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seelestia · 1 year

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— ❝𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐇, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍!❞

SUMMARY. "oh my gosh, you're literally my dream person!" here's a list of red flags for you, honey. (inspired by a tiktok trend! the one with the soundboard, iykyk.)

CHARACTERS. wanderer, alhaitham, albedo, childe + GN!reader.

GENRE. full-on crack, some fluff, not-so serious and light-hearted character slander.

CW. has heavy refs to albedo's story / 2.3 event and wanderer's story, brief mentions of blood in childe's part (not detailed/graphic), one brief mention of kissing in wanderer's part, light cussing and terrible humor. + read the alt text on the headers for extra captions, hehe!

THOUGHTS. this is my most unserious work yet and for that, i apologize if this gets too unhinged or inaccurate at some point LMAOOO. red flags are fine, red is my fav color anyway (it's actually light purple) <33 can you guess who's the favorite here 🧍‍♂️

✰ masterlist.

[ WANDERER ]

❝Dream person, huh? That's oddly fitting because the day you win me over is only gonna happen in your dreams too.❞

Has some abandonment and mother issues. ...Yeah. These issues may result in emotional walls as strong and firm as the Great Wall of China but when you break through them, he's never ever gonna let you go (unfortunately). I'd tell you to start running but this silly guy can float and zoom in the air, so best of luck.

You'll only hear crickets if you fall asleep on his chest. On the very rare occasions where he allows you to, that is. If you're into that romantic "falling asleep on your lover's chest while listening to their heartbeat" stuff, you're not getting it with Wanderer here. But if you listen hard enough, maybe you'll get to hear termites or something because he's canonically made out of white wood. (I'm joking, I love him too.)

Terrible with feelings. He'd rather jump off a cliff than start talking about his feelings. ...Okay, fine. Harboring humane emotions is an annoyingly blurry line that he has vowed to stop caring about after regaining his memories. It doesn't mean he doesn't cringe at himself every now and then, though — knowing that he has talked about his feelings to someone else (only you and Nahida) keeps him up at night, as embarrassing as it is to admit. ("Hey, do you remember that one time when you told me—" "I don't.")

May prioritize his pride over you sometimes. Let's take a rainy day as an example. It's pouring cats and dogs which means that the risk of catching a cold is high as ever... thus, as the rain begins to soak you, you turn to your companion (whose clothes are saved by the hat on his head) with puppy eyes. His reply comes in the same speed as a lightning strike; "No," he says. Beg and cry if you want, he is not letting you under his hat because it's "not a damn parasol". Fine, maybe he just doesn't care about your well-being and that's totally fine (sarcastic) — but the very next second, as he grabs your wrist and starts dashing to a nearby inn with you in tow — you can't help but let a small smile slip. Maybe he does care? Pride just gets in the way sometimes.

Might accidentally suffocate you when you two kiss because how the heck is he supposed to remember that humans need to breathe when your lips are just so soft for no reason? Ugh, humans and their ridiculous needs (derogatory but he still loves you simp).

Has a long list of crimes and felonies that we don't talk about. Ah, yes, the courtesy of being a previous Fatui Harbinger, indeed. Irminsul may have forgotten about this list, but the Wiki sure as heck hasn't.

[ ALHAITHAM ]

❝So, you consider me someone who fits your type? I see. Unfortunately, knowing whether or not I fit into another person's ideals doesn't have much value to me.❞

Books > people. Is that really a flaw? He doesn't think it is. Books are a source of knowledge and aren't they supplements that enrich the minds of those who read them? Not to mention, there is no need to cater to whatever social standards with inanimate objects unlike when you're around people. ...But apparently, Kaveh told him that this mindset "makes him look like an absolute loner with no social skills and no friends whatsoever" to which he'd usually bite back with an "at least, I have a stable housing." TLDR: books are Alhaitham's closest friends and that's a little sad (he doesn't care about other people's opinions, though).

Unreachable when his soundproof headphones are on. Shush, he is in his official (but not-so-official) 'Do Not Disturb' mode. Sorry in advance, he may or may not accidentally ignore you when his soundproof headphones are on. If you want to have a few words with him, either be patient and wait or make sure they're of absolute importance lest you risk being given the deadliest, emptiest stare ever known to mankind. If looks could kill, you would've keeled on the spot. Instant unintentional (??) homicide, so true of him.

Awkward with small talks. Alhaitham is good at talking about topics that really matter and he very much prefers it that way too. But that's the thing; when the discussion of that particular subject ends, that's it. He often dodges the silence in a 'cool' way, though; either by taking an early leave or bringing out a book if the situation there still needs him present. (In his defense, if no one wants to start and carry the conversation, then isn't it a bit hypocritical to count on him to do that too?)

Physical affection stupefies him (it'll take time). Alhaitham doesn't hate it, no, but something about it just doesn't align much with his sense of familiarity. He usually keeps his distance; even with new acquaintances, shaking hands has never been his thing and it's been a long time since Alhaitham has had someone he feels comfortable enough to receive physical affection from or to give some of it to (his grandmother was the last, maybe). By all means, this isn't meant to be a sob story — it's just brought up to explain that physical affection is a thing he's not familiar with, so it'll take some time to get used to. Good luck to those with physical touch as a preferred love language (me), this feeble scholar who may turn into a stiff log when you hug him is in your capable hands!

[ ALBEDO ]

❝Is that a compliment of some kind? I must say it's certainly not one I hear very often, thus I feel inclined to appreciate it all the more. Thank you.❞

Has a lab located in Dragonspine. Yes, this is a red flag because look me in the eyes and tell me you would realistically travel up that death trap of a mountain every single time just to spend time with him. He comes down from the mountain at least twice or thrice a month, so you'll still get to see his pretty face regardless, just not as frequently — so, it's either you exchange letters every week or you go trekking up Dragonspine to see him yourself. (There is a better place to die on than that wretched mountain, but I digress.)

His mother caused world destruction and he has a twin brother that is out for blood (Imposterbedo). ...Seriously, what the heck is going on in this family? We need to keep an eye on them like they're fascinating wild animals on National Geographic, for real. If you don't mind crazy in-laws that might commit felonies against you (also looking intently at Alice as I say this, by the way), then you're all good to go! Aha, just watch your back and be safe out there, comrade.

Babysitting Klee comes as a 2-in-1. If you're good with kids, great! If you're not, good luck! You know what they all say; a child's curiosity is only limited by the skies (and a guardian's supervision), so be prepared for when Klee starts tugging you around to go fish blasting or exploring with her. Being with Albedo means you get to see her a lot and she's such an adorable ball of sunshine! But the way she innocently hands you a little bomb like it's a slice of Fisherman's Toast and not a weapon is certainly something to remember, huh? (At this point, this is basically an extra to my previous point about questionable in-laws.)

Eats spiders (not often, but has eaten them and that's concerning). Granted this only applies to a specific type of large spiders that can be found at the roots of Petrified Trees in Domains (in the words of the Chief Alchemist himself), but there will definitely be a time where he goes: "Are you hungry? If I remember correctly, there are still some smoked spiders left from the other day. Fortunately, the temperature here in Dragonspine aids in the preservation method—" Spiders can be cute to some and a nightmare to some, but the fact that he has a whole recipe for it really makes you want to know the how and most importantly, the why. Does he sprinkle parsley on them or some stuff like that, ayo? (at least, if you ever get stuck in a domain one unlucky day, this recipe might help you survive? thanks??)

[ CHILDE ]

❝Oh? I've never been called a dream person before. ...Heh, that sounds new, I like the sound of that!❞

Thinks combat and battles are a better substitute for oxygen. Okay, that may be somewhat of an exaggeration — but it isn't an understatement to say that the thought of challenge rushes the blood into Tartaglia's veins. Not one for the secretive schemes most Harbingers do, this man would even go charging ahead if that guarantees he'll encounter a good fight. Like seriously, if he and a fellow Harbinger are heading to a place where there is a good opponent, you bet Childe is about to speed there first. You could say he is speeding towards uncertain death, essentially.

Might have come home with blood on his cheek once or twice. And what's worse is that this guy probably doesn't even realize it's there. Sorry, he was just too caught up in the moment to properly notice any leftover 'trophies' from his previous fights... Aha, don't worry about it! ("I'm home!" Tartaglia cheers loudly as he, quite literally, throws open the front door to your shared home — only to be greeted by that dumbfounded look on face. "Please tell me that's just juice on your cheek," you frown. He scratches the side of his neck awkwardly, "Uhh. Things didn't go particularly well when I was collecting debts.")

A warrior in the streets, also a malewife who can make you treats. Why does he have that double side for, huh? For other people to swoon over and fall for? No way someone can be a househusband and a good fighter simultaneously. What do you mean he can cook and clean then beat up anyone who threatened you the next? And you're saying he is genuine about it too? I say deception, deception, deception! Sue this fellow for fraud this instant. (This might actually be a green flag in disguise, but you didn't hear that from me.)

No good with saving money. He's stinky rich and most of it might be from the Fatui. You have to wonder whether each Mora he gives goes on the Fatui's tab or something like that... You don't find the idea of owing something to the Fatui fun, but it's so ironic how you're more worried about this than the Eleventh Harbinger is. Welp, at least, you don't have to worry incessantly about saving money now...? ("There's that thing you said you wanted to buy the other day, right? Here you go, honey!" "Tartaglia, why is this Mora pouch heavier than a toddler—")

Has a long list of crimes and felonies that we don't talk about #2. You could definitely argue that Childe might have the least mind-boggling list of crimes amongst the Harbingers all, though. (And does he slay for that? Who knows.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops @lleoll @xiaosonlybeloved @chiisananingen @irethepotato @ainescribe @blooodyvampy @starlightaura @jihyuniepark @duhsies @maybemiko @lordbugs — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged (check your settings!) + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #albedo x reader #childe x reader #genshin crack #genshin fluff #genshin hcs #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #seelestial.inks

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filmnoirsbian · 10 months

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Things read in May

Essays & Articles:

Ursula K. Le Guin on Being A Man

Investigating parents of transgender youth has agency on ‘brink of collapse,’ staff warns

Five Indigenous Speculative Fiction Authors You Should Be Reading

DECOLONIZING SCIENCE FICTION AND IMAGINING FUTURES: AN INDIGENOUS FUTURISMS ROUNDTABLE

Using Dogs As A Tool of Racial Oppression

Rings of Power: The new hobbits are filthy, hungry simpletons with stage-Irish accents. That’s $1bn well spent

First case of HIV cure in a woman after stem cell transplantation reported at CROI-2022

The Trees That Miss The Mammoths

NOPE’S SCIENCE CONSULTANT REVEALS THE NAME AND INSPIRATION FOR THE MOVIE’S ALIEN

Reflections on the Poetry of Eavan Boland

The dire state of trans healthcare in Ireland

How Letterkenny Got Indigenous Representation So Right

Einstein's Parable of Quantum Insanity

Surgical amputation of a limb 31,000 years ago in Borneo

Most Transgender Children Stick With Gender Identity 5 Years Later: Study

Were you a ‘parentified child’? What happens when children have to behave like adults

Fear of a Black Hobbit

It’s a ‘Full-Contact’ Haunted House. What Could Go Wrong?

The Craft: How a Teenage Weirdo Based on a Real Person Became an Icon

Remember When Multiplayer Gaming Needed Envelopes and Stamps?

‘We’ll Never Make That Kind of Movie Again’ An oral history of The Emperor’s New Groove, a raucous Disney animated film that almost never happened.

5 Incredible Sagas of Fandom Scams and Deception

I Used to Love British Period Dramas. Now I See Them as Colonial Propaganda

Why gender essentialism is a white supremacist ideology

Liberating Our Homes From the Real Estate–Industrial Complex

You Don’t Have To Be Pretty – On YA Fiction And Beauty As A Priority

Ten Years Later, There’s Still Nothing Like Tarsem Singh’s The Fall

Tolerance is not a moral precept

Scottish Poet and Publisher Derick Thomson 'Transformed' Gaelic Poetry

Poetry:

The Universe, as in One Last Song for the Lonely Hearts by Michelle Hulan

An Ordinary Evening in New Haven by Wallace Stevens

Heaven by George Herbert

Return from Death by Derick Thomson

Coffins by Derick Thomson

Chemin De Fer by Elizabeth Bishop

Yes, It Was The Mountain Echo by William Wordsworth

The Man and the Echo by William Butler Yeats

The Most of It by Robert Frost

Eros Turannos by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Books:

The Dark Yule by R. M. Callahan

The Invasion by K. A. Applegate

The Whisper by Aaron Starmer

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Miss Iceland by Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir

#tcp #this is late bc i just kept forgetting to post it all lol #an open window #articles #essays #poetry

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livewithyura · 3 months

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you may have just written the perfect smut….. So you have inspired me: Dating Tekken 6/blood vangance Jin Sfw and Nsfw headcanons

Tekken 6 Jin x Fem Reader! Headcanon ! ✦( sfw/nsfw )

Pairing : Tekken 6 Jin/Fem reader .

Warning : MINOR DNI , NSFW.

Answer : OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH! I was embarrassed by myself while writing smut , thank you for that words! That's a hard request since Tekken 6 Jin is a TOTAL JERK! But I also think he has that 'twisted' kindness in him since he's born to be a Kazama child! Hope you enjoy anon , I'm not that expert in writing and I tried so hard to keep him in character. I hope I done your request nicely .

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ REQUEST OPEN! [ ALL TEKKEN CHARACTERS ]

Information about request : Sorry! I will try to do it faster! I have a history exam in next week so just put it in my inbox I will make sure to make it. But don't worry I will try to do one or 2 in a day . I just organize my time for my writing so you guys can still request! Btw all of the request are so good! probably will make it!

SFW !

Jin's love language's totally 'act of service' . He's not good at paraphrasing his own words . He also believes that actions speak louder than words . You always find yourself receiving a bouquet of flower and Your comfort food at your own table . He will also write 'it reminded me of you' on a sticky notes .

He's a frickin CEO of a big military company , he must be rich asf but he never admit it . He always hands you his black card as casually as if he were giving you a piece of paper. He also will spoil you too much . He will bring you to a lavish restaurant and shopping trip just to spoils you .

You receive a gifts almost everyday . Expensive jewelry , a big ass teddy bear , flowers .

Yes, at one point, you mentioned your love for reading books, and he went ahead and bought the book café just for you.. "You know the book café from street 191?" "Yes...wait...DON'T TELL ME YOU JUST--" "It's yours now" "EH WHY?" "Princess , I tell you It's yours now . Don't let me repeat myself"

You can order a coffee or other beverages for free and read a latest popular book in there .

He will also act like he's busy with work . But thinking the fact you will go alone is much WORSE .

"Jin...I thought you have a business call?" "the meeting wrapped up early , I kinda bored so I'm here to be with you . Please appreciate my effort as I willingly to join your stupid shopping spree" Meanwhile his inner monologue : [I hurried over as soon as possible because I care about you, damn it.

"Stupid shopping spree..? If you don't want to be here then it's okay? I don't ask you to be here , you can rest" "For you [Y/N], I would rather be bored 'here' than being alone without you"

More textual evidence that shows he's actually care for you Whenever you're leaving his side while choosing clothes, he goes into a frenzy trying to find you. "Please search for [Y/N]," he immediately instructs his bodyguard to locate you.

"I'm right here dude" "god dammit [Y/N]" after that , you will make fun of him .

Yes , you're his pet . But whenever you're mad or hurt he will switch up and be your pet . "Do you want anything princess?" "Are you sick? You don't eat the dessert that I bought for you , tell me what's wrong?" He will positioned himself below you whenever you're sick or mad at him .

This man would prefer to endure an awkward conversation with you than be separated from you.

He always invite you to his office whenever you're free . "So..Jin..what do you want?" "Just stay"

He rent a penthouse just for you two to hangout , the penthouse symbolize the sense of comfort in himself . He becomes incredibly open about himself when he's in that penthouse with you.

He will have a shower with you , sitting in the bath up and caresses your body/hair/face "Even when you're being incredibly annoying....I still love...I will always come back to you.." He said that while stroking your wet hair .

He will put you into bed , "Can we just spend the entire night..with you on top of me...princess?"

Also , he will picks you up with his motorcycle . "Hop on , princess. I will take you far away from here...if you don't mind?" He will leave a slight smirk while looking at you . "So evil" That's the words that entertain him .

NSFW ! [ MINOR DNI ]

He's dominant , he want to be on top of you , bullying your sweet little cunt with his huge cock . He always remind you , your place when he's in charge . "Who do you belong to , princess?" "You"

He enjoys public sex but not too much , he still want a privacy . He loves the fact that you try to not make noise while his cock bury in your tight little cunt . He loves to fuck you in his office and um his HELICOPTER . [ whenever he's alone , he ask Nina to leave him with you in his helicopter ]

He also don't care when he's on the phone , He will fuck your pussy anyways . "This is Jin" He picks up the phone while his dick's still inside of you continue to fuck while he discussing his business with Nina or Eddy .

"Where's your panties , sweet little thing? My sweet princess really want to cum in my private helicopter hm?" He said that while circling your clits while his hand firmly grasps your chin.

He loves to see you playing with yourself , he bought a toy just for you to play with it . Watching you fucking yourself with his toy that he bought for you just send him into paradise . "Yes princess , cum for me" he said that while his eyes ogling your body .

Whenever you're not with him , he will make you wear a vibrator . You think it's hot so you just agree with it until you clit is swollen and wet because of it . Finally you face him in his office "Lift up your skirt , princess " He will remove it if you're not comfortable with it . He will apologize seeing your pussy being wet because of the vibrator . "Sorry princess , how was your day?"

He loves to place you on his lap , make you riding his lap while he bounce you on his leg . "Say the magic words princess"

Then he will make you hop on his cock .

Oh this man love spanking you but only when you're disobeying him . "Count for me princess" then he start to spank your ass while your entire body on his lap . "I don't know this spanking session can make your cunt this wet , princess"

He don't like to breed you or cum inside you .

Instead , he will cum on your face . "Ah...Such a messy princess"

★ Written by @livewithyura Why you want to copy this crap? I also take inspiration from my fav romance novel . You can reblog and share !

#tekken #tekken x reader #jin kazama #tekken x y/n #tekken fanfic #tekken smut #tekken fanfiction #jin kazama x reader

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tamurilofrivendell · 9 months

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Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 13

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700 @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth, @0chemicalwaste0, @deadunicorn159 @silvercobra

The silence in the room was deafening as Radagast finished speaking. You stared at him for a very long time, your brow furrowed and your eyes betraying your shock... your hurt. He had lied to you? All these long years? He had not simply adopted a poor orphaned elfling out of the goodness of his heart?

Could this truly be real? Could you actually be... Gil-Galad’s daughter? A princess, of all things?

You thought of the High King then... all those times you had read his history over and over and every time you had felt so, so sad. Could you have known? Something in your soul, at least? Somewhere deep down? You could hardly bear to think about it.

“I...” Was all that seemed to want to come out of your mouth. Your excitement over Thranduil asking to court you had been short lived and, while Radagast had just told you that whole story, he did not name the prince of the Greenwood because he was not a central figure in the tale, your tale... not yet, and you knew the king of this forest as only the Elvenking. You had read many books in your long life but your quiet, secret, sheltered upbringing - and the fact that Radagast had curated a collection very carefully - meant you had never actually learned his name. You still did not know they were one and the same. You still believed Thranduil to simply be a soldier.

“I am sorry, my dear girl, truly I am... but you must understand, I-” Radagast began but he was cut off when you suddenly realised something.

“Uncle, if what you say is true. If you speak honestly... then how can I be standing here?” You looked bewildered all of a sudden. “You said the cradle was hit, the Enchantress killed the baby.”

Radagast shook his head. “No.” He breathed. “No, the child - you - survived. The High King sent for me later, after the... bodies of the queens had been moved and after all the guests had been sent away.” Radagast could remember it as if it was yesterday. Gil-Galad’s pleading eyes, full of shameless tears, his face twisted with an agony that had already penetrated so deep it could never be removed. “You had been injured but not terribly. Not fatally. You were very much alive, though the Enchantress did not know it. He was adamant that no one could ever know. He begged me to sneak you out of Lindon and raise you in secrecy and safety until after your four thousandth year when he...” The wizard’s eyes lowered, flickering to the floor as his voice grew quieter with each next word. “Until the danger of the Enchantress was over and then he... he could come for you.” Radagast’s face was full of regret.

You averted your own gaze and fell silent again for a moment after hearing that. Gil-Galad had died over two thousand years after that day, in the Last Alliance. He never got the chance to come for you. You would never know him and he would never know you.

“Fine, she... I did not die.” You were still having great difficulty equating you and this princess as the same person. “Then what about the curse? It is still in effect, is it not? And you say I must leave here. That I must to go the Elvenking’s Halls. So...” You paused, weighing it up in your mind, but it was all that made sense. “She is here. I am in danger. Yes?”

You were clever, Radagast had always known that. Sheltered and not socialised as well as others may be yes, but intelligent. He had not kept you entirely helpless. You were a gentle soul but you were not useless. “I am afraid so, child.” The wizard said solemnly. “But... fear not. She will not be able to reach you in the halls of the Woodland Realm, this I know. However, if it puts your mind at ease there is a... silver lining, perhaps, though I am a little loath to call it such.”

Your frown only deepened and you reached up to wipe away tears of both frustration and grief as they began to trail down your cheeks. “What?”

“When your father summoned me, he begged me to do something, to remove this awful curse.” He shook his head, his face full of regret. “Alas, I cannot do such a thing. The curse was already in motion, I could not erase it... but I found that I could add something to it, shape it just a little.” He explained. “So I added something of a loophole. You will not die. Should you ever prick your finger on devil’s thorn plant, you will... fall into a deep slumber.”

“Sleep?” You cried, shaking your head. What good would that do? “So I will not die, I will just sleep... forever?” That honestly sounded worse in so many ways. You had images of yourself lying somewhere, numb and blind to the world around you while the years passed and the seasons changed. Unable to think or see or speak or move. A shudder ran up your spine.

Radagast shook his head quickly and held up a hand to try and pause your racing thoughts. “But it will not come to that, child. You will be perfectly safe-”

“But what if I am not!” You could not help but cry out in response, your eyes wide as you looked back at the wizard who had raised you. Your trust in him had not wavered even in the wake of this revelation. “What if something unthinkable happens?!”

Radagast took a small step towards you. “Breathe a moment. All right? Just breathe.”

After staring incredulously at him, and with some frustration, you eventually gave in and took a deep breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Then you looked expectantly at him, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

Radagast gave you a mildly reproachful look but there was not much fire in it. He understood what you were feeling. “Devil’s Thorn does not grow in this forest. I have made sure of it. However, if the worst should happen - which it won’t! But if it should. There... there is technically a way... to wake up. To break the spell.” Here, he looked quite embarrassed and averted his gaze, fidgeting.

You narrowed your eyes slightly because you knew that look, but still there was a feeling of hope in you now. “Break it? How? What do you mean?”

Radagast sighed. He simply knew you might not like the thought of it. “It is true love’s kiss. Once the spell is in effect... that breaks it.”

You blinked, staring at him in silence as the words sank in. “I...” No more words escaped you for a few more seconds and Radagast watched your mind working through the facts. “Wait.” You made a face and turned away, shaking your head. “Someone... somebody is expected to kiss me? While I am asleep?”

Radagast cringed a little at the way you put it but he supposed that was the reality of it. He forced an anxious chuckle from his lips. “Ah... yes, yes, I am... afraid so.” He frowned. “Look, I was... there was barely time to... to think, there was a lot of pressure.” He sighed heavily. “Truthfully, my dear... it had to be something that the Enchantress simply... well, does not believe in.” He explained somberly. “So if she ever, ever found out that you lived, and what I had done with her curse... her guard may not be so raised.”

If there was one thing the Enchantress underestimated, always, it was love in any form. She had underestimated King Oropher’s love of his son above all else (even peace) that kept him from handing the Enchantress what she wanted. She had underestimated Gil-Galad’s love for his daughter too, for he had sacrificed her entirely, broken his own heart further, simply to keep her safe. These were things the Enchantress did not understand. She believed in power. She did not believe in love. Though it was hardly surprising... she had, after all, never experienced such a thing.

There was a lot of information coming at you at once here - so much that it was incredibly difficult to keep up - and for a moment you were quiet again as it all washed over you.

Radagast was quiet too, thinking back to that day, to that moment. When he’d introduced this loophole. He knew how it sounded to you to say that it was a kiss that would wake you but it wasn’t just... any old person who would have been able to get to you to kiss you. It would need to be a genuine love match - the spell, he already knew, would not allow anybody else to pass close enough if their intention was merely to try. It had its own protections in place, that was just how these things worked. His loophole was now working directly with the Enchantress’ curse, they were one and the same. So what would keep you powerless in sleep would also allow you to wake should the right actions be carried out. He did not say anything else about any of it for now, aware that you needed time for it all to settle. He would tell you every little detail you could ever want to know once you were safe in Thranduil’s realm, he decided.

“I know this is very difficult for you.” He said gently. “I am sorry.”

You sighed, turning back to look at him. You blinked a little helplessly but suddenly you remembered Thranduil in the forest, the love you had felt growing for him since you met him. That was real. True. He could kiss you if you fell foul of a sleeping curse if it was to save your life, you would not be upset. It would work too, there was not a single doubt in your mind that it would. You looked at Radagast again, your eyes shining, but he could already tell what you were about to say - that he must go and fetch this mystery man should you fall victim to the curse.

He shook his head and held up a hand to stop you speaking. “No, stop it. You will not fall to the curse because you will be safe inside the Elvenking’s Halls. This is a fact, you must trust me. She cannot, under any circumstances, get in there.” Truthfully, Radagast also was not sure he believed this Elven man was even true. How could you know what love was, after all? Had he not kept you far too sheltered? He could not be sure and he also could not rule out the fact that it could have all been a trick, some ruse, because the Enchantress had been lurking in these woods for long enough... and he knew already she had made contact with you once. Who was to say she had not been aware of you for longer than he realised?

You sighed but you gave in, nodding. “All right.” Your expression turned glum again as your thoughts turned to the Elvenking. What was he like? You did not much care and you did not want to marry him... you wanted to marry Thranduil.

“Come, child, come,” Radagast’s voice pulled you from your reverie once more. “There is no time to waste, you must gather your things, we must be away at once.”

“At once?” You shook your head, preparing to put up a fuss. It would wait until after tomorrow night, surely? Thranduil was coming then! “But tomorrow! I told him-”

“No!” Radagast cried and you saw his hand shaking slightly, fingers trembling as they curled around the wood of his staff. You realised then just how afraid he was. How frightened he felt in the knowledge that this Enchantress woman was here, so close to you, and you realised too that he could not actually protect you... and that that fact terrified him.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat and your eyes looked unhappy but you nodded as you turned and hurried through to your bedroom to throw some of your most beloved possessions into a bag. Your mind was all over the place, your thoughts tangled and twisted, in complete disarray. Gil-Galad was your father. This... feeling that you had always had inside of you... this... this sorrow. This almost longing whenever you read about him. It had meant something all along.

You tried to push all of these thoughts from your mind as you threw everything you needed into the bag and then slung it over your shoulder. It was all too much at once and you wondered how you would ever come to terms with this. With one last look around your room, you turned and went rushing back to Radagast, trying to conceal the deep sorrow in your heart.

He saw it anyway.

His sharp eyes softened and he set aside his staff to draw you into a hug. You hesitated only for a second before you wrapped your arms around his middle, nestling into his large, long robes and hiding your face against his shoulder. You weren’t angry at him, not really. You were sad and confused and you did not want to leave home and be kept in the confines of the Woodland Realm. When would you be able to walk beneath the trees of the forest again? See all your little animal friends? You needed your freedoms! The clearing you so loved!

Still, you could not really protest and deep down you knew that this was the only way to keep you safe... alive. Or at least awake.

So after a few more moments, the two of you parted and you slowly followed him outside to his faithful rabbits. You got onto the sled with him and the large bunnies were off like a shot, carrying you and their wizard master through the forest, towards the Elvenking’s Halls.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #the hobbit x reader #sleeping beauty

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azure-cherie · 1 year

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PAC : Messages from ancestors ✨

Meditate and choose a pile with your intuition take what resonates and leave the rest since this is a general reading, none of the pictures belong to me , creadits to the original makers ✨ , please don't plagiarize my content, i hope this helps you ✨

Pile 1:

Hello my dear pile 1 💛, your ancestors are urging you to look within yourself for guidance, you are confused about something probably some goals and stuff you should do next year they advise you to sit down in silence and write what you feel , or in a way they could also ask you to channel their advice as you ask for guidence on what is bothering you , they see that you have been taking the lead and trying so hard to keep everything together and everyone together , yes you are chosen to break generational curses but that starts with you, you have done enough for your elders it's their duty to deal with their own shit, you should now move on your path , choose what are your new disciplines what you want to focus on , someone here could get married soon they are sending their love and best wishes and they are very happy about this romantic connection 🥺 , you should also look through the old stuff of your grandmother or some lady who has passed away , you are likely to find a journal or a book either of cooking recipes or spells maybe , they will help you in the continuation of protection and prosperity of your lineage, give gifts to your younger ones . Wear orange and pinks more often and take care and hydrate well . They love you see you and guide you .

Pile 2 :

Hello my dear pile 2 💛, your ancestors want to let you know that you're not alone first of all , they will always be at hand whenever you need something, eat well sweetheart, you don't have to compromise so much, things have been rough, but it was all to teach you , look at you now wiser smarter , but beware who you feed what you have learned, knowledge is a weapon make sure that they don't use it against you , take your pet to walks and spend time with your pet , take care of your mom , plant some plants in your garden , probably petunias or chrysanthemum, if you're worried about the magic you lost it's all yet to be rediscovered, get in touch with your old hobbies , what you liked to do as a child do you still love doing it , then do it , don't let things that you love go . You should start studying little by little , they know you have been facing problems but as you bring more focus and discipline in your life this problem will be solved . And definitely definitely speak up for your needs don't be guilty to take what you deserve, you are here for a beautiful reason , embrace normality and embrace greatness whatever makes you happy.

Pile 3 :

Hello my dear pile 3 💛, your ancestors adore you so much 😭 you're being addressed as a sugar plum babe 😭💛 you guys are definitely so adorable, the life the light everyone finds inspiration from ,you're a muse , you're an artist , they appreciate your creativity and want to see more of it , especially they love it when you do your traditional dance , you look so beautiful, they say you were brought into the family as a blessing a boon and you've been the reason to so much prosperity, you will be blessed with something soon , at times you may feel lost because you have been there for everyone but who has been there for you , you have learnt to stay alone but you can open up to the right people , go out roam around maybe you will find someone or something worth your love , do you guys cook or something do it more you're great at it and even if you're a beginner you will be give it more practice, you could also go watch sunsets near beaches , you feel a deep sense of familiarity with water, someone in your ancestry could know how to work with elemental water to gain knowledge and memory, i get a visual of a women in blue dress very tall , one second she reminds me of African orisha Yemaya and Oya as well maybe someone down your line used to work with them, they will always look after you , 😭💛they wanna say go little rockstar it's so cute ah 🥺💛.

Thank you so much for reading, kindly leave a feedback if you resonate, have a great day / night 🧡🧡

#pacreading #pac readings #pac tarot #pac reading #pac #tarot card reading #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #intuitive tarot reading

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emma-is-swaggy-and-epic · 5 months

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Felt like making an MLP next gen lol (something something, inner child or whatever)

[[Link to the base i used]]

SHIPS AND LORE UNDER THE CUT!!!

Characters from left to right

Daisy bell - fluttershy x tree hugger

....yeah, i know that you were probably expecting a different ship considering neither fluttershy OR tree hugger have curly hair. I gave daisy curly hair because tree hugger's design makes it look like she has wicks or some other black hairstyle and that leads me to believe she may be black. Anyway...daisy's special talent is grooming animals and i imagine she probably smokes weed in her spare time

Hailey - applejack x rainbow dash

In all honesty, i'm not really too invested in shipping in the MLP fandom though considering how it's implied RD and AJ got married in the series finale i decided to keep that with my next gen because i feel it makes sense. I chose the name "hailey" for this character for a multitude of reasons: 1. That's the name i chose for ALL my rainbow dash next gen kids ever since i was twelve, 2. It's a pun on "hail" as in the weather condition and 3. "Hailey" just SOUNDS like it could be a farm girl name. Basically hailey's thing is that she earned her cutie mark after getting bit by a vampire fruit bat as a child and therefore has a pair of bat wings. Personality-wise she's pretty much your typical "manic pixie dream girl" type (ramona flowers from scott pilgrim immediantly comes to mind, i've never read those books and i'm just going off of what i've heard)

Pastel dream - twilight sparkle x flash sentry

I admit this is a bit of a generic choice but tbh this was one of the first ships i EVER had so i feel it deserves a place in my next gen. Basically twilight and flash got married though their marriage didn't last very long and they got divorced a few years after pastel was born and twilight eventually got with big mac, pastel was very fucking angsty about having a new stepdad and only really calmed down after her little sister lavender was born. She's emo and also believes in aliens, her special talent is interpreting dreams (also, yes i know she doesn't really look THAT much like her parents. I'm just kinda tired of people ALWAYS making their flashlight fankids straight up just twilight but orange and i wanted to do something different)

Lavender web - twilight sparkle x big mac

Yeah i only really put this ship here because of the semi-infamous fanfic "the spiderses" and her personality is no different, this lass just LOVES her some spiders.

Rosemary - rarity x braeburn

This was actually the very first MLP ship i ever got into! At the time, i hadn't watched the episode braeburn was in and didn't know he was basically male applejack. 8-year-old me just saw him in the gameloft app and thought "wow that's one handsome horse! I must ship him with rarity because she's my favorite character!" So i put the ship into my next gen because of how much sentimental value i have for it. Anyways....i imagine rose to be somewhat of a "southern belle" type, her special talent is writing romance fiction and she's got the flirty nature to match! She's slightly inspired by blanche from the golden girls, i do admit.

Chocomint ice - pinkie pie x minty

To be honest....i only really added this ship in because of how often they're shipped in G3. I don't really have much to say about her other than she's based on the song "aoi-chan is going to eat chocomint no matter what" (bit of a mouthful of a song title but y'know...it's a japanese song so it's probably much shorter in the original language lol) also her bangs are modeled after the titular aoi-chan in the song's music video

I don't know if i'm going to do anything with this AU, but if i do: i'll probably include celestia x mirror!sombra and luna x discord

#scheduled #artists on tumblr #art #digital art #digital illustration #base art #my little pony #my little pony friendship is magic #mlp #mlp fim #mlp au #mlp next gen #fankid au #fankid #fankids #mlp fankid #mlp fan character #next gen

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am-i-interrupting · 1 month

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Down in New Orleans | Vox x Alastor’s Child— OATSH

Summary: Vox goes to New Orleans to surprise you. It doesn’t go exactly as he intended.

He’d read the book. He’d read it in its entirety. Once in the span of a week and twice more casually over the span of three and a half months. He had pages marked, words highlighted, notes in the margins.

He hadn’t seen you since you left back to Louisiana but he wanted to. He’d sent you letters and received some replies.

Now he was in New Orleans with the perfect excuse. It was Mardi Gras season and he knew a show-runner whose show took place in New Orleans. Even if he recalled you saying it was completely inaccurate.

Although the celebration was cancelled officially due to the war, he had little doubt in his mind there would still be celebrations. People found a way no matter the circumstances. It was just their nature.

He exited the airport and hailed a taxi.

He had a vague idea as to where to go due to the radio station address he’d been using as he didn’t have yours. When he got there, he just started walking.

You had been right, of course. Though the architecture was certainly differently inspired, it wasn’t so different from what he saw back in California. There weren’t nearly as many outlandishly colored buildings or festive decoration as the show-runner incorporated into his sets.

It was - fairly normal town, much like what he would expect.

When he got to the radio station, he knocked on the door. An older man opened the door, large glasses in his face and tightly coiled, greying hair on his head.

“May I help you?” he asked, with a rasp only a heavy smoker had. He asked if the man knew of your whereabouts. “Are you one of those reporters or one of the fans?”

“Call me a bit of both. I’ve interviewed her before, yes, but I’m not here on business.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you can try The Sherry Diner,” he said.

“Thank you very much for your time and information. Good day to you,” he said.

“Good day to you all!” the man said with a wave and fake smile as he closed the door.

It took some more questions but eventually, he found himself at the diner.

On the exterior of the building was a chalkboard, stating the name and day’s specialties. The inside was mostly lit by the wide windows, the lower half covered with green curtains. The floors were wooden and creaked slightly. The chairs and tables were rather the same but with table clothes covering the tops of the tables, a pale yellow in color. It was quaint. Not what he expected.

The place was still fairly full. People at probably half of the tables. Chit-chat filled the air along with jazz that played on the radio.

“Can you top me off?” a man asked.

“Of course, here you go, Ford. I’ll be with you in a minute, sweetheart,” a woman’s voice, soft and curling around the words with a southern drawl, said as she called the last part out over her shoulder, towards him. He looked over and realized it was you. “How’s your mama doing? I heard she got hit real bad with the flu? She alright now?“

A bell rang and you started walking away but the man still answered, “That was a couple weeks ago. She’s doing better now. Still a bit slow but nothing she can’t handle.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it,” you said as you grabbed a tray with a bowl of soup and plate of bread.

You just placed the food on the table when you turned towards the door. “Sorry, about that. What can I—“

Your eyes widened when you saw him. He smiled and waved at you right before the tray hit the ground.

“You alright, cher?” Ford asked, moving to get up.

“I— I’m fine,” you said slowly, not taking your eyes off him as you knelt down to pick up the tray. “Why don’t you find yourself a seat, sir? I’ve got some. . . things I need to check on in the back.”

Then you were gone. A woman stood up from her seat, dark hair and complexion, extremely tall, and called your name. “Girl, are you okay?” she asked as she followed you in the back which seemed allowed even if she clearly wasn’t a waitress.

That left him alone with many peoples eyes on him. He found himself a seat.

In the kitchen, you burst through the doors and pushed yourself against the wall, tray held close to you like a shield.

“Is he still there?” you asked the cook who looked out the window and nodded as Inez opened the kitchen door.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Who is that man?”

“He’s the show host,” you told her. “The one I told you about that wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“I thought you liked him,” she said. “Do I need to go beat him up anyway? I’ll do it.”

You shook your head as you grabbed her arm. “I don’t know what to do.”

“How about your job?” the cook suggested.

“Shut up, Lloyd,” Inez hissed through her teeth. The next second though she was soft spoken, “How ‘bout you just breath.”

“I don’t even know how to talk,” you told her. “I don’t use this voice in interviews. I didn’t use this voice at all while I was up there. Ain’t no way they were gonna take me seriously.”

“If he so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll sleep with his wife,” she said.

“The hell?”

“Shut up, Lloyd! Ain’t nobody talking to you!”

“He doesn’t have a wife,” you told her.

“Then his mom.” She cupped your face and pressed her forehead against yours. “Do you need me to go tell him to leave or do you want me to wait on him or neither?”

“I— I can. . . I’m over exaggerating.”

“No, you’re not so what do you need me to do?”

“I can do it. I’ll do it. Just can you not leave until he does?” you asked.

“Of course, honey. Do you want to go out first or me?”

“You can go, I just. . . I need a second.”

“Of course.”

She placed a kiss on your forehead and stood. Lloyd gave her a look and she flipped him off as she left.

As soon as the door opened, she met eyes with the infamous show host. You didn’t talk about him much. Really, you didn’t talk about many personal things but she did know of him. Now that she thought of it, she recalled seeing his face on the television with you.

She sat back down where she’d been. Some now cold and unfinished shrimp and grits in front of her.

You kicked yourself off the wall and followed after her a minute later.

You could do this. It’d be fine. You just talk to him like anyone else. You weren’t in his world right now. He was in yours. You knew the rules.

“So, what drink can I get you started with this evening, sir?” you asked.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked instead.

That simple question threw you completely off once again but this time instead of causing you panic, it made you relax. You knew this man. It was alright.

“No, you don’t have to do that. You just caught me by surprise is all,” you told him.

“That was half the intention but I was more expecting ‘wow, you’re here’ instead of ‘let me run in the back for ten minutes,’” he said but you could tell from his tone he meant it in good fun.

“Well, it’s not every day a man like you walks in here and I wasn’t prepared for figuring out what in the world I should do,” you said.

“And what are you supposed to do other than be your darling self?” he asked.

You floundered for a moment before just vaguely gesturing. “I can’t be like this on television and be expected to be taken seriously. People expect a certain act, not a southern waitress.”

“I like your accent,” he said simply and earnestly.

You felt your cheeks flush at the words. From a man like him that was. . . it meant something.

“Well, not everybody does. What can I get you started with?”

“I put my fate in your hands.”

You leaned close to his face. “My taste in food’s gonna kill you so why don’t you look at that menu while I get you something to drink. Since you haven’t told me anything, I’ll go with the unoffensive water.”

You were gone before he could reply.

#one author two show hosts #vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader

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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year

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Arsonist's Lullaby

As you may have guessed, this one is inspired by "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hosier. cw: arson (as you might have deduced, no one is hurt and they're burning their own property)

Draco was doing that thing with his hands again. The thing Harry had noticed first in 8th year and then hadn't stopped being able to notice in the past five years since.

It's what had drawn him to Draco in the first place, like a moth to flame (pun very much intended). There was something completely mesmerizing about watching him snap his fingers and then cradle the blue flames in his palm absentmindedly while he talked, or read a book, or performed any number of mindless tasks. It was sexy as fuck.

"You're staring again," Draco murmured, not raising his eyes from his book as the fire danced across his knuckles.

Harry hummed, "You're doing the fire again."

"You're as obsessed with fire as I am," he said, mouth curling at the corner.

"Mostly obsessed with you," Harry replied and Draco laughed and finally looked up for his book.

He stared at Harry for a moment, the fire winding its way through his fingers the way some people rolled coins along their knuckles. "You know," Draco said, voice a hint too casual and Harry internally perked up at what was sure to be a fantastic confession, "I thought it would end."

"What would?" Harry asked after a moment when it was clear that Draco wasn't going to go on without a bit of prompting.

His silver eyes latched onto Harry and his head tilted as he looked at him, like he was trying to parse something out. "The desire to light things on fire," he said and something hot flared in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"Tell me more," Harry said softly, voice low and seductive in a way that it normally wasn't outside of their bedroom.

Draco's pupils dilated sharply, "when I was a child," he said, the fire burning brighter in his hand for a moment, "I would sit for hours and stare at the flames in the manor's giant fire place. My parents couldn't understand it, they'd find me just sitting there, doing nothing but watching, like I was transfixed."

And frankly, Harry could understand that; he could watch Draco hold fire all day.

"When she caught me, Auntie Bella would say, 'don't ever tame your demons, Draco,' then she'd wink and tell me, 'but always keep them on a leash.'"

"What did that mean?"

Draco gave him a little smile, eyes flashing, "she could sense the bit of chaos, the desire for destruction, I think."

Harry hummed, "What did you want to destroy?"

"Oh, it changes," he replied easily. "When I was sixteen, the last time she said those words to me, I wanted to burn the entire world to the ground."

A shiver raced up Harry's spine, he remembered feeling the same way at sixteen. "And now?" he asked.

"I always thought it would go away," Draco said, "after I fell in love, after I had given the fire within me permission to consume someone the way I've consumed you."

Harry made a soft noise, low in his throat in agreement.

"The way I've let myself be consumed," he added. "But there's still this desire to burn down the past, to start fresh."

He nodded slowly, "that makes sense, actually."

"What if-" Draco started before snapping his jaw shut and clenching his fist around the fire to put it out.

"What if..." Harry prompted, moving to straddle Draco's hips, looking down at his lovely face.

Draco swallowed and rested his head against the back of the sofa, staring up at him. "What if we did start over? What if we moved to the states, or moved to some muggle city? What if-"

"Yes," Harry said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Draco's lips, fingers skimming up his neck. "Godric, yes," he said, living in the world as the chosen one had only gotten harder since defeating Voldemort.

"What if I burned down the Manor first?" he whispered.

He felt his eyebrows hit his hair line, "What?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, but Harry could see the tension in his jaw, the fear of being too much. "Just," he sighed, "no one lives there. It's full of dark, cursed magic and even darker, more cursed memories." He blinked up at Harry, "What if I burned it first?"

He stared at him for a long moment, just searching his face, and finding only earnest desire there. "Alright," he said finally.

"Yeah?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, Draco's palms skimmed up his back and sides, touching him reverently.

"Pack for us?" he asked when he pulled back.

"Everything?"

Draco shrugged, "not furniture."

He closed his eyes and gathered his magic for a moment, letting it pool in his gut before holding out a hand and snapping. The contents of the flat organized themselves into boxes, shrinking down until everything fit into a tote that they could easily put into the back of the beat up old Subaru that Harry had purchased and refit with magic.

"Fucking hot," Draco said, pulling his face down and kissing him soundly.

Harry let himself get swept up in the moment, lost himself in the fire of Draco's kiss, let himself be consumed as Draco's fingers slipped under his shirt, nails raking up his back.

Far too soon in Harry's opinion, Draco was pulling back, flushed and panting. "Drive us as close as we can get to the Manor?" he asked, "then I'll get us through the wards?"

He nodded and stood, tugging Draco up behind him and out the door. The Subaru brought them faithfully through the night to the Manor and Harry parked just on the other side of the wards.

They climbed out of the car and Draco reached for Harry's hand, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him. Harry took it and they were being moved through time and space to a hill where they could see the whole of the Malfoy estate, the Manor centered in front of them.

There was fire flickering in and out of the hand that wasn't clasping Harry's and he watched the other man carefully. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to-"

"No, I know," Draco said. "And there's a part of me that doesn't want to. I loved this home when I was young."

"We could-"

"But it feels all wrong now," he said, shaking his head. "Can't you feel it?" he asked without looking at Harry, "the way that the darkness seeps from this place, it's killing everything around it," he added, pointing to the forest and the meadows, even the yard was brown and dead.

Draco shook his head, "For a little while, it felt like all I had was this fire burning within me, ready to scorch the earth, to wipe out that maniac and everything he stood for. I just feel like there's something more for me out there."

He slid his fingers through Draco's, holding the hand that wasn't currently holding fire. "There is," he promised, raising Draco's knuckles to his lips.

"I don't think that you can tame your demons," he said softly like he wasn't talking to Harry at all. "And I don't think you can keep them on a leash, either," he added. "I think the only thing to do is to destroy them entirely."

Without another word, he released Harry's hand and held up both of his, letting balls of flames build in his palms before hurling them down toward the Manor. As soon as those were sent on their way, he started on two more, then two more, and so on until the entire building was ablaze, flames leaping dozens of feet in the air.

He threw one last ball of fire, then collapsed. Harry dropped with him, reaching out for him and supporting him as they watched the representation of his old life, of everything evil, burn.

What could have been minutes or hours later, they heard the sound of distant sirens and the first few firefighters apparated in, wands blowing streams of Aguamentis at the raging fire.

"Time to go," Draco said, squeezing Harry's hand and apparating directly into the car.

"Where are we headed?" Harry asked, starting the car and punching the button that turned it invisible.

Draco hummed, turning his head and staring at Harry with a thoroughly blissed out, content expression on his face.

He leaned across the center console and kissed him, "You're so," he shook his head and kissed him again, "fucking amazing."

Humming, Draco kissed him back before redirecting his attention to the open sky, "the world's ours. Wherever you want to go," he shrugged, "we're free."

And it never really mattered where they went, there were always plenty of things to find joy in if they were together.

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

Read more of my fics inspired by songs

#drarry #arsonists lullaby #what a vibe #hozier is my jam #a little 'be gay and do crimes' feeling #but also just burn down the past that you had no control over and start fresh #maybe a little darker that i usually write- just so you've got a warning #love #running away together #established relationships #ewe #maybe a little morally greyish?

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quixoticall · 3 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE:��Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s. Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new, a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to. The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all. You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought. “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery. The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship. I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN: Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song). Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more.

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand. I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music. You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty.

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'. "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity."

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life.

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

I grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night. As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense.

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into.

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

PLAY NEXT TRACK

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie Munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #steve harrington #rockstar!eddie Munson #past!eddie x chrissy #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers

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bluecatwriter · 29 days

Text

Overindulgence

A Blood of My Blood-inspired fic for the peer review of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush! Set when Quincey is a toddler, inspired by this art, and by my thoughts of how Mina might've borne the brunt of Dracula's cruelty and manipulation, especially early on in their time at the castle.

CW for abusive relationships, mental/emotional abuse, mental manipulation and mind control, violence, blood, injury and mild gore, violent threats, and violence/murder fantasies. (It ends on a somewhat hopeful note, but it's a rough ride getting there.)

~~~

I wish to spend more time with my husband.

It was a simple request, brought humbly— or as humbly as she could manage— before her lord. Time had softened her to the unyielding lines of his will, made her realize that outright rebellion was met with swift punishment. As her husband sacrificed for her, so she sacrificed for him, and they both sacrificed for their son, humbling their own will to their master's hand so that harmony would reign in the household. That's what marriage was, wasn't it?

And yet, she found herself greedy. Her longing for her husband had never gone away, and she wanted to be able to see him without having to beg for permission each time.

Her master, lounging in his chair by the fire while she stood before him with hands folded, quirked his lips in amusement. "My child, you have spent many long hours in the company of your husband since the two of you have come into my household. What has created this greed in you for more?"

Hours, yes, if all were totaled together. Hours spent in snippets and minutes, when they were allowed, the two of them acting out husband and wife for her master's amusement. She tried not to dwell on these thoughts; her lord was in her mind, seeing everything she thought, and she must remain submissive if she was to achieve her ends.

I wish to spend time with him more than just our feeding. I enjoy passing time in his company.

"Come here."

She balked for a moment, then stepped closer, her bare feet soundless on the stone. She didn't like that her lord was sitting— lounging— while she stood, as if she were a child no older than the toddler she was raising. He kept drawing her with his mind until she stood right up against him, his parted knees gently touching the sides of her legs as he leaned back in his chair.

"And what will you do, should I grant you this request? Do you intend to sneak tastes of him while I am away?"

Of course not, my lord. I would never drink from him without your permission.

"So what do you intend to do?"

She didn't like standing here, pinned between his knees, his red eyes looking up into hers with something like amusement. He was toying with her for no reason— he never took her seriously. To him she was just the mother of his heir, the woman who happened to live in the household and was only useful for snatching away her young child when he got too noisy or bothersome.

She tried to hold back her daydreams of bashing her lord's skull in.

I wish to speak with him, to read books together, to speak of our son and of our life here. I wish to hold his hand and to keep him from becoming lonely in the long hours when he is not carrying out your will.

"He can read books just as well by himself, and if you ever wish to discuss your son, you may bring it up with me. And what wish have you to hold his hand? Do you crave warmth?"

I crave my husband, she thought, before she could stop herself.

"Crave. What a fascinating word. What unrelenting hunger it evokes. And what of it, Wine-Press? How can you be sure this craving will not lead to disobedience?"

She felt his thoughts force their way into her mind. She instinctively resisted before allowing him in— fighting him just made the punishment worse. Though he watched her thoughts, he did not often intrude, but when he did, it was usually to inflict fear.

As long as she was obedient, her thoughts stayed her own.

When she disobeyed, his mind rushed into hers like the current of a diverted river, destroying everything in its wake.

The thoughts he pressed upon her were images, sharp as recent memories: usually scenes of violence, her husband or son being torn limb from limb by the wolves, or being tortured by their lord while she was forced to watch.

He never made good on the threats; he seemed to entertain a genuine fondness for both her loves, particularly her son. But he had no such regard for her. He tormented her casually, as a careless child might pluck the legs off an insect.

She never told her husband about this punishment, fearing that he would lash out against their lord and endanger all of them. His burden to bear was keeping enough blood in his body to sustain them; her burden was enduring the punishment against her that their lord meted out.

The only way she could endure this disinterested cruelty was knowing it was a sign that he never considered her a threat.

She tried to not ever let the thought fully form that he would regret underestimating her.

This time, though, the thought that he pushed into her mind was of a very different kind: an image of her drinking from her husband without their lord's permission, her husband gasping in pleasure under her kisses.

This is not my thought, she told him levelly, but the vision of the two of them entwined, without their lord's watchful eye, made an ache form in her chest where her heart used to beat.

"And yet it is your desire, I can see plain on your face." Her lord was staring up into her eyes now, his gaze keen but amused; he was reveling in this. She stood still at stone, determined not to tremble as he kept her pinned between his knees.

I would not steal that which is yours, she responded, trying to keep her thoughts calm even as the intruding thought played out the scene before her. Her husband was writhing in pleasure, whispering, I am only yours, Mina, only yours…

She looked sharply at her lord, unable to contain her frustration. I know he is not only mine, lord. He is yours, and I am yours, and our son is yours, and all in this castle is yours. I do not deny it! I have learned this hard lesson. I implore you to trust me.

"Trust you?" he echoed, his smile even more amused than before. "You, who have been defying my will since you arrived here? You, who daily entertain thoughts of driving a stake through my heart? You, who flinch each time I speak with my heir, whose mind burns like fire when I partake of the one who has agreed to be my sustenance?" He suddenly stood, and she stumbled back to catch her balance as he towered over her. "What makes you think you have earned my trust, child?"

It was useless to argue with him, to point out the injustice of his accusations, so she didn't even try. Instead, she took another step back and slowly sank to her knees, then pressed her forehead to the stone floor at his feet. I trust in your mercy, my lord. I humbly beg you to grant my request.

His satin shoe glided along her cheek, and nudged its way under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He gaze down with something like fondness, but the sharp glitter in his eye made a shiver pass through her.

"How I love to see you grovel," he murmured.

She caught and banished the thought of ripping his body apart with her bare hands.

"Very well," he said, and turned, his foot dropping away from her chin. He stooped and held out his hand in a chivalrous manner. She would rather tear off one finger at a time than take it, but she sat up and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her to his feet. He rarely touched her physically, but it didn't matter— he was already in her mind, leaving never a thought or a moment alone.

"We shall dine early tonight," her lord told her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk toward her husband's chambers. "We shall each have our kisses, and then you may spend as much time with your husband as you wish."

She felt a pit in her stomach. Something was wrong— she knew he would not give in so easily. There must be some plan at work here. In her mind she gazed at the wall of fire that separated her thoughts from his. He could see everything in her mind, but she could see nothing in his. She only had her instincts to know that some terrible mischief was afoot.

They climbed the stairs in silence, his arm crushing her hand against his side. He walked into her husband's room without knocking, as usual, and they found him sitting at the window with their son in his lap. He looked up in surprise to see both of them there.

"Mum!" her son cried. "Papa is reading me the princess book!"

Despite the fear coiling inside, she smiled. He was referring to a book of fairy-tales that her husband often read their son, sometimes with her projecting images of the story into his mind. The fair princess of the tale always had silver hair and beautiful blue eyes, and the rescuing knight flowing black hair and a kind smile. The dragon always died.

"I— is everything all right?" her husband asked, his eyes widening with uncertainty as his gaze flicked between her and her lord. Between them, their son squirmed out of his papa's arms and raced forward, bowing from the waist as he'd been taught and saying, "Hello, Father."

"Hello, my little diavol," her lord said, with the fondness that couldn't be feigned, ruffling the boy's black hair. He raised his head to address her husband. "Nothing is amiss, my friend— we have just come to dine early tonight."

"Kisses!" her son shouted, jumping up and down with excitement. "Kisses kisses kisses!"

She quickly shushed him, pulling him against her side with her free hand. Her husband shut the book he'd been reading and stood up, fumbling with his collar and tie. "Of course, my lord. I am sorry I wasn't properly prepared. Just one moment."

Go out into the hall and wait your turn, she told her son, but her lord immediately intervened. "No. Stay here. You will have your turn soon." She tensed, uncertain what this might mean— but trying not to let on to her son that she was feeling tense. Why did he want the boy here?

He let go of her hand and walked toward her husband, who had removed his collar and tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing his pale throat. The bruises from the last feeding were still purple on his skin, and she felt fear running like ice up and down her spine. He was already a bit weak from last feeding…

Her husband stood very still as their lord circled behind him, and her husband looked at her with wide eyes, as if to ask what was going on. Usually their lord fed standing in front, not from behind.

I don't know, was all she could say, shielding the thought from their son. I don't know.

Their lord slid his hand into her husband's hair and tilted his head to the side, looking at her deliberately over his exposed neck. She was rooted to the ground, trying not to clench too hard on their son's shoulder. Her lord breathed on her husband's neck, and he shivered.

"Papa…?" their son said, a bit hesitantly.

He's fine, she immediately assured him. Father is just going to kiss him, as usual. Isn't that right, Papa?

"Yes," her husband said, and he did an admirable job keeping the fear out of his voice. "And then whose turn will it be?"

"Mum's, and then mine!" the boy said, excited again.

She watched their lord teasing at his ear, mouthing over his skin. Her husband had broken out in a sweat. What was he doing?

When their lord bit down, her husband shrieked.

It was a short, unexpected sound that froze her down to her feet. Her son startled and cried out in alarm, and a flood of tears leaked from her husband's eyes as he coughed out another sound, and another, to try to make it sound like he was laughing. She felt ice in her lungs as she numbly watched their lord champ at her husband's neck like a wild animal, sending a spasm of pain over her husband's face with each movement. Precious blood seeped out of the messy wounds, running down into his white shirt. Their lord had never hurt him like this before— not this badly, not in front of the child.

She was moving toward them before she knew what she was doing.

"Mina, stop!" her husband gasped.

She stopped. Her lord looked up at her over her husband's bleeding shoulder, digging his fangs in deeper and making a tremor of pain go through her husband's body.

"It is his right," her husband said, and tears flowed down his face even as he grimaced a smile. "Don't stop him."

"What's going on, Mum?" her son asked, clinging to her skirt.

She forced a thought in her son's direction with one half of her mind. It's all right. Papa's fine. See? He's smiling! With the other half of her mind, she had rushed to the wall of fire that divided her mind from her lord's, and was tearing at it with her hands. Stop hurting him! Stop! Hurt me instead! STOP!

"I'm scared," her son whimpered.

"It's all right, son," her husband said again, his voice with pain as their lord kept gnawing on his neck, moving down to the meat of his shoulder, leaving bleeding bite marks all the way.

Her lord locked eyes with her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. From behind the wall of fire, she heard laughter.

She started to move forward again, but her husband stared at her with terror radiating from his white face. "Mina, please."

She hesitated.

Her son hung on her skirts, behind her. Her husband stared her down, his face set, tears gleaming like silver over his forced smile. "Please," he whispered. "Don't."

He asked for so little. She could do this.

So she stood there. She stood there and told her son that it was all right, as their lord ripped and tore at her husband's flesh, as he lapped up mouthful after mouthful of precious blood— too much, he was taking too much!— as the color drained from her husband's face.

She stared into her husband's eyes. Say the word, my love, and I will kill him.

Through the convulsing jaws on his neck, her husband shook his head ever-so-slightly. Hers was an empty threat, empty, empty, and they all knew it. She was not strong enough. Not yet. But when she was strong enough, she would take their captor apart piece by piece, burn him with fire until only ash remained, scrape him down to nothing.

Her lord looked up, and loosed his fangs long enough to chuckle. He seemed so amused by her fantasies of killing him. He did not know that this was a certainty in his future. She would make sure of that.

At last, she backed away from the wall of fire in her mind. She imagined herself sitting on her knees, bowing once more with her face to the ground, even as her physical body stayed upright.

My lord, I beg you. Her plea was no longer desperate, only heartfelt. Please stop.

Her husband whimpered in pain as their lord sucked up another mouthful. Stop what? her lord said. Is it not my right to drink of him as I will?

Of course it is. But I beg of you to stop. I will do anything.

Her lord paused, his gaze piercing her across her husband's shoulder. His thoughts crawled into her mind, sending images of her chained to a wall, nailed down in a coffin for days without sustenance, separated from her son. Anything?

She gulped, refusing to let her tears fall. Name it, and I will do it.

He chuckled and dug in his teeth again, sending another barrage of images her way. Of her groveling at his feet for hours, of her lying on a table as he used a hammer and mallet to shatter each of her bones, one by one. Anything at all, my wine-press?

She clenched her fist so hard the bones might crack, even as her other hand ran soothingly through her son's hair. Anything.

He released his teeth, and her husband crumpled to the floor like paper in a fire. Her son rushed to his side, but she was frozen in place, eyes locked with their lord as he wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve. His face was flushed and ruddy, devoid of wrinkles and even his beard— he looked no older than a teenager now, rolled back in time through the precious blood of her husband.

She had not looked into a mirror in years, but in that moment, staring at his flowing black hair and his smooth face, those clever eyes, that grinning mouth… she thought she remembered that this was what her own face looked like.

She snarled before she could stop herself. In the background, she heard her husband laughing unsteadily and choking out words for their son, telling him that everything was all right, that it was all a funny joke, that Father had gotten a little carried away with his kisses— oops!

She looked at her lord, hands folded, willing her body not to tremble, chasing away the thoughts that wanted to burn and main and kill. What would you have me do?

He smiled, his face looking eerie with its youthful cast. His voice came through her mind like a hot knife. There is nothing I want from you, my useless bitch. Take your time with your husband— you will never possess him the way I do.

She stared down at her husband, who was half-collapsed, still trying to soothe their son while steadying himself with one hand, and she wished that she could howl with anger.

Her lord opened his mouth and spoke aloud, his voice higher and younger than usual. "Now it is your turn to kiss, my dear."

It was permission to touch him, permission to rush to his side and help him up and onto his bed, their son still clinging to him and looking worried. Her husband moved under her hands like a rag doll, panting in pain, his face pulled taught, his eyes glassy, his skin so pale it was almost grey.

Her lord was watched her keenly as she lapped up the blood running in rivulets from each of his wounds, trying to get the precious blood without taking any more than he had already lost, and perhaps ease the bleeding a bit in the meantime. Her lord could easily drink with barely a mark left behind, but here her husband's skin was ravaged, bits of gore sticking up from his pale flesh, the bite-marks messy and half-shredded. She would not allow herself to weep, not when their son was watching.

"And now your turn, my son," their lord said from behind her. She turned, aching to contradict him, but she knew she could not.

Hesitantly, their son climbed up onto the bed. "Are you all right, Papa?" he asked carefully.

"Of course," her husband said in a faint voice, trying to hold out his wrist, but he was too weak to do so. She took his wrist gently and held it before their son.

Just a little sip, she told him.

"Nonsense," their lord said, his voice sharp. "He is a growing boy. Drink as much as you wish, my son."

Looking confused and still a bit scared, the boy sank his teeth into her husband's wrist and began to drink. She stared at him, feeling each drop leaving her husband's body as physical pain. Her husband was trembling, and it was all she could do to keep from tearing her son away from him.

After a couple small mouthfuls, he pulled away, looking uncertainly from parent to parent for approval.

"Drink more," their lord said. "You must be hungry."

"I am, but Papa…"

"Papa is fine, don't you see? Isn't that right, Papa?"

"Y-yes," her husband whispered, his eyes almost lolling back in his head.

The boy took another few mouthfuls. She dug her fingers into the covers, feeling like she was going to scream.

When he pulled off, their lord smiled at him. "Now, my child, I will put you to bed tonight."

"Really?" the boy said, his face lighting up with wonder.

"Of course. I promised your Mum that she and your Papa would be allowed to spend time together." Their lord strode forward and plucked their son from the bed, cradling him and giving him a little tickle in his side that made him giggle. "Perhaps I shall tell you a bedtime story, of a brave dragon who taught those who wished to slay him their place in the order of things. Would you like that, my little one?"

"Yes!" the boy said, snuggling into his Father's arms. She saw that he was safe from the punishment, then; her husband alone had borne the weight of her impudence.

Cradling her son, her lord left the room, turning to give them both a smirk on that too-young face before shutting the door behind him.

"Mina…" her husband whispered, and fell limp on the bed.

She spent a long, long day doing everything she could to keep him alive. She had treated an infected wound of his before, and dug out the yarrow she had dried the previous year, heating up water on the stove and making a poultice with shaky hands. She tore up her clothes to bandage him, she held him close, she whispered soothing thoughts into his mind, she mesmerized him so that he thought he was home in England and not in this castle.

The sun rose and fell, and exhaustion tugged on her, but she stayed with her husband, her tears wetting his silver hair with red.

In the evening, he opened his eyes, and he was alive, if very, very weak. He was surprised to see her lying beside him; they had not woken up beside each other since their first night together at the castle.

"Does he know you're here?" her husband whispered.

She curled up beside him, holding him close. Of course he knows. He knows all. And he has permitted this— at least for now. She wanted to say I am sorry, but she didn't know how to begin explaining that her greed had nearly gotten him killed. So instead she held him, and whispered soothing words. He tucked his head against her breast, and they laid there, his body warm and fragile and near.

They were not kept apart after that. She was free to visit him, as long as she asked her lord's permission first. Whether she had passed some sort of test, or if tormenting her in that way had become boring to him, she did not ask.

Someday, though, they would be free of their lord. Someday, she herself would cast off their yoke and cut their captor to pieces, and she would fully claim what was hers.

It was only a matter of time.

~~~

#my writing #blood of my blood #mina harker #dracula #count dracula #jonathan harker #quincey harker

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mileapo · 1 month

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'Apo-Nattawin' faith and belief that effort never betrays dreams.

Before the day, I had the opportunity to talk with Apo. We looked at his IG first. And then was struck by the cute and fun poses of the pictures and reels he took with Doraemon.

“Very cute. And then when I went to see the biography of the person who wrote Doraemon (Fujio Fujiko), it was really cool. With the fact that he wrote down each chapter from his travels abroad and photographed it. Before drawing it into various episodes in Doraemon, when I was a kid I liked Doraemon. And read a lot of comic books. Whether Naruto or Doctor Slum,” Apo talks about what he got from the futuristic cat robot and continues:

“As an ambitious child, there will be a feeling that everything can happen. And Doraemon makes us feel that everything can really happen. I like that the writer has imagination and is able to express that. What is his imagination? That means that belief or imagination can actually happen. And it inspired me.”

Do you remember the picture of yourself as a child? What was Apo like?

If you go back to Boy Apo, you can see pictures of him and the city of Hua Hin. He was there. In a tenement house, living with parents, siblings, and grandmother. The family atmosphere is Thai-Chinese, we are used to parents speaking Thai and talking to children in Thai. But I will speak Chinese with Grandma. My family is a big, warm family.

It feels like a Chinese child if our parents speak Chinese to Grandma and Grandpa. Can you hear it?

I can hear it when he curses (laughs). It's when Grandma and Grandpa secretly talk to their parents. Complaining about us in Chinese to our parents. And when he speaks often, we will remember that this word is a curse word. It's like he's finished talking to us. Then scolding us and our parents. That's about it.

I know that when I was a child, I loved to pray with my mother.

I may not remember all the moments from that time. But my mother always told me that when I was a child When I cried, my mother would lead me up to pray with her. Which is already my mother's daily routine, So she took me up to pray with her. Because when we pray, we become quiet and gradually absorb it.

That's a picture of one activity you often did as a child.

Yes, when I was a child I didn't go out and play like other kids. For example, on New Year's, other people go out to play, go to temple festivals, watch fireworks, but for me, my parents take me to the temple to pray and make merit. As a child, there are activities that I always do at the temple with my family. That was a religious activity. When I entered Mathayom 4, I had to transfer from Hua Hin Wittayalai School to study at Yothinburana School in Bangkok. And that was the first time I realized that what our parents really instilled in us.

How?

When I moved to live alone, at first I was happy, feeling like a child who was now free. I know I'm growing up. But I'm staying in Bangkok for a while until the New Year festival. Eh... Where should I go? Other people have plans to travel there and here. But I can't imagine. My childhood memories take me back again. That is, going to the temple. So I went to Wat Amphawan in Sing Buri Province. Take the train to celebrate the New Year with yourself there, that is, go pray.

You said you went alone. It shows that you are a person who likes to do things alone. Have you ever felt lonely?

Actually, I have an older sister and a younger brother. But we weren't very close when we were kids. My older sister is at an all-girls school. As for his younger brother, he is at a boarding school. My parents tend to give their children a lot of freedom. So I'm not sure if I'm lonely or not. Because I saw my parents working hard. With the belief that education is important. We cannot deny that education comes with expenses. He works and sends us to study to have knowledge. Our children's duty is to study, so we don't feel lonely even though our parents still work hard.

It's said that changing schools takes you out of your comfort zone.

It's like starting a new life. Like putting clothes in a bag (laughs) because I studied in Hua Hin at the same school from kindergarten until the end of Mathayom 3. Changing schools is already a big deal. But moving provinces, moving is like having to learn a new life. We are like fish out of water. Because when I came to study in Bangkok, I didn't have any friends yet. As for his friends at school, he has a group that he has studied with since childhood. It's called having to continually adapt.

Coming to a new life in Bangkok It's like a path that was drawn to work in the entertainment industry.

I started by working first. Then had the opportunity to get to know P'Bem. He was the one who brought me to cast a drama on Channel 3, which overlapped with the time I was entering Rangsit University. And it's a young age where we don't have to follow many rules anymore. I didn't have to cut it. We wear whatever clothes we want to wear. I didn't study from morning until evening. I feel like I've grown into an adult. In addition, he also came to act in his first drama.

Sod Revenge Saen Rak It's the first drama where you worked with a big actor. And this drama is very famous.

Yes, but the drama will focus on the timeline of the senior generation. As for me, I'm a new kid, I'm very new, so people don't know me a bit.

GQ: But many people know Apo's name precisely from the first drama. But after that, you disappeared from the industry.

I disappeared. It's just thinking that people only have one life. So what will we do in life? That day, I was 25 years old and had not yet made a final decision with myself about which direction to take. One day we were filming a drama. Then there are 2 dramas a year. They finish filming, go out to work, and then start filming a new drama. Life is just a loop. There isn't much variety. In fact, I want to work on something that is diverse. I've been acting in dramas since I was 19 years old, and doing modeling, but I've never tried any other careers. In addition to playing the role of a character That is to do the career of that character. So I asked myself, should I go find something to do first? Even though at that time I loved being an actor. But I want to try and find something to do to fight for my life. It's really life, of one man, how to fight. First of all, I decided to focus on finishing my studies first. Then gradually go to settle in a foreign country.

GQ: That's the United States.

Yes, I went to New York with the intention of becoming an actor. I wanted to try. I always thought, if I had to leave tomorrow. And I haven't fulfilled my dream yet, I will regret it. But if I did it today, whatever the result will be, whatever it is. We just stepped out. That's all it takes to be happy.

GQ: How did you start following your dreams?

I sell everything. Selling here and there privately. Then collect all the clothes you have in Thailand. I mean, I guess I won't come back. The time when we were slowly packing up our things and booking plane tickets. Manage everything It's like life is about to start over. At that time, it was like, oh... This is the feeling of a person who dares to make a decision or do something seriously. Because all this time, my work is just modeling and acting. To be honest, it's about earning money. Which for me may not be the answer. Because when there is a good script or character, that will only be forwarded into the channel's working system.

GQ: What was it like starting a new life there? And what do you clearly see of the people there?

Let's start with the culture of the people there. I will explain it like this. Can you imagine that? In New York, we just step out of the house. No one walked slowly. If you don't walk the dog or eat anything, no one walked slowly. Everyone walks quickly. Therefore, it means that everyone has goals for their daily life. which we are one of them. It makes me feel happy to be in a place where everyone has the same energy as me.

Later, my first goal was to enter acting school. which requires a lot of money It's like having to have extra money to back up for university. I want to attend the William Esper Studio acting school, which aside from costing a lot of money, Must apply for visa correctly. So I went to study the language first.

But because the cost of living there is very high. And my background is not any type of person. You can sleep any way you want. At least if we have to live somewhere. Or we can do something to get us to the place we choose. It's better than having to save everything. Or go to a place where we don't want to be. If so, I would like to use more energy to stay in a good environment and room. That means I have to work harder. To be in the Bedford Avenue area, I think energy here is us. Because I think the Manhattan side is not energy like us.

Cutting back to the room, the room only has this space. (He assembled it by hand.) There was no wardrobe. I use the method of placing the suitcases close together. On the other side is a bed and a desk. which I need to fold all the laundry Allocate it to all areas. And on top of the head is a heater that can hold a few things that don't look too dangerous . Well, when I'm in a situation like this, I'm... well, that's really cool. That we live in a place we like, but oh my, the living conditions are very difficult. But I try to remember that day and say, OK, if one day we grow up, we will never forget this day. We have tried doing something like this. And then I was very happy.

GQ: From a child who lives with a large family. There are parents to take care of. Then one day I had to go live abroad, which was like having to start a new life. Was there any event where you felt like you were truly out of your shell?

Our families may not be very close. But I was taken care of by my parents, who could say that they made sure that even the littlest things, like assuming we were in Bangkok, Then he said he wanted a razor. He would buy it from Hua Hin and drive it to me. That is, he is a parent who loves his children and takes care of them that much. So that means I almost never have to fight on my own.

Until one day when I was in America, I went to buy oranges and remembered that 3 oranges cost 1.5 dollars. I thought "what if they were wrong?" So we I a picture. Okay, take 3 oranges and pay. It turned out that the employee was charging 1 coin per orange, making a total of 3 coins. That is, he was charging more than the promotional price at that time, so we, ah, got on with it (laughs). I took a picture for them to look at and said you were wrong. At that time, in my heart I was secretly afraid that he would scold me back. But as soon as he finished, what he replied was ' Ok fine! ' at that moment. It was the moment when I felt like, "Hey! You can do it here.

I walked out and stood in front of the store and held an orange and a receipt. Hey! He has given the wrong amount. He has given too much because of my love of justice. So I went back and told him again. I can remember the moment it came out. If it's a movie We were standing and the camera must have tracked in front of us. Then the camera panned up to the sky. Like the picture in the movie The Shawshank Redemption where Andy Dufresne gets out of prison . My feeling is like being free like that.

From the normal time of buying things I've never looked at what, how much, if it's the correct change. I've never looked at a receipt since I was born. Because someone takes care of us His parents will buy it for him. So I'm used to having my parents take care of me. But that day was the day I grew up! (smile)

GQ: Your life changed because of oranges.

Yes, it was one of the turning points because of Orange.

GQ: And another turning point that cannot be denied is that Kinn Porsche The Series has not made you known only in Thailand. But it goes far to the global level.

Speaking of that time, I still didn't understand anything. But when Be On Cloud came to do it, we knew right away that this was a turning point. He came and spread out the whole pattern, the script, the characters, everything. Okay, we started to see the picture. See the script being developed Until it started to get intense That's important because everyone believes the same thing. No one on the team said it was impossible. Everyone will believe that it is possible. Even I myself have never seen anything like Kinn Porsche have done before. The B on Cloud team and I did our very best and with every imagination we believed it would be possible.

Assuming 100 percent, it's possible 50-60 if you really work globally. It means their technology, their equipment, their creativity. Including various cultures Bring it together with us It should be able to create really cool work. Suppose you work with Christopher Nolan (Christopher Nolan), how many people in the world will there be? that can tell the story of the universe and we believe it really exists Or maybe he doesn't have him. But it can make us feel like we are part of it. How do you know what that era was like? Just a book with only drawings and letters. But he can make it out. If so, we want to try to carry out our intentions. Then mix it Or try to work with people at the global level who have cutting-edge equipment or thinking methods. I think it would be fun. At least I just want to do it. I'm very happy.

GQ: Do you think it's effort or ambition? What's more important?

We have to come together. If you're ambitious, then you don't try. It would be like asking for a blessing from a monk and then not getting the job done.

GQ: Nowadays, if you choose to do a piece of work, What do you think is basic?

I will consider that tomorrow we may not be on this planet anymore. Suppose we are not alive. Then we turned around and looked. What are we proud of? What have we done for anyone? As of today, this is one thing that we are very proud of. So it's a fan club. They are not just supporting us. But they intend to come and support us. Stay tuned for our work. Every time we have to do our best. We send happiness We send them our full love because it is give and take.

Therefore, we must intend to give. So what do we have? We may not have anything to offer. But we have eyes that can comfort you. We have words that can help heal your heart. We have positive energy to give her. We can exchange it. She definitely didn't come to waste. I feel that this is one thing that we are very proud of that we have done for the people who love us.

GQ: Do you think that the entertainment industry, if not including money, how has it changed you?

A lot has changed. Like just now, I thought that all the time I was working (Fashion shoot with GQ Thailand ) Seriously, money is the last item. Because I will choose the choice that if we are not here, have you done anything for anyone yet? OK, money has to be spent. But what has changed is that I want to create pride in what we have done for others.

GQ: How do you see the future of your acting career?

I still have dreams of working at the global level. Like many actors, for a person to become famous, he must be dedicated. This is what I like about New York: it's a melting pot and everything moves so fast. If you can't do it, you leave and let someone who is more skilled come in and do it. Because there are hundreds of people who can do better than you. But what should you do to be able to survive? Everyone is equally talented. Everyone might be better at it. I think this is the coolness. I want to study what he thinks, what he sees, how he lives his life. What are your plans in life? Because right now we don't just want money.

GQ: You have a goal and you have to reach it.

I believe there is no one on earth who says we have to be like this, have to do this, but I believe, I believe, I believe.

GQ: One day we will see what you want to do and be successful.

Thank you. At least I have to do what I want to do (smiles).

#apo nattawin #interview #gq thailand #gq magazine #translated by google #so be warned

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