleared his throat. Not once, not twice, but a whole three times before he finally spoke. And when he spoke, you really had to focus to figure out his rambling.

'I… when I was… back when,' Sihtric mumbled as he tripped over his words, 'I used to…,' he cleared his throat again, for the fourth time, and when he spoke again his words came out with such speed that you struggled to keep up, 'when I was a boy, I had a crush on a girl I had met. But one day she was just gone. Yet I never stopped loving her. And I always wondered if she was still alive, and if she was still as beautiful as I thought she was when we were young. This girl, she took my breath away as a boy. She… she was as pale as the moon, and therefore I called her Mani.'

Sihtric looked away from you when he had stopped talking, and he sighed nervously when you didn't respond to him. It's her, he thought, I know it's her. But she probably never loved me the way I loved her. She doesn't remember me.

'Sol?' you spoke so soft, you were surprised to see he snapped his head up to you.

'You called me Sol,' he smiled softly, 'you said it's because I-'

'Made me feel warm like that sun,' you finished his sentence before he could, and you stared at each other with wide eyes. 

You got up and slowly closed the distance between you and Sihtric. When you finally stood before him and looked down into his eyes, you saw that he had the goodness of the gods within him, and the darkness which used to be his father's shadow.

'My lady, I never told you my real name when we were younger, but my name is-'

'Sihtric,' you smiled nervously, 'Uhtred and Finan told me. And my name is-'

'(Y/N),' Sihtric said and chuckled nervously, 'Uhtred… told me.'

You both were at a loss for words, you just smiled at each other while trying to find out who was going to make the next move, and what that move would be.

'I… I never forgot about you,' Sihtric said.

'And I always dreamt of you,' you said, 'even these days, I still dream of your eyes. And I-' before you could finish your sentence Sihtric had got up, and he pulled you into his arms with such force that it almost hurt. He held you tight for a long time before pulling back to look at you and cup your cheeks.

'My gods,' he smiled, 'I knew it was you. The first moment I saw you yesterday, alongside Uhtred, your beauty simply punched the air out of my lungs. And I only ever felt that feeling once before, when I met you when we were young.'

'Oh,' you chuckled and felt yourself blush, 'you… you're…' you placed your hands on his arms and felt his biceps, 'oh, I mean, you… you grew up handsome.' And although it was rather dark, you could tell he blushed too. 

And suddenly, without any warning or stopping yourself, you felt your hands pull at his armour and you planted your lips on his. You felt Sihtric was surprised by your action, as were you, but it only took him a second to adjust to the situation and kiss you back.

And gods, you thought, he is a good kisser. Slow, gentle, but intense. Whoever gets to kiss him must be the luckiest-

You abruptly pulled away from Sihtric and took a step back as you tried to catch your breath. 'Gods! Oh, gods, I am so sorry!' you panicked, 'I don't even know if… like… are you… are you married?'

'What? No!' Sihtric panted, looking you up and down as he frowned, 'why? Are… are you? Married? Or… s-spoken for?'

'No! Gods, no. I'm not!' you breathed heavy, still feeling a little ashamed.

'Oh. Good,' Sihtric huffed, 'that's… that's good.'

'Yes, good,' you said and nodded, 'good,' you said again and became silent when you saw how Sihtric was looking at you. 

And faster than you could blink, Sihtric took a step towards you and grabbed your face to kiss you again. And he kissed you so deeply, so desperately and so passionately, as if he wanted to make up for all the lost time. And you let him, because you had missed him and wondered about him all the same. And if you had known he had become the handsome man that he is now, you would have longed for him all that time.

'I have always loved you,' Sihtric whispered, finally breaking the kiss.

'I have done too,' you smiled softly, 'but you look so different. I didn't recognize you.'

You couldn't resist running your hands through his short hair, only to feel it was soft and smooth, and he smiled to your touch, pulling you even closer against his body.

'Where have you been all these years?' Sihtric asked and leaned his forehead against yours.

'Everywhere,' you whispered, 'I loved travelling all this time. But… I don't want to be anywhere else ever again, other than in your arms.'

'I will never allow you out of my sight again,' he chuckled, 'but what happened to you? When you disappeared from Dunholm?'

'Your father sold me as a slave,' you said, and saw Sihtric's face drop.

'Gods,' he sighed, 'if he wasn't dead yet, I would've been the one to claim his life now.'

'Sol,' you chuckled, 'I mean, Sihtric,' you shook your head, to which he smiled, 'I'll need to get used to that.'

'You can call me whatever you want, my lady, as long as you never leave me again.'

'I have to confess,' you grinned, 'I thought you were handsome, but you really made my blood boil. The way you were staring at me earlier today, and how you were fidgeting and humming moments ago.'

'I'm sorry,' he smiled and nuzzled your nose, 'I tried to figure out how to approach you and confess my… my,' Sihtric stammered, and quickly shut his mouth.

'Confess what?' you frowned and watched him sigh with a shy smile.

'Confess my love to you.'

'Oh.'

'Too soon?' he grimaced.

'Well,' you blushed with a smirk, 'we kind of have known each other for a while already. But… maybe we should take it easy. We have both changed a lot since we last spoke.'

'We have,' Sihtric nodded, 'but my love for you never changed. But you are right. And I want to hear everything. All that you have done since you left Dunholm.'

'I will tell you everything,' you shivered suddenly, 'but maybe someplace warmer, at a better time, tomorrow?'

'Actually,' Sihtric smiled and took your hand, 'there has never been a better time.'

He threw his cloak around his shoulders and sat down, close to a small fire he had created before you arrived, and he pulled you in his lap. You giggled as he wrapped his arms around you along with his cloak, and without thinking you buried your face in his neck as your arms wrapped around his waist. You both chuckled nervously at being so close to each other. And as he made you feel warm, like he used to do when you were younger, you kept your promise and told him about everything that had happened since you had last seen him. 

Sihtric listened to every word you said and watched you with big eyes. You saw how he sometimes got distracted, then his eyes would wander down to your lips and a small smile would appear on his face. You teasingly nudged him every time it happened. But you didn't mind it, because you did the same when he told you everything that had happened to him.

And as Sihtric made you feel so warm and comfortable, you accidentally dozed off in his arms.

You were rudely awoken by someone clearing his throat and someone kicking at your feet. You almost jumped up as you opened your eyes, only to see Finan and Uhtred staring down at you and Sihtric, who apparently had also fallen asleep at some point.

'So,' Finan said, 'the fort has been breached and ya both slept through it.'

Finan snorted and you rolled your eyes. You looked at Sihtric who tried to hide a smile as he squeezed you in his arms, under his cloak.

'Sihtric,' Uhtred said.

'Yes, lord?' Sihtric replied and almost threw you off his lap as he stood up.

'What were you doing with my sister?'

'Nothing, lord!'

'Don't lie to me.'

'I am not, lord.' 

'Then why does she have marks on her neck?'

You quickly moved your hands to your neck, to hide any love bites that Sihtric might have left, and Sihtric just didn't know where to look as he tried to find the right words.

'I…I, she.. We didn't… I never-' Sihtric panicked.

'I am joking,' Uhtred laughed, 'she has no marks on her neck. Right, sister?'

You blushed and didn't answer, you weren't sure. There was a good chance that you had some love bites, as you remembered how Sihtric had cuddled you and planted kisses all over you before you had fallen asleep.

'Sister?' Uhtred asked again and slowly stopped smiling.

'And what if I had?' you suddenly snapped back at him, remembering who you are. 

You were a warrior, a widowmaker. You had been a slave and you had slaughtered men in shield walls. You weren't afraid of any man. Not even your brother.

Uthred was taken aback at your answer and didn't know what to say.

'I actually quite liked how Sihtric kissed me last night,' you said, 'and if I have any love bites on my skin, then I will wear them proudly, so everyone can see how well I am treated.' 

Sihtric's face went red as Uhtred and Finan turned to look at him.

'I knew Sihtric when I lived in Dunholm, and I have missed him ever since I was forced to leave. So, forgive me, brother, but I will not waste any more time. I just want to be with the man I love.'

You took Sihtric's hand in yours and made way to the stairs. You were planning on spending the rest of the day cuddled up in bed with him.

'Wait!' Finan suddenly yelled, 'this is the girl with skin as pale as the moon? My god! Sihtric would never shut up about you. It was about damn time he found you again. For a while I actually thought he had made you up!'

[periwinkle-musings]

Did Taylor Swift write "Sweet Nothing" about Paul McCartney and his wife's summer in Wicklow in 1971?

The song "Sweet Nothing" on Taylor Swift's Midnights has always stood out to me as a bit of an anomaly. Until this intriguing quote by Paul McCartney caught my eye:

In a 2001 ABC interview about his wife Linda, who passed away in 1998, Paul McCartney said:

"I would go out for a run, think of some words, get home from the run, write them down, and make a cup a tea for Linda," said McCartney, who would bring it to her for breakfast. "I'd make a little tray, and go up, and then I'd say, 'Hey, by the way, do you want to hear some poetry?' She'd always … she'd say, 'Yeah.' And so I wrote that poem." 'Blessed.' I would come back from a run. With lines of poetry to tell. And having listened, she would say "What a mind."

This is a direct quote and exact same storyline as in "Sweet Nothing." There is NO WAY that is a coincidence. So I wanted to see if Paul and Linda had any connection to Wicklow - the place mentioned in the song. 

I think the McCartney family vacationed at the Luggala Estate in Co. Wicklow, Ireland in the summer of 1971 as an escape from the aftermath of the Beatles breakup.

A sweet Wicklow love story:

Paul McCartney has connections to Luggala going back to 1965-1966 when he partied at the estate with Guinness Brewing heir Tara Browne who was killed in a car accident a few months after his raucous 21st birthday, and inspired the Beatles song "A Day in the Life." Paul was close to Tara and his death deeply impacted him. This Rolling Stone article details their relationship and mentions that Paul has visited Luggala to visit Tara's gravesite since then on "numerous occasions." Paul had not met his wife Linda yet while Tara was alive, but this proves Paul's deep and personal ties to the family and their 5,000 acre private estate in the Wicklow Mountains, which continued to be a private retreat for celebrity guests until it was sold in 2019.

Paul McCartney has posted multiple family photos taken by his wife in the summer of 1971 that appear to be taken near the Luggala Estate in Co. Wicklow. He tweeted this photo on St. Patricks day in 2017 which a previous Reddit thread links to Wicklow in 1971. And recently on March 2022 he tweeted this photo which appears to be taken the same day judging by his shirt and his dog, and credits the photo as being taken by his wife (she was a professional photographer) in Ireland in 1971. Here you have a better view of the surrounding mountains and rocky streams (full of pebbles I'd imagine...) It's notable that the second photo was posted March 2022 around the time when Taylor would be writing and recording the Midnights album.

If you look at the aerial view of Luggala Estate (Now showing on Google Maps as Luggala Lodge), I believe that these photos were taken in one of the rocky streams that feed into the private lake...which is named Lough Tay. (I like to think it's an extra little wink from Taylor that this investigation literally led me to a lake named Lough Tay.)

This area is completely private and the closest public access is from a hiking overlook. This seems like a great place for one of the most famous musicians in the world to hide out with his two young children, 2 dogs, and Linda, who would have been pregnant with Stella McCartney (born Sept 13, 1971).

We know that the family and their dogs were in Ireland in the summer of 1971 from this newspaper article where they were photographed at an airport in August leaving Ireland, which means it's possible that they were in Wicklow a few weeks earlier in July.

Even though The Beatles broke up in 1969, it continued to be messy between members of the band and the financials involved for the next few years. During the summer of 1971 Paul McCartney and John Lennon were embroiled in a very public fight. There were lawsuits and scathing letters (dated 1971) and it's all very complicated so I won't go into it here, but this article has a good overview.

The lyric, "Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors and smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other" could reference these incidents. I could see Taylor relating to Paul going through this public turmoil surrounding business with former friends, because it is similar to what she's going through with her masters.

The lyric "You're in the kitchen humming" could reference Linda's passion for cooking and vegetarian activism. She literally founded a food company and wrote a cookbook. This darling photo on her website shows her cooking at the family home in Scotland in the 1970s. Linda was also a singer and recorded many songs with Paul, so the idea that she could be "humming" makes sense.

Taylor Swift has been friends with the McCartney family for a while. She first met Paul in 2010. She collaborated with Stella McCartney in 2019 for a clothing line as part of the Lover era, and Stella also dressed her for the Evermore album cover in 2020.

Taylor and Paul McCartney famously interviewed each other for Rolling Stone's "Musicians on Musicians" in 2020. In this article they mention how they both like writing under pseudonyms.

But the most surprising thing I learned is that Paul actually wrote a song dedicated to Taylor and her relationship with her fans called "Who Cares."

Notably, the music video also features Taylor's longtime friend Emma Stone wearing rainbow makeup in an otherwise black-and-white world full of cartoonish bullies. It's notable that the music video was released Dec 2018, right before the Lover era would kick off a few months later. Perhaps Paul was showing a bit of preemptive support for Taylor as she embarked on what many of us believe was intended to be her coming out era?

Now to the William Bowery of it all:

Taylor clearly wants us to think Sweet Nothing is about Joe because of the Wicklow name drop, where Joe was papped in July 2021, which looks staged to me.

Interestingly, I can't find any photos of Taylor being seen anywhere near Wicklow, but for some reason she staged a whole photoshoot in Northern Ireland in July, where locals said she "arrived and left by helicopter in a fleeting visit."

She was also seen in several different locations in Belfast in fan photos. This article also says part of Red TV was recorded in Belfast.

Clearly she wanted to be seen and linked to Northern Ireland, and the lyric easily could have been "Does it ever miss Belfast sometimes?" (same number of syllables) but it's not.

"Sweet Nothing" does have a William Bowery co-writing credit. Would Sir Paul McCartney agree to a secret writing credit? Maybe.

I read an interesting twitter thread from a lawyer (who is a Gaylor) that discusses how William Bowery could be a name under which Taylor commissions writing "for hire." Meaning it could be Joe or multiple other people writing under that pseudonym, as opposed to the "Willam Bowery" (spelled different) which is listed as a U.S. Citizen.

Even if Paul wasn't involved in writing the song, I believe he inspired "Sweet Nothing."

---

Note: This theory was originally posted on the R/GaylorSwift subreddit Dec 22, 2022 which is currently set to private. I am the original author of the Reddit post (u/-periwinkle), and am reblogging it on my Tumblr because this theory has been gaining traction and I wanted to create a public version. This version has been slightly expanded and updated with better images. Also, I was not the first person to uncover the "what a mind" quote, and the original person who found it is tagged on Reddit.

[redsparrow2117]

"The End of the World is a Product".

I don't normally make....any posts, but the Fallout show, and some of the response to it has me wanting to actually put some words down here. There will be spoilers for the Fallout show if you want to avoid that.

Several people whose opinion I respect a lot have their own thoughts on the show, Amazon making it, and general disappointment with where Fallout as an IP has gone in the several decades it has existed. I agree with a lot of these statements and think that Fallout peaked with New Vegas, and Bethesda's ownership and usage of the IP has been uninspired at best.

That said, I did watch the show. And generally, I liked it. I have some complaints (like, wtf if the Brotherhood even doing? Who is really in charge? The writers *blew up* the NCR, just like that? For....some reason?) The main thing I have an issue with, is the dissonance between the message of the show, and the company that made it.

I think the parts that really made the show were Coop's flashbacks to before the war. I love his character, so much. And from Coop, The Ghoul, I get my dissonance.

We see him interacting with general Hollywood. It's basically the same as ours. Despite what Some People(tm) will say, Hollywood is a tool of the United States Machine. An extension of the country's will. Coop is making a cowboy movie, one of many he has made. He expresses being uncomfortable with his new movie's seeming obsession with killing, not wanting his character to kill the villain when he is begging for his life. The director tells him "people want to see a good man pushed too far." We see later, after the war, Coop made the movie the way the director wanted.

Coop's wife works in marketing, or something like it, for Vault-Tec. Coop likes the idea of the Vaults at first. Save people from the end of the world. Good stuff, thinks Coop. He was in the Marines, fought at Anchorage. He believes in protecting people and his country. So when his wife asks him to do an ad for Vault-Tec, he says yes.

Very quickly, he leaves making movies, and basically now works for Vault-Tec. Has a big party, invites a bunch of his friends, and only one of his acting friends shows up. Says everyone else declined on moral grounds, because they don't like Vault-Tec, and all the other mega corporations working with them or around the world. Coop's friend mentions he sold his voice/a character he created to the company that makes Mr. Handy's, and how everyone and everything is a product now, and embracing that is the only way to make money anymore. "You're a product, I'm a product, the end of the world is a product."

Coop later meets one of his acting friends, Charles Whiteknife, to talk about the party and why he didn't go. Charles brings up Vault-Tec, the mega corporations, and "Fiduciary Responsibility". I never, ever, in my mind would think a Fallout show, executive produced by "Thanks" Todd Howard, would bring that up.

Charles lays it out for Coop: Vault-Tec makes money selling Vaults. If they want to make money, then everyone's fear of the end of the world is really what is for sale. The end of the world is the product.

So no peace talks to calm down the war between the US and China. No safe feeling. They need fear. They want to make money, so you cannot feel safe. We see a prelude at Coop's earlier party: two Vault-Tec executives are talking about heading off those exact peace talks before anything definite is done so quarterly profits go up. Even the president is mentioned as missing, but that could be a kidnapping or a reference to the Enclave.

Coop doesn't want to believe that. Why would his wife work there if that was the case?

We see, as the flashbacks go on, how much she knows, but won't give away. She needs her job so her family can get into "one of the good Vaults". Coop ends up spying on a meeting between his wife, a Vault-Tec exec, and a bunch of major corporations and private entities. A nice cameo set up for big fans. We see West-Tek, Big MT, ROBCO, all of them. Vault-Tec wants them to buy into the Vaults, so they can make money.

So they can control the end of the world.

They think a total monopoly in the post-apocalypse will save the world from war.

Then the real reveal: Vault-Tec, in order to make guarantees on their experimental Vaults, and to make guarantees to the investors, is going to drop the bomb. Maybe not all of them, but definitely start the Great War.

Because it will make them money now, and when the world is over, they can rule over the ashes with a gaggle of experimented-on, traumatized survivors, brainwashed to do what they want, and led by the preserved executives that helped end the world.

"Well, thanks for the spoilers, RedSparrow, but what is the point?"

Well, when people write about the future, like George Orwell did in 1984, or Ray Bradbury in Fahrenheit 451, or even Suzanne Collins in Hunger Games, they weren't really writing about the future. They were writing about the problems they dealt with in their present, exaggerated to make them stand out.

"What happens when the cattle ranchers own half the town?" Charlie Whiteknife asks Coop when they meet at the bar.

"The town burns down."

"Exactly. The ranchers are in charge now."

This isn't really new stuff for Fallout, if you have played any of the games beyond 3,4, or 76. (Hell, 76 tries to act like Vault-Tec are the good guys for some stupid ass reason.)

We now live in that moment. Maybe we didn't when Fallout 1 came out, or maybe it was easier to hide then. At this point, it's nearly impossible to really ignore, and anyone saying that is incorrect or a good thing is just burying their head in the sand to avoid the truth.

Maybe we don't have Vaults, or Vault-Tec, but we have Amazon, selling us everything and grinding employees to dust on vague promises of earning a living.

We have our own ROBCO, and the CEO of our version of ROBCO bought Twitter because his ex left him for a trans woman and is currently trying to sell losers online his idea of a sex bot and shitty cars that rust and explode.

We have social media monopolies that live off of hate-engagement and spreading fear. Hell, the US government is banning social media platforms they can't control, and privatizing things like internet access through Starlink. Elongated Muskrat tried to cut off Ukraine's access to it after one of their generals told him to shut up and stop sucking up to Russia.

None of this is new. I'm probably sounding like your weird boomer uncle online right now.

But your weird boomer uncle doesn't think they will end the world.

But they will.

So here's the dissonance I struggle with: why is Amazon, one of the many companies enshitti-fying everything right now, making a show that tells you the plan?

It's easier to imagine the end of the world, than it is to imagine the end of capitalism, so the saying goes.

But the end of the world is the plan of capitalism. That's the end goal.

And it's wild to me that the Fallout show, made by Amazon, is the one telling us this.

[gucciwins]

Are bel and Harry celebrating 1 year of HH? How are they celebrating?

Hi babes, I wanted to write something in honor of the year one year of Harry’s house and thought interview style would be a fun way to share how Bel and Harry celebrated. Very little Harry and Bel but enough to give you an insight 💜💜💜💜💜

____

Zane Lowe checks in with Harry on the one year anniversary of Harry’s house. 

Harry is set up on Bel’s laptop for a Zoom call with his good friend Zane Lowe. Jeff had told him he did not need to do anything, but Harry thought about where he was a year ago and where he is now and wanted to share with his fans how this has been a fantastic year. 

While Harry’s team sent out an email thanking everyone for an incredible year, and if you scrolled down below the photo, you would find the link to his interview.

It opens with Harry looking away from the camera with a large dimpled smile. He leans out of the frame and is assumed to receive a kiss from his longtime girlfriend, Y/N Belmonte. 

Harry checks the audio and sees it off as he unmutes and begins to wave his hand in greeting. 

“Good day, Zane. How are you doing?” Harry greets.

“I’m doing well, my friend. Excited to talk with you,” Zane answers genuinely. 

The two start by checking how they’re doing and what they have been up to. Harry shares how it’s been the start of the tour and how excited he is for the last leg of Love on Tour. Zane expresses how he will try to make it out for Wembley. Describing how he can’t wait to be in that vibrant energy. 

“You’re always welcome,” Harry promises. 

Z: We are gathered here today because Harry’s House turned one year old. 

H: The big one. 

Z: This has been an incredible year for you. 

H: *laughs* It’s been unreal. 

Z: Tell me what this album means to you now, a year later. 

H: It means more to me now. This album I had so much fun creating. And when I finally shared it with the fans to see how well received it was, it was only an added blessing. 

Z: That’s beautiful. Now this album went on to have three singles and a sold-out world tour. It was also recognized as Album of the year at the Grammys. 

H: Don’t forget I swept at the Brits this year.

Z: *laughs* That you did. 

H: It was an incredible night. I feel honored that my album was loved by the fans and that I had an amazing fan there to present me with the award. It–it was special. A night I will never forget. 

Z: How have you been celebrating today?

H: *looks away from the camera for a second* I went on my morning walk alone, and when I returned, the living room was filled with balloons and streamers. There was a beautifully decorated cake. The album was playing Bel’s favorite song on the record player. Seeing all the trouble she went through for me made me tear up.

B: *whispers* No trouble at all. 

H: *giggles* It shows me how lucky I am to have someone at my side who celebrates all my accomplishments with me. 

Z: It’s magical to have people at your side uplifting every goal and dream you have. Thank you for sharing that. I know we’re limited on time, wanting to respect your time and all, but I have a few final questions. 

H: Of course. 

Z: I know most of the album was written in 2020, but you did say 2021 brought some changes. Don’t think you ever said what it was. Would you care to share? 

H: *blushes* The album started while filming my two movies. I thought going into my 2021 tour, the album was finished, but, uh…someone walked back into my life and changed everything. There are tweaked lyrics. A song or two was removed, and another was added. This album happened because of them, even if she thinks she doesn’t deserve the credit. 

Z: We don’t even have to ask who you’re talking about.

H: No, I guess we don’t. Think I may have slipped earlier.

Z: Either way, I feel they’ll know. 

Z: What do you think is next? What do you see for the future? 

H: I know you mean music wise, but after finishing in July, I’ll enjoy being home and being a son, a friend, and a partner. It might be crazy to say, but she’s all I see when I think of the future. It’s all I want to see. I guess that’s where I am in life. 

Z: Are you happy, Harry?

H: The happiest I’ve ever been. 

The interview blows up, and it’s safe to say it was the best gift Hary could give his fans on the first anniversary of Harry’s house, a peek into the inside of his life. 

_____

hope you enjoyed this little blurb amores 🤍