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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

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Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (modern!Queen x platonic!reader) - Chapter 2

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your three-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: This chapter, but really this whole fic, has such a specific vibe and I love it?? Like I can relate to a lot of the things I describe, and I don’t know if that’s a me thing, or a British thing, or just a thing. Anyways I’m here for it. And if you’re not British and don’t relate to this fic in the way I do, and you’ve wondered what it’s like to live in Britain, this might give you a rough idea.

The chapter count for this crept up again because I’ve had about two or three more ideas for this. I think now would be a good time to mention that I’m treating this as more of a load of one-shots set in the same verse, rather than a story with a plot. That’s why it will start to seem more like a series of vignettes, not as a storyline.

As always, I hope you’re all doing okay with everything that’s going on, and I hope to have another update for you all soon. I hope you enjoy!

Warning(s): swearing

Word Count: 3.3k+

Inspiration: Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr, Rock Angel by @mirkwoodshewolf on Tumblr, Brian’s Instagram, Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, this silly lockdown business, the fact that I should have gone to see Queen over two weeks ago but it’s fine

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Series Taglist: @banana-tree-freddiemercury @lillycarlyn (darling you didn’t say which taglist so if you want me to put you on the perm one then let me know)

Ask to be on either! Make sure to specify!

You popped your head round the door to the studio and smiled to yourself when you found it void of people. You switched the lights on, the charcoal-grey clouds outside casting a darkness over the Opera House; uncharacteristic for midday, but then it was London, and it was February. You couldn’t expect too much from good old British weather.

It wasn’t often that you had the opportunity of having a studio all to yourself, so when you did, you simply had to make the most of it. The way your timetable for the day had worked out meant that you had a longer lunch break than everyone else, not by much, but fifteen minutes was more than enough time to go over a routine you’d crafted yourself. So, seeing as you could afford to eat later on, and everyone else was either in the canteen or some café in Covent Garden, you decided to book one of the studios for your own use.

You connected your phone to the mostly unused speaker in the corner of the room and quickly found the song. Time was of the essence here, and you were most conscious of that. You lightly ran to the centre of the room, making sure you weren’t facing the wall-length mirror for watching yourself dance made you rather self-conscious, replacing passion with technicality. This dance was your own, you had created it, cradled it, held it oh-so-close to your heart; unlike anything you’d ever done professionally, this dance was all about the enthusiasm and the love with which you danced.

Freddie’s voice rang out through the studio, clear as day and filling each and every particle with the richness of his voice. The singular note was soon accompanied by harmonies and then the familiar piano motif of Somebody To Love. You smiled despite yourself as you began the routine.

You promised yourself that one day you’d perform this to someone, even if it was just Rose. But that day was a long way off yet.

The way you danced was unlike how you had ever done so on stage. You performed with a vivacity that many dancers lost so early on in their careers when they valued the physical quality of their dancing over the raw emotion of it. You considered yourself quite lucky that you hadn’t yet surrendered to that particular temptation.

You considered this song to be a crescendo in and of itself, just building and building as its many layers unfolded. You’d made sure that this was reflected in the choreography. Each section was grander a more extravagant than the last. You quite liked the simultaneous challenge and familiarity of it; it made for a good dance to return to when you found your head overflowing with your thoughts and anxieties. You made more and more use of the space as the song progressed, like you were contained by an invisible circle that gradually grew.

When the third verse came around, and Freddie’s voice temporarily faded into silence, fooling the nonchalant listener into thinking it was the end, you had a second to pause. You used it to inhale deeply before starting the fouettés that accompanied the acapella. One, then another, then another, more, more, more until you genuinely thought you were going to fall over. You persevered, however, pushing through all forty of the turns, and even though by the end you wanted nothing more than to lay on the ground and watch the world spin, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming because holy shit you’d never done them all before. You shook off the feeling, allowing yourself to revel in it later; right now, you had the rest of the dance to get through.

You breezed through the rest of it, the highest jeté seeming insignificant compared to the dizzying hell you’d just put yourself through. When everything quietened down once again, and Freddie faded back into his falsetto, you came to a still in the centre of the ‘stage’, going up on pointe and gradually raising one leg into the air so that it was parallel to your upper body and then to your face. When the music kicked in again, you dropped it back down and returned to your original flow. With the last tiny piano chord of the song, you did a cheeky little jump with the biggest grin on your face, before curtseying to your non-existent audience.

Or so you thought.

A slow clap sounded from the doorway and you whirled round to look at the intruder, blushing furiously with the embarrassment of being seen without knowing. Your smile made a comeback, however, when you recognised the face.

“Wow, that really was something, (Y/N),” Brian whistled, “I’m impressed, truly.”

“Thank you,” you ducked your head, panting heavily. Your muscles screamed with exhaustion, and even though you wanted to just lay down and maybe have a nap, you stayed strong, refusing to appear rude to Brian.

Somehow, he seemed to read your mind, “You can sit down, you must be knackered. Don’t mind me.”

You smiled at him gratefully before sinking down in the corner of the studio next to your bag and grabbing your water bottle with desperation. You gestured to the spot next to you which he took gladly. “How much of that did you see?”

“Pretty much all of it,” he laughed, “I was about pop in for a chat but I saw you put the song on, and I thought I might as well watch.”

“Gosh,” you muttered, beginning to take off your pointe shoes to relieve your aching feet. You’d had back-to-back classes all morning and doing a routine such as that one after all of that just didn’t help.

“I didn’t know you guys danced to non-classical music,” he said.

You managed to get one shoe off, and you started on the other one, wrinkling your nose at the quite frankly disgusting smell that Brian was politely showing no reaction to, “We don’t. Well, I haven’t heard of it anyway. Even if people did somewhere, it would be an awfully long time before the Royal started doing it.”

He shot you a confused look, “Then how…”

“It’s my dance. I choreographed it a while back,” you shrugged, not really understanding what the big deal was, “That’s probably the best run I’ve done of it.”

“Wow, I,” he ran a hand through his hair, “That looked like something from an actual ballet.”

You ducked your head again with the kind of embarrassed pride that comes with compliments, “Thanks, Brian, that means a lot. I only made it a while ago. I,” you laughed self-deprecatingly before saying, “I’d just done quite possibly the worst audition of my life, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how shit it was. So, I just freestyled to some of my favourite songs and that happened.”

“You just made that up?” he asked incredulously.

“It wasn’t nearly as good as it was just then. I’ve been working on it for months until it became what you just watched. It’s been my little side project,” you mused, shoving your phone and both of your pointe shoes into your ballet bag. You poked your head up and peered through the huge window on the opposite wall, cringing at the heavy rain and how that wasn’t a good mix with the non-waterproof trainers you were now putting on, “Oh, shit, I thought it wasn’t going to rain until later. I don’t think I packed my umbrella,” you said, forgetting about your shoes for a second and rifling through your bag.

Brian placed a hand on your arm, “Relax, I have one, we’ll just have to share, if that’s alright with you?”

“Thanks,” you looked at him gratefully before returning to doing your laces.

“Where are you going anyway? You haven’t finished work already, have you?”

“Oh, I wish,” you laughed sadly. You did love your job, but today was just one of those days where you had no energy and just wanted to cuddle up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a box of Quality Street chocolates all to yourself and binge watch Miranda on Netflix. “No, I didn’t bring any lunch with me, so I thought I’d have a look and see which cafes have free tables. You’re more than welcome to join me if you want.”

About five minutes later, you found yourself running through Covent Garden Market while it was hammering it down with rain, sharing an umbrella with Brian that was way too small for the both of you. You were trying your hardest not to slip on the shining cobblestones beneath your feet, while also trying not to knock into any other pedestrians who, like you, were also running for cover. It wasn’t long until you reached your destination, a café that was a favourite haunt of yourself and Rose. It served at Rose’s Friday treat after she had finished preschool for the day, when the weather wasn’t too good and you couldn’t go to the playground in St James’s Park. You also frequented it on bank holiday weekends or half-terms where you’d been in the flat for three days straight and were in desperate need of some fresh air but had absolutely nothing to do.

You held the door open for Brian, hearing the little bell ring when it came into contact with the door, and you grabbed the umbrella from him as he entered. You shook it rather aggressively outside and popped it into the bucket next to you, filled to the brim with the umbrella of fellow patrons who unluckily got caught in the rain and had dived into the nearest establishment for sanctuary. You made your way to the only free table left while Brian queued up to order your food and drinks.

This wasn’t actually the first time you two had done this, though it was the third. The first time had been rather awkward, as from the second you put your shoes on to leave to the second you said goodbye, you were both repeatedly stopped by people wanting to talk to Brian. And even though neither of you ever complained, you had later admitted to each other that you had found it rather annoying. The second time wasn’t as bad, though at one point you had been stopped by a guy from some tabloid you’d never heard of asking for an interview. Much to your amusement, and Brian’s embarrassment, the guy had actually been looking to talk to you instead of him. You’d politely declined, offering to do it another time, but as soon as you’d sat down to eat, you teased Brian mercilessly about it, and still did every now and then. All it took was for you to say Brian look I’m more famous than you for him to blush furiously and ask you to please change the subject. Considering this was the third time now, the initial shock of oh my God I’m just casually having lunch with Brian May this is fine had passed. Now it was merely having lunch with a friend. Just that that friend just so happened to be an international icon. No big deal.

You looked up to see Brian making his way over to you, carrying a tray of food, and you smiled when you noticed that he’d remembered from last time when you’d told him what, in your opinion, was the best food this particular café had to offer. He sat down opposite you and plonked the tray down on the table, as you both started to work out who’s food and drink was who’s.

“How’s work been this week?” he opened up the conversation as he stirred his latte that had fake milk in it because I don’t know if their milk is locally sourced, (Y/N)!

“Not too bad, actually,” you said, taking a sip of your own drink and cringing when it scalded your tongue, “We’re just in our last week of rehearsals for The Winter’s Tale right now. Someone got injured on Tuesday, and our first performance is next Tuesday, so that’s not exactly ideal. But we’ll get through it, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” you shrugged. The show must go on, you supposed. Pun not intended.

“Listen, (Y/N),” he started, his more serious tone intriguing you already, “I need to talk to you about something.”

You nodded slowly, “Okay…” You weren’t all too sure where he was going with this, and it was impossible to tell if the news he was about to impart was good or bad.

“I know this is very sudden, and there’s no guarantee that this will even happen, but I thought I’d ask you first,” he rambled for a moment.

“What, what are you on about?” you laughed impatiently.

He took a deep breath and said, “I have a business proposition for you.”

**************

The after-school pick-me-up was carnage at the best of times, let alone on a Friday which also just so happened to be the last day of half-term. Parents crowding around the doorway, desperate to reunite with their child and careless of who they had to shove out of their way in order to reach them. Children spilled out of the school, arms full of lunch boxes and month-old paintings that were meant to be rainbows and dragons but resembled something similar to an oil spill. Teachers waved goodbye with the odd word to the overly concerned parent, not-so-secretly relieved that their week off was edging closer, and hurrying everyone off because the sooner they left, the sooner half-term started. Something which parents had very split feelings over.

Not for you, however. You were more than happy to get Rose to yourself for the week, finding the flat way too still and silent and void of a child’s laughter for you to find remotely comfortable. And even though half-term would always mean a busy show week for you due to the sheer amount of families desperately needing something to do, you were still grateful for the time you got together. That may or may not be because you had spent the far majority of your adult life being a parent, but you weren’t complaining.

As per usual, you heard Rose’s shout long before you saw her face, but you decided that you wouldn’t have it any other way when you saw her run straight towards, “Mummy!”

You crouched down and hugged her tightly when she collided into your arms, almost overbalancing from the sheer force of it, “Hello, darling, did you have a good day?”

She pulled away and grinned at you, “Yeah! We had a dance party and we played games and we played musical chairs and I won and I got some chocolate!”

“Oh, wow, that’s really good Rose, well done you,” you bopped her nose and turned to the things she was holding, “What’s all this?”

She thrust a piece of sugar paper under your nose, “I did a glitter painting yesterday and it’s dry now! It has every colour in the whole world!”

You took it from her and looked at it, pretending to inspect it like a pretentious artist and putting on the poshest voice possible, “Well, I do think it’s rather splendid, if I do say so myself. Absolutely spiffing.”

She dissolved into giggles, “Mummy, you’re silly.”

You gasped in mock offence as you took her hand and started to lead her out of the crowd, “Excuse me, I’m not silly! I’m a very serious grown-up, don’t you know?”

“I don’t want to be a grown-up! Grown-ups are boring. I want to be little forever and ever and ever.”

“I’m a grown-up, do you think I’m boring?” you asked.

“Only sometimes,” she said very seriously, “Only when you talk about boring grown-up stuff.”

You chuckled slightly, “What about Rog and Bri? Are they boring?”

She laughed again as if you’d just said the funniest thing she’d heard all day, “No! They’re fun because they give me ice cream and they think of really good games,” she paused for a second, “Mummy, are we going to the park today?”

“Well, it is Friday so if you want to go then we’ll go. It is a very sunny day today,” you said, frowning when you noticed Rose’s face, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She pouted as if deep in thought, “I don’t think I want to go today.”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to, darling. It’s half-term next week so we can always go another day,” you assured her, “Why don’t you want to go?”

“I feel a bit tired,” she said sheepishly, “I don’t want to fall asleep on the swings and fall off!”

“Oh, baby,” you said, heart swelling with the simultaneous silliness and adorableness of her logic, “I’d catch you before you fall, don’t worry. But we can go home if you want. We’ll find something else for your Friday treat.”

Her eyes lit up, “Can we have cookies? The nice ones with the big chocolate bits?”

“Good idea, darling, we can have cookies,” you did a quick mental run-through of what your biscuit tin was looking like at the moment and said, “I don’t think we have any of those ones at home so we’ll stop off at the bakery on the way home.”

“Yay!” she squealed before singing, “We’re having cookies! We’re having cookies!”

Rose spent the entire journey home singing that song, and even though you wanted nothing more than to never hear that tune again, you wouldn’t dare burst her bubble of joy. Besides, you didn’t think you could tell her to stop if you tried; she really was that cute. Or maybe you just told yourself that, so you didn’t feel like a terrible parent. You guessed you would never know. At least the lady who worked at the bakery found it endearing that a child could be that excited for something as relatively simple as cookies.

By the time you’d shoved the key in the door and the two of you had spilled into your flat, it was around half past four and Rose was positively exhausted, despite her best attempts to look and sound awake. You’d decided to have the cookies with some milk you’d warm up once you’d sorted out Rose’s stuff and gotten her changed from her long day at preschool. Then you just supposed you’d have some cuddles, and, with any luck, she’d fall asleep because the poor girl really needed it.

You put the radio on in the background before snuggling down on the sofa with her comfortably in your lap and your favourite honey-golden blanket draped over the both of you.

“I love you, Mummy,” she murmured against your chest before nibbling on the cookie that was bigger than her hand.

“I love you too, baby,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and feeling her snuggle in more, as if that was even possible. You suddenly remembered your lunch with Brian, and the news you needed to impart, “I had lunch with Bri today,” you started, feeling her nod and carrying on, “He had a very cool idea, darling.”

“What was it?” she whispered, large, curious eyes looking up at you.

“He asked me if I wanted to work on a film, and I said yes,” you smiled, watching her face light up with the muted excitement that was usually paired with some element of confusion.

“A film? Is it a big film? Like Tangled?” she asked, suddenly much livelier than before.

“Yes, sweetheart, a bit like Tangled, except there’s going to be real people in it instead of animated people,” you explained.

“What’s the film about?” she was getting more curious by the second and it just made your heart leap with pride.

“It’s about the band that Rog and Bri are in, darling. It’s the story of how they got famous,” you grinned.

“Who are you in it?”

“Ooooooh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that yet, I’ve got to keep it a secret,” you said judiciously, smiling when she pouted at you, “I’ll tell you another day, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”

“Promise?” she asked hopefully.

You brought her into a hug again and whispered, “Promise.”

#ballet #royal ballet #queen band #ballet au #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen x reader #queen x reader platonic #queen imagine

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quickspinner · 4 years

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Finding Harmony - Ch 5 M Major

Luka had never cared about clothes much. Sure he had a style, but it wasn’t something he thought consciously about, it was just things he liked to wear. He was doing this modeling thing as a favor for Juleka, and to spend time with Marinette. The clothes, until today, had mostly been an afterthought.

He wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that hit him once he was standing there, in clothes that Marinette designed and made with him in mind.

This was why he loved her. This was what he’d seen that day, when she walked into his room wide-eyed and stammering. Something in his soul had recognized her, when he had given her a song and she had received it, not with blank confusion, plastic smiles, or guarded hostility, but with reverence and wonder and gratitude. Marinette took all the bits of himself that he gave, and cradled and treasured them, because she understood. Because she was the same. Because he was standing here wearing a song she wrote with color and cloth and the work of her hands and it was absolutely wrecking him.

Juleka was right, he was hopeless.

“Luka, is everything okay?” Marinette called, and he realized he’d been standing there too long.

He steadied his voice as best he could and called back, “Yeah, everything’s fine, I’m dressed. These clothes are amazing, Marinette.”

She got him. Marinette absolutely, one hundred percent got him, from the subdued base colors to the pops of brightness, to the way the snake motifs were simultaneously edgy and whimsical enough to be nonthreatening. The shirt fit closer than anything else he ever wore, but it was comfortable and not clingy. The jeans, subtly textured to mimic the lines of Viperion’s suit, felt like an inside joke between the two of them, made even funnier because she didn’t know that he knew she knew.

He took one more steadying breath and stepped out from behind the screen.

Marinette did an excited little wiggle. “Oh, you look so good, just like I imagined! Ooh, I love it when a project comes together. How does it feel, do I need to fix anything? Turn around.”

“It feels great, Marinette, really, it’s like they were made for me.” He winked at her as he turned slowly.

“Hang on, there’s a loose thread back here...there.” Marinette stepped back. “Perfect.” She looked up into his face. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Luka stepped close and gripped her shoulder. “I really do. You’re an artist, Marinette.” He grinned. “Sneaky, too. You didn’t have any of this detail done the last time I was here.” He turned slightly to indicate the patches of different textured fabric on the jeans.

Marinette giggled. “It’s true, I saved some things for last so you’d still be surprised.”

“I’m speechless, really.” He dropped his hand and stepped back, gesturing her towards the other screen. “But you better…” Marinette nodded and turned away as he turned to look in her full length mirror. He could see then just how well the clothes complimented his body. Luka wasn’t especially vain, but his face heated a little bit as he wondered exactly how much time she’d spent looking at him to get such results.

“How’s Juleka doing?” He heard Marinette whisper to Rose, who was standing at the corner of Juleka’s screen.

“She’s freaking out a little bit,” Rose whispered back. “I think I can calm her down, I just need a little more time.”

“Take as long as she needs,” Marinette told Rose, and then she turned to Luka. “Why don’t I go on down and meet Alya at the park?” Marinette suggested, putting a hand on his arm. “Come down when you’re ready, okay? No pressure, we’ve got plenty of time.”

“Thanks Marinette,” Luka smiled at her. “I’ll play for her a bit, that might help calm her down.”

“Perfect. Okay, we’ll see you in a few minutes. Meet us by the near fountain when you’re ready.” Marinette went down through the trapdoor.

Luka picked up his ever-present guitar and sat on Marinette’s chaise, playing a familiar, comforting melody just to remind Juleka that he was there with her.

After a few minutes his sister finally emerged from the screen, paler even than usual, but breathing steadily. Luka smiled as he looked Juleka over. He wasn’t sure how they’d done it but her hair was smoothed back into a low tail, the purple tips of her bangs tucked under the rest of her hair so the color didn’t show and clash with the blues and reds accenting the black clothes, and she wore combs on the sides of her head with a beaded version of Marinette’s snake motif. The flowy shirt had lace accents edging a wide collar that exposed Juleka’s collarbone, paired with sleek black pants that were textured similar to his own. Her outfit was both Juleka and Marinette, with a vibe that mixed Juleka’s edge with Marinette’s sweetness, and lent Juleka a bit of Marinette’s boldness as well. There was no hiding in this outfit, even with Juleka curling in on herself in nervousness. Luka got up and maneuvered her in front of the long mirror, so she could see herself.

“I like it,” was all he said, but Juleka glowed, her shoulders straightening as she looked herself over, and he swallowed against another rush of emotion to see her stand proud. “Well,” he said, smiling at her reflection, “Are we ready to do this?”

Juleka gave him a decisive nod, and led the way down the stairs.

Marinette had her back to them as they approached, and she was clearly arguing with Alya about something.

“No, Alya. I’m going to go with Luka and we’re going to have fun and there’s not going to be any pressure or awkwardness or drama, end of story. Anyway, I asked him weeks ago, I’m not going to bail on him now.”

“I still think you’re missing a chance, but if you’ve already asked him then I guess—oh, hey guys! Ready to rock the camera, you two?” Alya waved and Marinette turned quickly, blushing as Luka and Juleka approached.

“Great, you’re here,” Marinette said, putting on a smile that was only a little strained.

“Everything okay?” Luka asked her quietly as Alya turned away.

“Yeah, just a difference of opinion,” Marinette smiled thinly. “We’re having a lot of those lately, but we’re working on it. At least this time she took no for an answer, so that’s progress.” She smiled at Juleka. “Ready Juleka? How do you feel?”

“Okay,” Juleka said, fidgeting. Her shoulders were rolling forward again as her chin dropped toward her chest. Rose took her hand.

“Just like the plan, Juleka,” Marinette said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll start out here at the fountain, and then if we feel up to it, we’ll try a few other places through the park. We’ve got plenty of time so we can take a break any time you need to. We’re aiming for way more pictures than we actually need, so don’t feel pressured. Then just before sunset when we have the best light, we’ll change you both into the formal clothes.”

Juleka nodded her understanding.

“As for poses, I have some reference pictures to get us started, and then as you get comfortable, we can just roll from there.” She patted Juleka’s shoulder. “If you need a break, don’t be afraid to let us know, okay? ”

Juleka dipped her head in a way that normally would have hidden her face, ashamed of her weakness. “Okay,” she mumbled.

Luka lifted his hand to rest it on her shoulder but he was distracted as Alya put one fist on her hip, and proclaimed, “Man, I had no idea you were packing guns like that, Luka. Marinette, he needs a tattoo. He doesn’t look right without one. Maybe you could draw the snake on him with a sharpie or something.”

“Alya, he doesn’t need a tattoo, his arms are nice the way they are,” Marinette replied decisively, pushing Luka gently towards the bench by the fountain and scowling back at her friend.

“Ohhhh are they now,” Alya drawled, cocking a hip and shooting a smug look at Marinette, who spluttered.

“I’m just saying he’s fine the way he is!” she flailed, and then turned to Luka. “I mean, not that you would look bad with a tattoo if you wanted one, but you don’t need one.”

Luka snorted, seating himself on the bench. “I’d love one but I’m a total wuss around needles.”

Marinette paused her freakout and looked at him. “Really?”

“Absolute truth.”

“But your ears are pierced.”

Juleka snickered. “He passed out.”

“And she’s never going to let me forget it,” Luka sighed.

“Not in a million years,” Juleka grinned back at him.

“Big talk from someone who’s afraid of a few pictures,” Luka challenged, eyebrows raised. “Are you coming over here or what?”

A flush lit Juleka’s pale cheeks and he winced, afraid he’d pushed too far, but Marinette took her cheerfully by the hand and led her to the bench. She sat down between them for a moment, showing them the pictures she’d brought.

It was smart, giving them a place to start from, though Luka frequently had a hard time keeping a straight face as they tried to get into the poses. Marinette finally rolled her eyes at him and told him to go ahead and laugh so he could be serious when it was time for the pictures.

While he did manage to keep a straight face once they really got started, the awkward feeling didn’t leave him. Luka tried not to mind. He was really doing this for Juleka and Marinette, anyway, and he was willing to feel stupid for a while for their sakes. Marinette kept up a cheerful stream of praise and chatter and Rose was bubbling over with enthusiasm as always. Juleka began to relax and get into it, even giggling once or twice at Marinette’s silliness or blushing at Rose’s enthusiastic praise. Pride swelled in his chest as Juleka’s confidence grew; she really was gorgeous and it was gratifying to see her come to life, out of the protective shell she’d so carefully built around herself.

“Oh, are you guys doing a little photoshoot? How cute!”

The saccharine voice was unfamiliar and somehow thoroughly unpleasant, but Luka didn’t break pose until he heard Alya’s camera click. He felt Juleka draw closer to him, nearly hiding behind him, and he looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. She bit her lip and raised her hand as if to brush her bangs forward, but stopped.

Marinette planted herself squarely between her models and the newcomer. Newcomers, Luka realized. He didn’t recognize the girl with the long hair but Adrien had come up behind her. Great, he thought, glancing at Juleka again and then back at Marinette. Just what we needed.

“Hi guys,” said Adrien, looking more on edge than Luka had ever seen him. Or maybe it wasn’t the way he looked, maybe it was the way he sounded, a stressed out edge to his voice that was at odds with his relaxed stance. “Doing some more work for your website, Marinette? The designs look great, really unique.”

“They’re definitely not like anything I’ve ever seen,” the girl said, and though the words were innocent, somehow they sounded like an insult. Luka felt his shoulders tensing up.

“Isn’t it cool, Lila? Marinette’s always been plugged in to the rock ‘n roll aesthetic,” Alya said cheerfully. “You know, with all the work she’s done for Jagged Stone, and all. It’s a smart angle to start with for the website, but you know you need to show some range too, girl! Maybe next time, you can be her inspiration model, Adrien!”

“Adrien’s a professional model, Alya,” Marinette pointed out. “He’s under contract with Gabriel and they’re very strict about using his likeness. I could get sued if Adrien modelled for me without permission.”

Adrien looked stricken. “I didn’t even think about that last time, Marinette.”

“You’re okay! I mean, it’s okay! I didn’t think of it either until later. N-n-not that I didn’t appreciate the lelp, uh, help.” Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and opened her eyes to smile at Adrien. “I appreciate you helping out, and of course I’m always happy to have your advice, but I think it’d be best if you didn’t appear in any more of the photos.”

Luka’s eyes widened slightly. “Whoa,” Juleka muttered beside him. “That was a whole sentence.”

“Well, of course Gabriel can’t allow Adrien to be used like that,” Lila said brightly, just the slightest emphasis turning her statement into a condemnation. Easily deniable if anyone called her out on it, Luka thought, a sour taste in his mouth. What a manipulative piece of work. Her eyes on him made his skin crawl and suddenly he was the one who wanted to hide behind Juleka.

“I’m glad to see you’re giving modelling another try, Juleka,” Adrien grinned at them, and Juleka gave him a tentative smile around Luka’s shoulder. “Don’t be shy, you look fantastic, and this is one of my favorite locations to shoot.” He waved a hand at the photographer setting up near the carousel. “Just be confident, you’ll do great.”

Luka turned his body so that Juleka was fully visible, though he put his hand on her back for support. “She looks awesome, doesn’t she? I keep telling her how pretty she is, but I guess it doesn’t mean much coming from her brother.” Juleka scowled and socked him in the arm. “Ow, don’t bruise me before we’re done with the photos,” he teased.

“Of course Juleka’s nervous,” giggled Lila. “I mean, there’s so much more to modeling than just being pretty. I don’t have much experience yet, but M. Agreste picked me personally, so I just know I can’t let him down. But when you’re working with an up and coming designer, you never know what people are going to think! I mean, we all know Marinette’s wonderful, but once it’s out on the web it’s out there for everybody, isn’t it, and people can be so fickle and cruel. It definitely won’t do Juleka’s modelling dreams any good if it turns out the public hates the designs.”

“Well, Marinette did win my father’s design contest,” Adrien piped up, his smile as bland as ever, but with that same stressed out edge to his voice. “And I know they gave you a release to use the photos from the show for that. That should get people’s attention, and once people are looking I know they’ll be blown away.”

“Marinette’s work speaks for itself,” Luka agreed, his own easy tone covering just how much her insinuations annoyed him. “There will always be haters, you can’t please everybody, but these are definitely the best clothes I’ve ever worn.”

“Of course,” Lila said, eyeing him up and down with a slight sneer, as if she hadn’t been blatantly checking him out a few minutes ago. Luka heard Juleka growl quietly. “I’m so lucky, modelling Gabriel clothing, you just can’t help but feel confident.” Lila gave a little twirl to show off her dress. “It makes such a difference.” She latched on to Adrien’s arm. “And having such an amazing partner to work with is a huge help. And you have such an unusual look, Juleka, I’m sure you’ll stand out no matter what people think of the clothes. Just don’t think too much about what you’re wearing and you’ll do great!”

Juleka straightened up, her shoulders going back and her uncovered eyes flashing. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, so clearly that everyone looked at her in surprise. “I feel great in this.” She struck a pose, and Alya whipped the camera up, grinning like a maniac.

“Show her how it’s done, Jule,” Luka muttered approvingly, backing out of the shot.

“That’s great, Juleka. Tilt your chin up just a little more—there, perfect!” Adrien cheered. Lila gave her “partner” a black look, but if Adrien noticed, he ignored it. The others were staring wide-eyed at Juleka as she went through a series of poses, looking like the pro Luka knew she could be. He folded his arms and grinned, winking at her when she seemed to run out of steam and glanced at him as if to ask, how did I do?

Suddenly Alya gasped. “Marinette, I have the greatest idea,” she squealed, grabbing Marinette’s arm. “Why don’t you put on the jacket and go pose with Luka?”

Marinette scowled. “Alya, that was supposed to be a surprise!”

“Never mind that right now, put it on! It’ll be great, you’ll look like the sweet girl wearing her bad boy boyfriend’s jacket. Juleka, you don’t mind taking a quick break, do you? In fact, maybe you could do something with Marinette’s hair real quick. Luka, come back over here.”

Marinette sighed, but took a prettily wrapped package out of her bag, opened it carefully, and slipped on a denim jacket with the snake motif embroidered on the front panels. It was much too big for Marinette, and Alya was right, it did look like she was wearing her boyfriend’s jacket. He took a slow breath to banish the heat creeping up his neck, glad that he had an excellent poker face. Because he was mature and chill and he could totally pose like her boyfriend without blushing up a storm, no big deal. He glanced at Alya, who looked entirely too pleased with herself. Luka was aware from Juleka that Alya was the head of the get-Marinette-a-date posse. Whether all this achieved was pushing Marinette and Luka together, or whether they actually managed to make Adrien jealous enough to open his eyes, he supposed it was a win-win from her perspective.

Oh well, if Marinette wasn’t going to object, he wouldn’t either.

Juleka redid Marinette’s hair into a low ponytail and put the end over her shoulder, while Rose touched up her makeup with quick, efficient movements.

When Marinette turned towards Alya for her approval, Luka saw that the back of the jacket was intricately embroidered with more elaborate version of the snake and flowers design on his guitar. It was a stunning piece, a little bit retro and a little bit punk with just a touch of Marinette sweetness. It looked like a huge amount of work and he kind of loved it. Maybe if he ever did manage to sell a song, he could get Marinette to make him one.

“Wow, Marinette,” Adrien said admiringly, examining the detail on the jacket lapels. “That’s quality work. Really nice. And did you design the back yourself? It looks amazing.”

“Oh, Marinette, you do so much work,” Lila chimed in. “No wonder your hands are always so rough, you must work your fingers to the bone, poor thing! It’s great to follow your passion, but you shouldn’t wear yourself out! I can tell you haven’t had much sleep lately.”

Marinette growled, and Lila’s eyes widened innocently. Alya elbowed Marientte, who just sighed.

“Ready when you are, Marinette,” Luka said nonchalantly, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her away. “Where do you want us, Alya?”

“The jacket is amazing, by the way,” he added under his breath as Alya directed them back toward the fountain. “And your friend is about as charming as you described. Don’t let her get to you, she can’t ruin this.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Marinette muttered back.

“Don’t underestimate yourself either. You’ve been fantastic all day, Marinette. You’re confident, in charge, you have a plan for everything, the clothes are fantastic, and did you see Juleka just now?”

“She was amazing, wasn’t she?” Marinette giggled.

“Because of you. You set this whole thing up to be as relaxed as possible, you made sure she had the support she needed, you planned ahead and prepared. You set her up for success. I’m proud of her, but I’m always amazed by you.”

Luka smiled at her, and heard the camera click behind him, reminding him of the others.

“Okay, Luka, stand over here and then lean against the bench there, like you’re almost sitting on the arm, and then Marinette, you go stand close to him.

“You might want to move a little more to the right, Marinette, so you can still see his clothes,” Adrien interjected. “There, perfect,” he grinned as Marinette adjusted.

“Luka, put your far hand on her waist and Marinette, you turn your back to me and put your hand on his shoulder—or maybe his chest would be better,” Alya directed.

“Is that okay with you?” Luka asked Marinette, who was blushing rather fiercely.

“S-sure,” she stammered, and Luka frowned.

“You don’t sound okay with it. You can tell Alya no if—”

“No, it’s fine, I just didn’t expect to be in front of the camera today and I’m nervous.” He watched her face as he settled a hand on her waist, but she didn’t flinch or look like she wanted to move away. Marinette raised her hand and it hovered uncertainly in front of him. “What about you, is this—”

Luka took her hand held it over his heart, cradling it in such a way that her hand was mostly resting on his hand rather than on his chest, and Alya squealed. “Oh, keep holding her hand like that, that’s perfect. Marinette, keep your back to me but turn towards him just a little bit. Perfect. Now just look like you’re in love, you too.”

Well, at least that wasn’t hard. Not for him, anyway. Luka studied Marinette’s stiff face. “Is she always this enthusiastic?” he asked with a small smile. Marinette giggled and relaxed a little.

“Yes, always,” she told him. “Always, everyday, one hundred percent. That’s Alya.”

“Marinette!” Alya called. “Get up on your toes and kiss his cheek!”

“Alyaaaa,” Marinette grumbled, and then looked up shyly at Luka. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine with me, but only if you want to, Marinette. The world won’t end if we don’t get that specific shot. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Instead of answering she did as Alya directed, rising up on her toes and barely brushing her lips to Luka’s cheek, pausing there for a moment to give Alya a chance to get the shot, before pulling back. Luka tried not to smile, but didn’t succeed very well.

Alya squealed when she checked the image and showed it to Juleka, who smirked at Luka, and to Adrien, who nodded approvingly. “Looking good.”

“They should back up a little more, closer to the fountain,” Lila suggested.

“Great idea,” Alya replied brightly. “Luka, why don’t you get your guitar? Marinette, sit on the edge of the fountain and cross your legs.”

“Wait, let’s make sure it’s not wet first,” Lila said, hurrying forward. “Maybe over here, Marinette, come this way.”

Luka didn’t clearly see what happened, he only saw Marinette pitch forward suddenly. He lunged forward at the same time as Adrien.

Both of them were too far away. Marientte crashed into the bowl of the fountain with a splash.

“Oh no, Marinette!” Lila cried, jumping back just in time to avoid the wave of water that slipped over the side of the fountain. “Oh, I should have remembered how clumsy you are, I should never have suggested getting that close! All those outcroppings at the bottom, of course you tripped!”

Luka stopped short of the bowl of the fountain and leaned over the edge, reaching for Marinette. Adrien hopped right over the edge and waded to her, catching her other arm. Together they hauled the gasping and stunned girl upright and got her seated on the edge.

“Are you all right? Did you hit your head?” Luka asked anxiously.

“I don’t think so, it was just c-cold,” Marinette stuttered. “It knocked the wind out of me.”

Adrien didn’t say anything, but the model’s lips were pressed in a thin line as he looked back at Lila. To Luka’s surprise, the girl openly smirked at him. She was too close for any of the girls to see it.

“Oh, Marinette, is your jacket ruined?” She crooned, pitting her hands to her face.

“No,” Martinette gritted. “I made sure it was washable.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Lila said insincerely as the other girls finally snapped out of their stupor and came running.

“Oh, Marinette,” Alya sighed. “Girl, what a time to pull a Marinette special. At least we got a few good shots.” She looked at Luka and groaned. “And now you’re wet too. Guess that means it’s time for the wardrobe change.”

Lila opened her mouth but Adrien cut her off. “Well, I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it. The weather’s great for a shoot, just enough clouds to keep the light soft. I hope you get some good shots. We’re due in makeup any minute now, so we better go.” Adrien took Lila’s upper arm and began propelling her away. “Stay confident, Juleka, you look fantastic. I can’t wait to see the pictures, Marinette.” He practically frogmarched Lila back to their waiting photographer across the square. Luka watched them go with a frown. Their whole vibe was just...weird.

“It’s almost golden hour anyway, so this is as good a time as any,” Alya shrugged. “You guys go, I’ll hang out here and wait for you.” She looked over toward the other photoshoot.

Marinette sighed, shoulders slumping. “Sure. But, why don’t we take the camera with us? I’ll go ahead and download a copy of the pictures so we have a backup. You know, in case you need more space or something.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “You sure, girl? You’re more likely to drop it in the street by accident. And you’re dripping wet.”

“Rose can carry it!” Marinette declared, looking over to the other photo shoot with narrowed eyes. Alya rolled her eyes.

“You’re paranoid, girl. I don’t know how you’re blaming Lila when we all know you don’t need help to fall in a fountain, but whatever.” She handed over the camera.

Marinette turned towards the rest of the group and pasted on a smile so fake Luka felt physically pained by it. “Okay, my fabulous models, back to the bakery!” She started off without looking back to see if they were following.

Luka hesitated, and then sped his long stride a little bit to catch up with Marinette. She looked up with that fake smile and he winced. “Don’t,” he said, as he put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring how wet she was. He’d already been splashed getting her out, anyway, and she hadn’t freaked out, so presumably the water wouldn’t hurt his clothes. Marinette’s smile dimmed, became a lot smaller but a lot more genuine, and she leaned into him.

“Sorry,” she sighed.

“It’s okay. Just feel what you need to feel. You don’t have to fake it. So that was Lila, huh?”

“Yep,” Marinette grumbled.

“I think you were smart not to leave the camera.”

“Really?” Marinette looked up at him.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know the girl, but I don’t like the way she looks at you. And after everything that happened, better safe than sorry.” He bit his lip. “Did she push you in?” he asked very quietly.

“I don’t think so,” Marinette frowned. “It happened so fast. Will you think I’m paranoid if I say I think she planned it either way?”

“No,” Luka replied grimly. “The look on her face afterward was proof enough.”

“Thanks, Luka,” Marinette sighed. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear that someone sees what I see.”

“I saw it. I heard it in every word she said.” Then, hoping to lighten the mood, he asked, “What’s golden hour, by the way?”

“The hour right before sunset has the best light,” she explained. “It’ll make everything look nice and soft for the formal clothes.”

“But it means we’re on a schedule,” Luka nodded. “Got it. All right then, your dress-up doll awaits.” Marinette snorted and smacked his arm, and he chuckled.

They all trumped up the steps to her loft, Marinette waving off Mrs. Chemg’s confused questions about why her daughter was soaking wet with a “tell you later!”

“You were amazing out there, Juleka,” Marinette, now wearing dry clothes, told her over the screen. “You really showed Lila.”

“I suppose,” Juleka’s subdued voice replied. “It was just...I didn’t like...I mean, she didn’t really say anything bad, but…” There was a long pause. “I just didn’t like it.”

“She was being kind of insensitive,” Rose agreed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to, but..”

“She meant to,” Luka said flatly, emerging from behind his own screen, straightening the suit jacket. “If I tried to play what was in that girl’s heart this afternoon, it would sound like a horror movie soundtrack. She knows exactly what she’s saying.” He sighed as Marinette and Rose stared at him. “You know I would never tell you who to be friends with, Jule,” he said, addressing himself to the screen, “But if you’re going to keep hanging around with her...well, just be careful. She’s the kind who knows how to hit where it hurts. If she decides you’re not on her side anymore, it won’t be pretty.”

“You...really think she’s that bad?” asked Rose, glancing sideways at Marinette and then back to Luka.

“Probably not, as long as you’re on her good side.” Luka shrugged. “But she’s definitely not the kind of person I’d want to be friends with.” He spread his hands. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Marinette answered without thinking, and then blushed deeply as Luka grinned. “I mean, the suit looks perfect on you.”

“You’re spoiling me for regular clothes, you know that, right? Do I need to wear a tie?” He tried really hard not to whine that last bit, but it did come out sounding a little put-upon.

Marinette giggled. “No, I cut the collar to look good without one. We just need to do this--” Marinette unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and fidgeted with the collar for a moment. “There. Okay, stand back, look relaxed, put your hands in your pockets.”

Luka did as she asked, and chuckled as she gave a little squeal-hop-wiggle. “It looks so good!”

“Of course it does,” he said warmly. “You do great work, Marinette. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” He looked up as Juleka emerged from behind her screen in a closely fitted dress that flared out from her knees, going to the floor in the back and the middle of her shins in the front, and grinned. “Awesome, Juleka.”

“I took a chance with this one,” Marinette said critically, circling Juleka. “But I think it worked out. Girly, but edgy. Do you like it, Juleka?”

“I love it.” Juleka said it in a mumble, but there was a smile on her face as she rotated in front of the mirror. “Awesome.” The snake motif flowed down the lines of her body from her shoulder to the hem.

“Man, when did you grow up?” Luka asked admiringly, even though he knew she would hit him for it. She did, turning and punching him lightly in the arm.

“We’re only two years apart, weirdo.”

He reached out to ruffle her hair, but stopped himself just in time. The girls had tucked it up into some kind of complicated knot that they probably would have killed him for destroying.

“Let’s go,” Juleka huffed, turning away, but Luka could see she was pleased.

They made it down the stairs and to the park without incident. Marinette had been right, he realized, the park was filled with soft golden light. Marinette frowned. “Where’s--oh.”

Alya came jogging over from the other shoot, waving. “Hey all, you look great! Let’s do this!”

Marinette showed them another packet of poses and this time it didn’t take nearly as long for them to get relaxed into it. Marinette pulled Luka after they had a few good shots of him and let Juleka take center stage for the rest of the shoot.

“Look at her,” Luka said softly to Marinette. Thanks so much for doing this, Marinette. I can tell it’s really helping her confidence.”

Marinette squeezed his arm gently. “You’re such a softy of a big brother.”

Then it was sunset and they all went back to Marinette’s, the models changed back into their regular clothes, and everyone crammed around Marinette’s computer. “Now keep in mind none of these are edited,” Alya warned. “This is just a first look.”

“Tell me if there’s any you really hate and I won’t use them,” Marinette said as Alya loaded the images.

Pride swelled in Luka’s chest as they clicked through the pictures. Juleka was a bit stiff in the first few, but as she got more relaxed the pictures got better and better. The girls squealed and gushed, and he stood with a slow smile spreading over his face. Luka put his hand on Juleka’s shoulder and squeezed. “You look great, Jule,” he said quietly, when there was a pause in Rose’s excited gushing. “I told you you were made for this.” She didn’t say anything, but looking down, he could see the smile curling her lips. “This is...kind of a lot of pictures,” he remarked as the slideshow seemed to go on and on.

“Thank God for digital,” Alya said brightly, and then Luka couldn’t answer because he was staring at the picture of himself holding Marinette’s hand against his chest, looking down at her with an expression that could best be described as “quietly enamored” as she looked back up at him, the picture of sweetness and innocence. Objectively, it was a good picture, showing off the cut and details of his suit as well as the detailed embroidery on the back of the jacket. They also absolutely looked like a couple. In fact he’d seen engagement photos that looked just like this. He felt Juleka’s elbow dig into his ribs and his face heated at her quiet snicker.

Luka folded his arms and covered his mouth with one hand as Alya went through the rest of the pictures. Marinette standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek almost killed him. It was obvious that he was trying not to grin and Marinette had a pretty blush on her face. He hadn’t even noticed at the time that she had lifted one foot off the ground but it made the whole pose even cuter.

He dared a glance at Marinette and found her peeking through her fingers at him. He bit his lip and tried not to laugh, she looked so cute, sparkling with both amusement and mortification. Both of them shook with repressed laughter as Rose squealed delightedly at each new picture.

“So we can do some editing tomorrow,” Alya said, closing the window. “There should be plenty to work with. I think that turned out pretty well. I gotta jet like now, guys, so I’ll see you tomorrow!” She packed up her things and was gone as the other girls waved.

“I think some of those will be really fantastic for your portfolio, Juleka,” Marinette added. “Thank you so much for coming today.”

Juleka turned and hugged Marinette, mumbling something in her ear that clearly wasn’t meant for anyone else to catch. Whatever it was made Marinette tear up and squeeze Juleka even harder. Then, to his mild surprise, Juleka turned away from Marinette and hugged him too. “You’re stupid and I hate you,” she muttered into his shoulder. “Thanks for being there with me today.”

“You’re a pest and you exhaust me,” he told her, kissing her forehead. “I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

“Can I pleeeeeeeease hug now?” Rose begged, and then jumped on both of them before anyone could answer her. Luka laughed and expanded his embrace to include her.

“All right, all right, you guys go,” he squeezed them both one more time. “I know you’re dying to gush, so don’t wait for me.”

They didn’t, and he chuckled as they clattered down the stairs, Rose’s squeals audible until they left the house entirely. “Juleka’s going to have hearing damage before Rose is done with her,” Luka observed.

Marinette sat down in her desk chair with a heavy sigh. “That was fun, but I’m tired.”

“I could hear it, today,” Luka said, sitting down on the chaise and picking up his guitar. Marinette looked up at him.

“Hear what?”

“M.”

She brightened and came to sit next to him. “Really?”

“Really. I told you earlier, you were amazing today.” He brushed her bangs back from her forehead and tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes clearly. “I was right. It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to hear more of it. But Juleka said something to me a few days ago and I think she was right too.” Marinette blinked at him and he let his hand fall, still smiling back at her as he continued. “You can get by on your own—“ He played G for her as he’d done before. “But it’s not what makes you happy. M sounds better as a chord.” He played a G major chord. “Now that you’re in tune, maybe the next step is figuring out which other notes need to be in it, and which ones just don’t mesh.”

Marinette sighed. “How can I do that if they’re all out of tune too?” She wrinkled her nose. “This metaphor might be too complicated for me.”

“You're doing fine,” he chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. “You know you can’t control anyone else, Marinette. People will be who they are.”

“But it’s not who they are,” Marinette pouted. “It’s who she wants them to be. That, what you saw out there earlier today, that wasn’t Alya. That wasn’t Adrien.”

Luka hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t really speak to that, I don’t know Alya enough. But, you know, I don’t think people really change that much that fast. Maybe it’s just that, Alya is her best self when she’s with you, and her worst self when she’s around Lila. Selfish people have that effect sometimes. Selfishness feeds selfishness. And as for Adrien...” Luka shook his head, strumming a tune thoughtfully. “I don’t know, there’s something weird going on there. He seemed like he was trying to rein Lila in, but for some reason he was afraid to be too open about it.” He shook his head again. “Really weird. But...try to give him the benefit of the doubt. I think there’s something going on there that we’re not seeing.”

Marinette nodded slowly, and then smiled up at him. “Thanks Luka.”

“Always, Marinette.”

“So...are you part of my chord, then?”

He smiled down at the strings moving under his hands. “I’d like to be,” he said softly, and then quickly added, “Remember how you felt today. How it feels to be the real you. It’ll help you stay in tune from here.”

“Thanks for doing this, Luka,” Marinette said, as he stopped playing and reluctantly put the guitar back in its case. “It was great you were there for a bunch of reasons, but--I also think it wouldn’t have been as much fun without you. It was great having your support the last few weeks. I really needed it.”

“You know you don’t need any excuse for that, Marinette.” Luka stood up and lifted the strap over his head, settling the case on his back. “Really. I’ve loved spending time with you and I hope we can still hang out.”

“Me too,” she said, cheeks dusting with pink, standing up with him. “Um, and…” She turned away and pulled down the denim jacket she’d hung up to dry. “Alya kind of spoiled the surprise,” Marinette sighed, “And it’s still pretty damp, but, um,” she held out it out to him. “This is for you.”

“For...me?” Luka just stared at her for a moment. “Marinette, I can’t, that must have been so much work. It looked so good on you, you should keep it.” Luka folded his hands over hers and pushed the jacket gently back towards her.

Marinette pouted. “Luka, I made it for you. I just, I was thinking about you and the idea came to me and I couldn’t not make it for you. You have to take it, I even made it with extra room so you can still wear your hoodie under it. It goes with your guitar. It’ll never suit anybody else as well as it would you.”

“But—” He knew even as he protested that it was futile. He was an artist, too, and he knew exactly what she meant when she said she couldn’t not make it. Sometimes a melody was too perfect and you just couldn’t help but use it. Luka knew he had to take it even before she spoke again.

“Please? I wanted to. I’ll be crushed if you don’t keep it,” Marinette told him, and that was it. Luka sighed and took the jacket from her hands.

“I love it,” he told her, running his fingers along the embroidery. “I really do. It’s perfect. I...” He shook his head, at a loss for words.

Marinette stepped into him and hugged him, and he wrapped one arm tight around her. “Thanks for everything, Luka.”

“I didn’t do much. Certainly not compared to this, and painting my guitar, and taking me to the awards gala, and letting me wear the suit you made.”

“Yeah, you did,” Marinette muttered into his shoulder. “You just don’t know it. You don’t know what it’s meant for me, these past few weeks. Maybe I would have made it through without you, but probably not nearly as well."

“Marinette…”

“I’m glad you’re part of my chord, Luka.”

Luka knew it was a bad idea even as his hand curled behind her neck, tilting her face up, and he called himself six kinds of idiot in his head as he kissed her. But when her mouth came alive under his and they moved softly together, it didn’t feel like a bad idea at all. It felt like heaven, like the cure for homesickness, like the bridge of a love song.

Love. She loved someone else. He pulled away, already missing her, hating how much he loved the delicate little noise their lips made when they parted. “Thank you,” he said into the space between them, taking a shaky breath. He cleared his throat as he straightened, dropping his hand. “And...sorry. That one was on me. I know I said we shouldn’t, but...I don’t know how else to tell you how much this means to me, Marinette. I’ll treasure it, really.”

“As long as you wear it,” Marinette said a little breathlessly, smiling softly. “Don’t treasure it in the back of the closet.”

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to wear anything else,” Luka said honestly.

Marinette licked her lips nervously, eyes flicking away and back to his, hands tightening on his almost painfully. “Luka, I—“

“I should go,” he muttered, prying his hands away, not wanting to hear another apology. He saw her concerned face and smiled. “It’s—“ He didn’t want to lie to her. “I’ll be okay. I’m just a little overwhelmed and I really need to go now, okay?”

He turned and walked blindly until he was out of sight, and then slumped against a tree and closed his eyes, irrationally angry. How many times could two people kiss before they admitted they were more than friends? He wanted to kiss her and she wanted to kiss him and why, why couldn’t it just be that simple?

Because attraction isn’t love, Luka reminded himself, and just because his reactions were driven by his emotions didn’t mean it was the same for her. She didn’t have to be in love with him to be attracted to him, to enjoy kissing him, and if he was hurting right now it was his own fault for kissing her when he knew better. He wanted something so much deeper than that with her. She has every right to want someone else. She trusted me when I said I can handle it.

We’ll both be crushed if it turns out I can’t.

He shook his head and started for home, determined to find some kind of balance within himself. Luka saw a lot of meditation in his future.

#quickspins #finding harmony #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #backlog

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weptfire · 4 years

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THE IMPERIAL COURT.

This was originally asked by @extravagantliar, but tumblr fucked the formatting so I’m reposting.

THE MORE I LEARN ABOUT Louis XIV, the more of an inspiration he becomes for Celene. They’re not exactly like each other, of course, but there are similarities to be found not only in the historical figure but in how he’s often portrayed in historical fiction. The sun motif, the uncompromising vision, the “I am the state” mentality, the desire to make their nation an example to others, the arts and the way they managed power — not identical, but there are VIBES. Some inspiration is drawn from his court in this matter as well.

The thing to understand about all aspects of Orlais since Celene was crowned is that she is Orlais. The empire was brought to the brink of collapse by Florian, and when she took the throne, she not only pulled it back, she reinvigorated it. Some believe her overtures of peace and emphasis on art / scholarship over war weaken Orlais; on the contrary, she’s made the nation strong. She’s not expanding, but expansion is not what Orlais needs, in truth. Instead, she’s made it stable, peaceful, and prosperous. She made the University of Orlais (previously a dumping ground for the kids no one wanted) the envy of Thedas. She reinvigorated its culture. Orlais, as we know it, is all her. (Well, not ALL, but so much of it.) This isn’t to dismiss the rot in the empire, merely to note how she’s shaped it.

Her court was far from exempt from this. In many ways, she reshaped it to not only reflect the Orlais she wished to build but to give herself the upper hand. “The nobles in the crowd were fickle, bloodthirsty, and vain, but above all, they were hers. As much as they would have enjoyed the scandal of a bloody duel, they admired a good display of wit.” This is not to say that it is full of only people she believes to be allies. She purposefully keeps enemies or those of dubious loyalty near her — and even in important positions, when appropriate — for a number of reasons. She’s not the type to arbitrarily banish anyone who displeases her or to even make her displeasure overtly known. That is not how she plays the Game. Rather than remove disagreeable nobles publicly, she either wins them over or finds a way to ensure they slip up and essentially remove themselves. Every day she is walking in a minefield, and she knows it.

Back to Louis: Versailles really concentrated power with him. If you wanted absolutely fucking anything from him, you had to make your request in person which meant a trip to Versailles. But, actually getting an audience took AGES, during which time you’d be obliged to take up residence there. Seems harmless enough, yes? Except life at court was so fucking expensive, and these expenses were in addition to expenses from your actual estate, but you weren’t at your estate to manage finances in the most effective manner. Many nobles ended up falling into debt trying to keep up with their peers, which played right into Louis’ hands. You couldn’t actually take up a job, so the only option for additional income was through royal posts, etc. which could only be granted by Louis. Even leaving Versailles wasn’t a very good option because among the benefits of living there (and there were benefits) was that your property couldn’t be seized when you didn’t pay debts. If you left, you lost what was yours; if you stayed, you kept it, but you were still in this hole. And, there were other benefits, such as keeping all these nobles right where he could spy on them with ease. Prior to this, the nobles held quite a bit of power, but by making them dependent on him and instituting stringent rules of etiquette, he kept them all walking on eggshells.

Obviously, Celene’s court isn’t quite at that level. It’s not the same trap as his — and isn’t as large as his — but similar principles apply. The nobles of Orlais still hold considerable power and are not trapped at court. However, she’s found ways not to centralize power exactly but to accumulate it at court. Part of this comes from gathering all manner of noteworthy nobles to her regardless of whether they’re her allies; even if your business isn’t with her, you’ll likely still have to make your way to court to find the noble you need or else wait until they retire to their estate. Additionally, it’s the place to be to strike a decent match, forge a worthwhile alliance, really accomplish anything of note. Sure, you could survive and even do well away from court, but if you want to thrive, if you want to rise, if you want to play the Game, you have to go to court. And, that is what every Orlesian wants. Being away from court, even for a short time, can put a person a few critical steps behind in the Game. (Which is why sending Gaspard off to do things like hunt Darkspawn can be so effective.)

It should be noted, however, that one can only make their way to court by invitation, and presumably, this invitation can only be extended by Celene. I think that’s one of the things she would’ve tightened — that those who are at court are there at her pleasure — because it’s a subtle way of giving herself power. “Oh, you want to bring your daughter to court so she can strike a good match? Dance, monkey, dance.”

There are undoubtedly other benefits like tax cuts or exemptions from / leniency with regards to certain sumptuary laws, but that’s a rabbit hole for me. I’ll end up trying to write laws and shit, and nobody wants that.

Along that same vein, though, a place in Celene’s court is expensive — not as expensive as Louis’, I’m sure, but nothing to sneeze at. Her court is the height of art and fashion. In addition to normal expenses (i.e. servants, horses, etc.), there is no end of functions to attend and things to know. Balls, salons, hunts, books to read, performances to attend, scholarship to know, art to display: the empress values learning; thus, the empire does as well. To enter court uninformed in any fashion would be to enter stark naked; knowledge is power. But, one cannot be literally naked either. Fashion is wearable art as well as a language unto itself.

Celene smiled. “Always. The sapphire hairpin, do you think, or the Antivan diamond-lace?”

Briala frowned and held both up for a moment, looking at Celene critically. “The sapphire suits you better, but to meet the merchants . . . Antivan diamonds are a reminder of our trade.”

Celene had been thinking the same thing. “Then we sacrifice my fashion upon the altar of appropriate symbolism.”

Under Celene’s rule, Orlesian fashion reaches its height not just in terms of what styles to wear but in terms of its language. There is so much more to Orlesian fashion than mere ornamentation. Although the empire is often said to place aesthetics over function, it does serve several functions; it’s never comfortable, but it’s worth the pain. Even something as small as the placement of a beauty mark can give away one’s allegiances or intentions. They can have a whole exchange with each other without speaking just by how hair is arranged and fans are held. More than that, Celene changed certain rules of etiquette, introduced new ones, and impressed on the court their importance. She changed the rules of the Game and made herself its mistress. It’s complex and expensive to navigate court life. Most nobles are too busy trying not to misstep to pose a real threat, and many lose the Game simply forgetting their manners.

Varric: I have a serious question for you, Iron Lady. Vivienne: I can hardly wait. Varric: In the Imperial Court, if someone uses the wrong fork at dinner, is that worse than death or just social suicide? Vivienne: It’s impossible to say, my dear. Anyone who is ever so mis-stepped would be stabbed to death with the proper fork.

It is interesting to note that if Gaspard is made emperor in DA:I and Michel is sent to court, Michel will comment on how starkly different it is. This could lead into an interesting discussion of gender roles in the empire. Celene and Gaspard, at the cores of their character, are strikingly similar, and I believe that if they had been able to play by the same rules, they would’ve developed in a similar fashion as well.

It had been Celene who had taught Briala to watch, since a girl, especially an elven girl, could not act as a man did. A man who acted quickly and aggressively was praised as bold and daring. A woman who did the same was foolish or desperate.

To be honest, the Game is stacked against Celene — a situation which the deaths of her parents did nothing to help. She is forced to behave very differently from Gaspard by virtue of being a woman, and her courtly persona is as much a mask as the gold on her face. When she came to power, she didn’t so much change the rules that bound her as stacked the odds in her favor by forcing others to play by them as well.

Going back to Louis, though, one thing I think he managed to do better than her is handle his relationship with his military. By which I mean that Louis, although not a soldier himself, found other ways to earn his troops’ loyalty. This included building the Hôtel National des Invalides. (He was knowledgeable in war, but it was more Philippe’s realm than his.) In fairness to Celene, Gaspard was always going to be favored over her in that regard, and his inability to play the Game at court with the same effectiveness as, say, Florianne is undoubtedly why he sought power via becoming a chevalier. Celene and Gaspard are counterpoints in this respect.

Louis’ lack of military acumen was made up for by his brother with whom he maintained a close relationship, but Celene was at odds with Gaspard from the start. And, it’s interesting because his inability to woo the court is why she was able to seize the throne via the Council of Heralds, and her inability to get the military (namely the chevaliers) on her side is why he’s potentially able to seize the throne via civil war. Courtly intrigue vs. military prowess has been the difference between them from the start, which also comes back to Orlais’ gender roles! I’m getting off topic, but it’s neat.

Final point: Celene only has the three ladies-in-waiting which is unusually low. I haven’t decided what families they come from, but they’re likely from House Valmont’s four cadet branches. It would be a way to secure those family’s loyalties; perhaps the fourth is loyal to Gaspard or doesn’t have any daughters. In addition to a lady-in-waiting’s normal duties and acting as some of her closest confidantes, they are trained to perfectly mimic her voice, speech patterns, and body language. They were chosen in part for their incredible resemblance to her so that, should the need arise, they could take her place. Think the Queen of Naboo and her handmaidens. This is not well-known, however, leading several nobles to become irritated because she won’t take on their daughters — won’t even seem to consider it. Her standards are high not only in terms of their aptitude and loyalty but in terms of their very appearance.

#⊰ headcanon | primary ⋄ you forget to hide the little tells ⊱#⊰ headcanon | world ⋄ you forget to hide the little tells ⊱#⊰ queue ⋄ I chase the memory of it still ⊱

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