#Dawn Buckingham | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hbyrde36 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 6: Guest Relations

No Vacancy

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 AO3 link

CW: Smut

*STEVE*

“Well, I'm sorry you wasted so much of your time on me.”

Eddie’s words echoed in Steve’s head as he watched him turn and walk away back down to the beach.

Part of Steve wanted to follow, to fight for what he’d seen in the other man’s eyes in the seconds before they’d kissed. He was almost sure now that Eddie liked him back. It made the rejection that much more painful.

But he didn’t follow.

He spun on his heel and made his way back to the Buckingham, alone.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the whirlwind he’d just been through, replaying the entire thing over and over again in his head. He was hurt, but he was also so confused. It just didn’t make any sense. In hindsight it was obvious now that Eddie had been jealous when he’d seen him and Danny together the night before. That’s why he was so mad, mad enough to flee the motel at the crack of dawn just to avoid seeing him. And when Steve kissed him, Eddie had kissed back.

Oh god how he had kissed back.

Naively, Steve had thought, this is it!

But no. Eddie pushed him away, literally and figuratively, and now he was left to wonder if he’d somehow misread everything.

He couldn’t deny that Eddie was, at the very least, physically attracted to him. That much had become abundantly clear. But maybe that was all it was, and all of Steve’s talk about caring and being worried had freaked him out, turned him off.

Steve had hoped to sneak past the motel's front office and make it to his room without running into anyone, and by anyone he meant Robin, but of course she spotted him through the glass front doors and came running out to greet him.

He took a deep breath and tried to school his features into something that he hoped looked a little less devastated than he currently felt inside. He must have failed in his attempt spectacularly though, because she took one look at his face and began chewing on her bottom lip, brows furrowed.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

He blew out a long breath and dropped his gaze to the ground, a wry chuckle falling from his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to even try and lie to her. “Not really.” He admitted.

“What happened? Did you see Eddie?”

“Yeah.” He whispered softly, looking back up at her with a sad half smile. Her eyes were full of sympathy and concern.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He knew how much Robin cared about him, that she would do anything to make him feel better, but he wasn’t ready for any of that yet. He didn’t want to do this. He just wanted to slink off and hide under a rock somewhere for at least 8-12 hours and feel sorry for himself.

Sometime soon he was sure he’d love to sit with her and talk it all over as they drank a few bottles of red wine and had a good cry about it. But not right now.

“No, if that’s... okay. I think I just want to be alone for a while.”

“Of course that’s okay.” She said, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his waist the way he knew she’d wanted to do since she’d first laid eyes on him.

He embraced her right back and the two of them stood in the parking lot holding each other in comfortable silence for a long minute. Eventually Steve dropped a kiss on top of her head and they stepped apart. He moved to leave, but regardless of what she’d said Robin still seemed reluctant to let him go. He didn’t really blame her, he was prone to little bouts of depression that could sometimes be difficult to shake, and she was a worrier.

“Call me if you change your mind.” She rushed out, at his back. “I have ice cream in the freezer and I can be at your door in two minutes flat.”

“I will.” He said, turning back to her. It wasn’t really a lie. He would call her if he changed his mind, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen.

What he really needed was some sleep. Suddenly he felt so tired, emotionally and physically drained, and he was thankful that he had another day off tomorrow. The thought reminded him of the conversation they’d had at dinner the other night and he felt like an asshole for not bringing it up sooner.

“Did you ask Chrissy about tomorrow night yet?”

Robin looked confused for a second, then waved her hand dismissively. “No, that’s… it’s dumb. I'd rather just forget it.”

“Robin.” He leveled her with an unimpressed look. “You have to go talk to her right now. I’m serious.”

“No, I'm serious.” She said, shaking her head. “I’m not gonna ask you to watch the desk after all this.”

“Oh my god, for the last time you didn’t ask, I offered! And it doesn’t matter what’s happened, I can still watch the place. I want to do it, and if you really want to make me feel better you’ll go on the damn date, have a great time, and come back to tell me all about it.”

“That’s a cheap shot, Harrington.” She sighed. “Fine, I'll ask her in the morning.”

“But-”

“Don’t push it.” She warned, glaring.

He put his hands on his hips and glared right back.

“Look, the sooner I ask her, the more time I'll have to freak out about the actual date, so I figure, why not put it off as long as possible?” She reasoned.

“But you’re already freaking out.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t stand there and attack me with logic!”

“Okay!” He said, hands raising in surrender. “Do what you want. I’ll come down in the afternoon to see how it went and you can show me whatever I need to know to keep the motel afloat in your absence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not much you need to know to cover for me for two hours, but sure. I’ll see you then.”

He smiled at her, or at least tried to, and finally walked off towards the stairs to the second floor.

The room was dark when he got in. The sun had fully set and he hadn’t bothered to leave a light on for himself when he left. He didn’t bother turning one on now either.

He threw himself on his bed, buried his face in the pillows, and screamed into them until his throat was hoarse. Eventually he shucked his clothes off, slid under the covers and fell asleep. He’d never even bothered to eat today, but it was fine, he wasn’t hungry anyway.

In Steve’s dream someone was playing with his hair, carding their hand through it in the most soothing way. People were always afraid to touch his hair. They assumed he’d be mad at it getting messed up because of the time and effort he put into it every day, but honestly it was one of his favorite comforts.

He stirred from sleep gradually, confused when the fingers running over his scalp didn’t disappear with the rest of the dreamworld. Eventually he blinked his eyes open, surprised to find someone sitting on the edge of his bed.

No, not someone.

“Eddie?”

The hand moved from his hair down to caress his cheek, with a touch so gentle it made Steve want to cry. He let out a quiet gasp and nuzzled into the touch without thinking.

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, and I'm so sorry.” Eddie said softly.

Steve couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, much less what he was hearing. This couldn’t be real.

“Is this a dream?”

Eddie leaned down and rested his forehead against his as they breathed each other in. Their noses brushed, lips almost touching.

“No, Steve, not a dream. I… shit.” Eddie pulled back, sighing. “I don’t know how to do this.”

The air that surrounded them, so thick with tension, caught in Steve’s throat. “Do what?” He croaked out.

“Talk.”

Something inside Steve snapped.

Eddie was probably right, until they talked he would have no idea what any of this meant, or what had changed Eddie’s mind and brought him not just back to their room but into Steve's bed, but for once in his goddamn life he didn’t want to talk. He barely wanted to think. He just wanted Eddie.

He swept the covers aside revealing that he was lying there dressed only in a pair of thin boxers. He rested his hand on Eddie’s knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh as he sat up, bringing their faces close together once more.

“Maybe we don’t have to talk. Not yet.” He said, gaze dipping down to Eddie’s lips as licked across his own.

Eddie groaned, a deep rumbling sound in his chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Do you want me?”

“Steve.” Eddie whispered his name, making the word sound like a cross between a warning and a prayer.

“Do you want me?” Steve asked again, his hand leaving its place on Eddie's leg to skim up under his t-shirt, fingers brushing over the trail of hair on his lower stomach.

Eddie sucked in a shuddering breath at the contact. “Of course I fucking want you.” He said, squeezing his eyes shut before adding quietly, “I think I’ve always wanted you.”

Steve let the words wash over and through him as he finally closed the short distance to crash their lips together. He tried not to think too hard about what Eddie had just said. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that this would be anything more than what it was. All that mattered now was this moment, and the feeling of Eddie’s fingernails lightly scratching down his back.

He tugged on the front of Eddie’s shirt, trying to pull the other man down on top of him as he leaned back, but Eddie hesitated, breaking the kiss.

“I’m gonna to get sand all over your bed.” Eddie said, panting.

Steve took Eddie's earlobe between his teeth. Biting down just hard enough to make him shiver and gasp.

“Hmm.” Steve hummed in his ear, harnessing all the confidence he would muster. “I guess you’ll just have to take your clothes off then.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie hissed.

He stood and Steve perched on the edge of the bed looking up at him through his eyelashes as he began to undress.

Eddie pulled his shirt up over his head, revealing the expanse of his pale chest and torso decorated with mostly black and gray artwork. Steve was on his feet in an instant, circling. He had seen Eddie shirtless before but he hadn’t allowed himself to really look.

Two of the pieces were somewhat familiar, a sort-of scary looking demon head and a black widow spider that both sat high on his pec. Steve could remember catching glimpses of them back when the two men were still in school together, on the rare occasion that Eddie would actually show up for gym class and be forced to change in the boys locker room with everyone else. The rest was less familiar. The creeping pattern of darkly inked vines and wild roses began on his right side just under his ribs. They trailed across his back, down around to the other side of his body over the front of his left hip. The flower buds were all different sizes and in various states of bloom and decay, but it was the bloodied thorns that grabbed Steve's attention the most. They were the only spots of color on his body.

He traced the intricate lines and swirls with his fingertips, following their path to where it disappeared into the waistband of his pants. When he was done examining, Steve kissed a trail up the column of Eddie's throat as he undid his belt buckle and popped the button on his jeans. He lowered the zipper and dipped his hand in, wrapping his palm around Eddie’s hard length for the first time.

Eddie moaned and wound a hand into the hair on the nape of Steve's neck, gripping it tight and forcing his head back. Steve’s mouth dropped open in surprise, his entire body flushing with heat. Then Eddie lips were on his, their tongues sliding against each other in the most sloppy and deliciously filthy way.

He began to slowly stroke Eddie’s cock as best he could inside the confines of his pants, pulling a desperate whine out of his throat. He loved how responsive Eddie was to his touch, but the other man didn’t let it go on for long.

After only a minute or two Eddie backed them up, not breaking the feverish kiss until Steve's legs hit the bed, sending him tumbling down to the mattress. Eddie shoved his jeans down to his ankles and kicked out of them before climbing up onto the bed, hovering over Steve. He kissed his mouth once, an almost chaste brushing of lips compared to what they’d just been doing, but quickly abandoned Steve's mouth to explore the rest of him.

Eddie kissed and licked and bit his way down Steve's body, beginning with the delicate skin of his neck just below his ear and ending with a scrape of teeth on his hip bone just above the waistband of his boxers.

Eddie looked up to meet his eyes as he slipped his fingers into the elastic on either side and tugged them off, his achingly hard cock springing free. Eddie tossed the underwear aside and returned to his work, avoiding the one area Steve was most desperate to be touched, and began to suck a bruise into his inner thigh instead.

He whined, squirming, even as Eddie kept a tight grip on his hips urging him to remain still.

It was too much, watching Eddie with his head nestled between his legs worshiping him in that way, but he still needed more. His hips bucked, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. He wanted Eddie to touch him, needed it, he needed him to–

“Fuck me.” The words came tumbling out of his mouth without his permission, breathy and wanton.

Eddie froze. “What did you say?” He asked incredulously.

“Please, I need you…” Steve panted. “Need you to fuck me.”

Eddie stared wide eyed and mumbled something to himself that sounded suspiciously like, I knew he was going to be dangerous.

Steve didn’t have any idea what that meant, but he didn’t have time to worry about it because a second later Eddie wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and and sank down, immediately taking it all the way to the back of his throat.

He cried out, heedless of the amount of noise they were making when it felt this good. Eddie bobbed his head at a slow pace as he smoothed his hands up and down Steve's thighs. The touch was tender, almost affectionate, and that feeling of too much and yet not enough came bubbling back up in his chest with a vengeance.

When he was nice and wet Eddie pulled off, working him by hand while he grabbed a nearby pillow.

Steve took the hint and lifted his hips allowing the other man to slide it under. Eddie ducked his head again but instead of taking Steve’s cock back into his mouth, he ignored it, using both hands to pull Steve's ass cheeks apart and spat directly on his hole.

Steve threw his head back, mouth wide open as a sound was ripped from his throat that he would swear he'd never made before. His dick twitched and his whole body shuddered with it. He had no idea that this was something he’d be into, but the evidence was damning. It was undeniably one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced. For something that should have been gross, it was anything but. Had he been closer to the edge he might have cum just from that simple act.

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, clearly pleased with the reaction he’d gotten, as he spread the rapidly cooling wetness around his entrance with a finger before pushing the tip of it inside.

It wasn’t until he’d worked the digit past his knuckle and the slightly cold metal grazed Steve’s rim that he realized Eddie still had his rings on.

God, that really did something for him too. Steve whimpered, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He felt like he was on fire.

He was so desperate to be filled that when Eddie added a second finger, he flung his hands back flat against the headboard, using it as leverage to push himself down, trying to fuck himself on them harder.

“Easy.” Eddie whispered, pressing his lips to Steve's knee.

He continued to kiss a line down Steve’s inner thigh, all the way to the place he was pumping his fingers in and out of at a torturously slow pace. Steve’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Eddie ran his tongue around the outside of his stretched hole and let more spit trickle down to coat them both, easing the glide.

Eddie took hold of his cock again and licked a wide stripe from the base to the tip before swallowing it down for the second time that night, hollowing his cheeks as he added a third finger to the mix. While the first two digits had entered him easily, with only a little resistance, the third had Steve finally feeling the burning stretch that he craved, and he reveled in it.

He felt the world around him go quiet in the way it sometimes did when he had great sex. The whole universe narrowed down to the warmth enveloping him and the fingers inside him. For just a moment he thought, even if this was only a one time thing, it might just be worth it to have a broken heart for the rest of his life if he got to have this, here now tonight.

It wasn’t long before he felt himself relax, could feel how Eddie was able to plunge in and out of him freely now. He was beyond ready, and it was all he could do to stop himself from making desperate needy sounds to spur the other man on.

He winced a little at the empty feeling as Eddie eased out of him slowly. He leaned off the side of the bed, reaching for their shared nightstand and quickly retrieved a bottle of lube, Steve's judging by the bottle, and a condom. He sat back on his heels and tore the packet open with his teeth, glancing up at Steve’s face as he rolled it down over himself.

Eddie smoothed his hands over Steve’s thighs again, the same loving touch he’d given him before. He waited to be told to flip over or at the very least for the nudge to his hip, a subtle indication that it was time for him to turn, but it never came. Eddie took his cock in hand, stroking it a few times before lining himself up with Steve's entrance. He rested his other hand on Steve's lower belly and made soothing circles with his thumb as he began to push in. When the head of Eddie's cock finally breached the ring of muscle, he fell forward, hands bracketing Steve's body on either side as he kept pressing forward, inch by inch.

Oh.

Steve fought not to show his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting them to do this face to face. He’d had guys prep him that way before, though most had put him on all fours first, but either way he’d always been taken from behind when the time came.

It was incredibly intimate, doing it like this. Staring into each other's eyes from inches away while Eddie made shallow thrusts felt a lot more like making love than fucking.

It was going to ruin him, Steve was sure, but he couldn't stop it now. Wouldn’t give this up for anything.

As Eddie bottomed out he leaned down capturing Steve's lips with his own for a moment, then pressed their foreheads together again, just like he had when Steve first woke up. He eased his hips back slowly only to snap them forward again hard and fast, punching a shout out of Steve's chest, a sound that Eddie swallowed down as he slotted their mouths back together again.

They never stopped kissing as Eddie pounded into him, harder and faster, until Steve was brought right to the brink.

He was close. He was so fucking close and Eddie hadn’t laid a finger on his cock since they’d started going at it, but with the way Eddie was hitting his prostate dead on with each thrust, he might not need the help.

The rocking of Eddie's hips became erratic, his dick twitching a pulsing inside him, letting Steve know that he was close too.

Eddie pulled back from the kiss to reach a hand between them and jerk Steve off. He tried to stop the sound before it escaped him but Steve keened at the loss, missing Eddie's lips the second they had left his. Before he could be embarrassed about how needy and clingy he must have sounded, Eddie was back, feeding at his mouth like a starving man. Maybe needy did it for him.

“Are you close, baby?” Eddie murmured into his mouth, only barely breaking their kiss to ask.

Baby.

Steve gasped, “Fuck,” and nodded rapidly.

Eddie continued to slam into him as they panted into each others mouths. At a certain point they weren't even really kissing anymore as much as they were sharing breath and rubbing their lips together. Two final powerful thrusts and Steve was coming hard. His vision whited out as he shot off hot and thick between them, with Eddie following straight after, pulsing inside while Steve’s body clenched down around him.

Steve must have briefly blacked out or something because the next thing he knew Eddie was walking back to the bed from the bathroom with a damp towel to clean them up. He hadn't even noticed him leave.

As Eddie gently swiped the cloth over his chest and stomach Steve tried not to panic about what happened now. He told himself he’d be fine no matter how things played out. If Eddie climbed back into bed with him to cuddle and sleep then that was great, wonderful, perfect. And if instead he got into his own bed, turned over and went to sleep? Well, that was going to have to be okay too.

When they were as clean as they could be without the help of a shower, Eddie threw the towel in the direction of the bathroom and, to Steve’s relief, crawled back into bed at his side, though he left a deliberate space between them.

They stared at each other over the small chasm of inches and it suddenly hit Steve that Eddie was just as afraid of what came next as he was. He saw his own fear and anxiety reflected back at him through big brown eyes. He looked closer and noticed that the tightness around Eddie’s eyes and mouth that had disappeared when they began fooling around was now back.

Steve didn’t know who moved first but they crossed that invisible line at the same time, wrapping each other up in a tangle of arms and legs that left him wondering where he ended and Eddie began. He wasn’t sure he cared to figure it out.

They laid together in the quiet dark for a long time. They didn’t speak, but Eddie stroked his hair and kissed his temple so many times that he lost count. Eventually his eyes slipped shut, and it would have been all too easy to drift off surrounded with all that comfort, but they still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room.

Steve shifted so he could see Eddie's face again. He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak only to let out a huge yawn instead, still managing to get the words out somehow towards the end of it. “Why did you come back?”

Eddie cupped his cheek, tracing what he imagined were dark circles under his eyes with his thumb. “You’re tired. We can talk tomorrow, I promise.”

Steve would have argued but he was right. He was tired and Eddie looked and sounded equally as exhausted.

“Will you still be here in the morning?” He asked.

Eddie grinned. “Of course. I mean, I do live here, Stevie.” He teased.

Steve smiled in return. He was pretty sure teasing was a good sign.

He settled back down against Eddie, accepting that their talk could wait. “Don’t joke.” He said, rubbing his cheek against the sparse smattering of hair on Eddie’s chest. “I mean, will you be here in this bed with me.”

“I will. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve's eyes slipped closed, sleep pulling at him in a way he could no longer fight. “And we’ll talk?” He said, voice gone softer than a whisper.

Eddie heard him anyway, and replied with lips pressed to the top of his head. “Yeah baby, we’ll talk as much as you want.”

Chapter 7

Thanks forever to @penny00dreadful for being the best friend, cheerleader, and beta in the whole fucking world💜

Taglist: @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @brbsoulnomming @epiclazershark @estrellami-1 @lokfae @raisedbylibrarians @impala314 @meganwinchester @kacatshi @warlordess @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @garden-of-gay @meela86 @gregre369 @finntheehumaneater

#steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #90's beach motel au #no upside down au #double idiots to lovers #steddie #buckingham #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #cw smut #no vacancy

54 notes · View notes

cleverinsidejoke · 7 months

Text

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

I had fun with this one. It's been fun getting this started, writing characters as best I can, and getting this show on the road! If there are any triggering parts in this, let me know and I'll add on a warning.

wc: 1957

The air in the Angel’s Share had shifted. The drunk Bard’s loud singing and boisterous laughter had dwindled to silence. Diluc looked up from the inventory book, seeing Venti sitting upright and tense, hand wavering just by the bottle of dandelion wine, head inclined at a subtle angle, as though listening to the whispers of an unseen being.

Beneath the mountains of Liyue, Azhdaha ceases his cries as the world around him silences as Teyvat’s internal conflict resolves itself. The earth begins speaking again, indecipherable words that Azhdaha is accustomed to, growing louder and louder, deafening to his sensitive ears.

Zhongli hears it too. Even in this mortal form, he is still attuned to the stories Teyvat says, has grown accustomed to ignoring the senseless chatter of the world. The silence unnerves him.

The entities of the Abyss shift in the ancient halls, quieting as something calls to them from afar. The Princess smiles to herself.

In turn, Foul Legacy claws at the edges of Childe’s mind in a poor attempt at claiming consciousness. It settles for a quiet harmony of Abyssal murmurs. It feels strangely calm for the creature. Too human. Almost religious.

Teyvat has been disquieted, in disharmony with itself. It hides it well. Celestia cannot be allowed to know.

The landing lacks the same harshness that pulled you to this strange world in the first place, instead landing you on the ground carefully, as you would a pet or a delicate heirloom. “So this is real, right?” You look over at Gene, collecting yourself. “We’re in Genshin Impact?” They shrug, looking around with caution.

“There’s the Dawn Winery.” you follow their gaze. Sure enough, there it was. You were on the heightened area near the Statue of the Seven, overlooking Springvale. From here, you could see the great city itself, windmills dimly lit by the moonlight. A crisp breeze blew in, rustling the tall grasses around you. With the quiet surroundings and the peaceful atmosphere, Mondstadt felt nothing short of home.

“I don’t care if it’s Buckingham Palace or Disneyland. I want to find someplace to sleep.” It turns out that being transported into a new world after a long day of stress wasn’t the greatest of feelings. You begin a careful descent towards the road, using Windrise as a point of reference.

“Likewise.” Gene follows, taking hold of your arm whenever your footing becomes unsteady. As Windrise grows closer, so grows your need for rest. You’re soon leaning on Gene for support. The gentle breeze fades as you approach the large tree. The Statue of the Seven looms larger than you expected, even stranger to see in real life. Gene takes the opportunity to touch it. The Statue’s light glows violet in turn. A slow transition.

“Let’s just see if we can get some place at the Goth Grand Hotel or the Church. Surely the sisters can’t say no to us. The poor, helpless outlanders.” Slumping over their shoulder melodramatically, you yawn. “It’s getting too late.” The pair of you make your way to the city, with no real plan. Timmy is absent from the bridge. A shame. You rather liked tormenting seeing the boy interact with his pigeons. But it was late, and thus, understandable that he was absent.

“Halt, strange, yet respectable travelers!” The familiar line wakes you up a bit, your head snapping up to look at the speaker. It’s only Lawrence, accompanied by Swan, guarding the gate. Of course it wouldn’t be Amber. It’s not her duty to guard the gate, after all. “What brings you to the gates of Mondstadt so late?”

“We’re only looking for a place to stay for the night, sirs.” Gene continues to shoulder your weight as they speak to the guards. They offer a disarming smile to the men. That same gentle twist of the lips that you’ve become so accustomed to. A smile that practically begs to be trusted.

“The Church or the Headquarters may have a place for you to stay. Do you know anything, Swan?” Lawrence glances at the other man, probing for an answer.

“I’m not sure. I can escort them to the Church if need be.” Your drowsiness dampens the words, your body growing heavy. Soon, your weight is heavy on Gene’s back, unsupported by your consciousness as a deep slumber overtakes you.

The Anemo Archon had become restless. The dandelion wine was left untouched on the counter, the solemn nature of the bard causing some unease in the tavern. Diluc almost preferred the boisterous and easygoing attitude.

Not that it mattered at the moment though. The tavern would be closing in a quarter of an hour. It was time to begin closing. Diluc began by approaching the other patrons, quietly asking them to leave and informing them that the tavern would close soon. Finally, it was down to Venti.

“It’s almost closing time.” The bard remained still, unresponsive. Then he turned, looking up at the bartender.

“The wind carried news, Master Diluc.” Venti’s soft smile is out of place, unmatched with his quiet tone. “Good news.” He seems to have been waiting for someone to ask.

“News?” He couldn’t deny his curiosity, especially if the Anemo Archon thought it was good.

“The Creator has returned, Diluc! The Creator! And, if the winds are accurate, then they’ve brought another with them!” Venti grinned, standing from his chair. “They should have reached Mondstadt by now. Good night, Diluc.”

The influx of information causes Diluc to stiffen. The Creator? But the holy texts had predicted them to arrive much later. Venti pranced out of the tavern, leaving the bartender alone to his thoughts in the Angel’s Share.

Venti allowed the wind to guide him, whispers fueling his excitement. Following the new Anemo footprint of the Creator, he made his way to the Church of Favonius.

You awoke to the sound of idle chatter. Sitting up, you took in the sight of the well lit interior of the Church of Favonius. Gene’s laughter was what rang out across the church, allowing you to get up and track them more easily. You grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around yourself, following the voices.

You had been sleeping on a pew in the back of the church, so it wasn’t all that difficult to walk to the front, where people were gathered and talking. As you picked apart the crowd, you could see Barbara, the sisters, Gene, and Venti himself.

“Oh, Y/N!” Gene waved you over, settling their hand on their neck as they turned their attention to the others. “This is my dearest friend.” folding your arms across your chest, you approach the group, giving an awkward wave. Part of you had hoped it was a dream. The reality was an uncomfortable one to be accustomed to.

“Oh, so this is the esteemed friend you spoke of!” Venti approaches quickly, drawing a subtle flinch from Gene. “Of similar caliber to yourself, Creator?” The final word is what captures your attention. Creator? You had read the stories and Aus. This couldn’t possibly end well, could it?

“Yes. Y/N is from the same realm as myself.” Their discomfort was obvious, in need of something to lean onto. You approach, draping an arm across their shoulders.

“Yep! So… what tales of grandeur are said about you, Gene?” Perhaps if you can find what myths detail them, then you can prevent future danger.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been away for so long…” With a nervous laugh, Gene looks back to the people. Long conversations with strangers, no matter how familiar they seem, had always been a bit difficult for them.

“Do you have any tales, Venti?” You offer a point of conversation to the extroverted bard.

“Of course! I’ll tell you all about it. We’ve even got a whole, ehm... library, for you.” Venti laughed. “I’ll tell you about it when we get there. C’mon!” Approaching the end of the cathedral, opening the entrance to the basement. “Oh, Barbara! Is everything ready down there?”

“Yes, yes!” A rushed voice called back, the stairs creaking. The blonde deaconess exited the basement, curtsying as she spotted Gene. “It’s really you! And your attendant! It’s truly my honor to be present so soon after your descent.” Her words are honeyed, too sweet for your liking. “Um, please come down! We’ve been preparing it for you.” She ushers you down the stairs quickly, the creaking accompanying you.

You’re greeted by the expansive basement, the far ambulatory chambers with statues in the likeness of each archon, another in the likeness of Gene in the center of the apse. The nave has pews closer to the statue, albeit only a few rows. Bookshelves line the walls closest to the front. It is a meager church, unlike what you read about.

“The worship of the Creator is prohibited by Celestia.” Venti pipes up. “In fact, all texts about you were abolished and almost completely destroyed. This is what remains after years of tracking them down.”

“Venti happened to have a collection. After your signs began appearing across Teyvat, the churches and temples opened in secret again. I would say they began happening after the Traveler arrived in Mondstadt.” Barbara smiles sweetly. “You’re more than welcome to come here as much as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” The pleasantries continue as you wander over to the bookshelves, looking for interesting titles and points to research. “The Books of Creation”, “The Heavenly Principles” “Prophecies of the Primordial One”... Each book proves worthy of looking over. Pulling one off the shelf, you begin to read, opening to a note in the beginning. It appears to be a dedicated journal.

The Creator, on their own, is reality. The only god needed to prosper. With their blessings, our nation can prosper. Remember that, Alberr.

You skim through the everyday things, gathering context clues until you begin to read fully.

19.8.

The field tillers are working better than we thought they would. Other nations have expressed concern involving them, but it is a breakthrough that we cannot allow to go to waste.

24.8

Siarri consulted the books the other day. The Creator is due to return from their journey soon. Perhaps they can give us an ultimatum about the field tillers then. I don’t want to give up so easily on the years of work we’ve put into it. It’s worth being outcasted from the other nations.

24.8

Siarri has taken to calling me names.

1.12

The creator is late.

25.1

Khaenri’ah has fallen. Celestia came in with no prior signs of hostility. The archons were there too, fighting with a vengeance. Almost like they were taking something back. Were they upset because their people were inclined towards our ways?

Celestia has been in turmoil since then. Worship of the Creator has been outlawed. Does that extend to the archons? Aren’t they closer to the Creator than us mortals are? Barbatos and Rukkhadevata used to be all for the worship of the Holy one. Maybe the Cataclysm is what caused this change. It caused Khaenri’ah to fall, so I can only imagine what damage has been caused to Sumeru and Mondstadt. What damage it will eventually cause.

We can’t blame anyone. But we can make inferences. I’m going to travel and make as many connections as I can. I’ll get another journal to write that down in.

29.12

To-Do

Buy a new bag journal

Check in with the kids

Document Mondstadt

The journal is gently taken from you, glanced at briefly by the taker, and set aside. “I’m afraid that wasn’t meant to go to the library.” The voice is immediately recognizable. You turn carefully. “Kaeya, Knight of Favonius. It’s an honor.”

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines

108 notes · View notes

hgejfmw-hgejhsf · 5 months

Text

2023 Writing Roundup

I had to scroll back pretty far to find the tags for this, so if I missed someone who did this already and tagged me, I'm sorry if I double tag you at the end! But thanks to @kiwiana-writes and @inexplicablymine for tagging me in this roundup post!

As the post is going to reveal, I, uh, only just got back into writing a few months back, after taking almost ten years off due to, honestly, a lack of inspiration. I'd lost my voice, and I didn't suspect I'd ever love anything enough to write again, until this little pink book came barrelling into my life in June, followed swiftly by a little Amazon Prime movie in August, and both changed my life forever.

So without further ado, here's my writing roundup for 2023:

January

Nada

February

Zilch

March

Nothin'

April

Not a damn thing

May

Nope, nothing here either

June

Keep right on going, my friends

July

29th - The Lake House The night following the election, Alex has a surprise planned for Henry. A chance to make some new history.

August

8th - What If I Do? What was Henry thinking when he left Alex at the lake house? What were the days that followed like for him before Alex showed up at his door and forced him to face not only Alex, but himself?

18th - Gravity The first time that Henry enters Alex's orbit, at the Melbourne Climate Conference, and all of their subsequent meetings leading to their "violent altercation" at the royal wedding. Inspired by a post about how Henry very pointedly chose not to shake Alex's hand in the receiving line after the wedding and what that could have meant.

19th - The Rope Henry's reaction to Alex nearly telling him that he loves him at the lake house in Texas.

19th - A brief spark of a moment: A Red, White & Royal Blue drabble collection These drabbles are simply my personal challenge to contain myself to 100 words when I've always been…long-winded.

20th - Retaliation Alex and Henry, now dating, attend another state dinner, where they're unexpectedly seated directly next to each other.

21st - Every Version Alex does a magazine photoshoot, and the day that the magazine arrives, he wants Henry to look at it first.

23rd - On my heart just like a tattoo Alex and Henry are married, and on the day of the ceremony, they decide to do something special.

23rd - Ghosts After Henry leaves the lake house, Alex does not go after him. He doesn't storm Kensington in a fit of pique to call Henry an "obtuse fucking asshole." Instead, the pair spend nearly a year apart, both wrecked and miserable, until they find themselves on the list of speakers for an international conference.

27th - Darkest before the dawn The immediate aftermath of Henry discovering the email leak in the movie-verse.

28th - When I taste tequila Henry’s drunk. If the growing mountain of empty shot glasses, drained and discarded lime wedges, and gritty layer of salt on the table in front of him are any indication, he’s very drunk. Only, his brain is having a difficult time catching on to the fact that he’s drunk. And when his brain is this far behind the rest of him, Henry tends to find himself in precarious situations, with no real conscious thought as to how he got there or how he might have avoided them.

September

4th - The Maldives Inspired by a conversation about the zoomed-in and transcribed article about Henry in People Magazine from the movie and how the photos look like they could have been faked.

After their conversation with the king and greeting the crowd at Buckingham Palace, Alex and Henry ride back to Kensington. Alex mentions that his offer to fly to the Maldives is still valid, and Henry admits that he's never been, which sparks a discussion about some of the lengths the crown would go to in order to convince the world that Henry was straight. Alex considers what Henry must have gone through, and the two of them discuss their past and how it might have been different.

11th - Modification to the map of you Henry comes back from a month-long trip with his ear pierced, and Alex has no idea.

14th - Et Max Laryngitis Alex gets laryngitis, and Henry decides to have a bit of fun at his expense.

23rd - How bizarro is that Alex gets food poisoning, and Henry takes care of him…sort of.

27th - Royal Assent “If the boyfriend of a prince of England fails English Legal History, you’ll be the one to blame,” Alex murmurs as Henry sucks a bruise on his neck. Henry had arrived home from the shelter to find Alex buried under a mountain of books, his glasses askew and his hair wild, wearing the same bewildered expression Henry had seen as he walked out the door earlier that morning.

As he climbs into Alex’s lap, jumping a little as a particularly sharp corner of a hardcover book pokes him in the arse, he can feel the tension in Alex’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly.

“You aren’t going to fail. In fact, I’m going to help you,” Henry says, each word separated by a kiss to Alex’s chest, neck, cheek, and finally lips.

Alex is trying really hard to study for a law school exam, and Henry takes it upon himself to...assist.

28th - 5 Times Henry Hated New Year's + 1 Time He Didn't “This is my curse,” Henry mutters, and Pez laughs across from him.

“You can hardly be responsible for the weather.”

“So the glaring fact that every single New Year’s Eve on record in my life has been an utter disaster means absolutely nothing to you?”

“We’re going to make it, so no, it means nothing to me,” Pez says with cheerful optimism despite the constant fluttering of white beyond the plane windows.

5 times throughout his life that Henry's New Year's countdown has been ruined, and 1 time that it isn't.

29th - Stars in the sky are the stars in my eyes The ding of a notification sounds in the otherwise silent living room. As Henry’s eyes continue to scan the page of his book, ignoring his phone, Alex can’t help but glance down at the illuminated screen between them on the couch.

“Is that…a horoscope?” Alex asks, immediately retrieving the phone to confirm his suspicions at the exact moment Henry grabs for it a beat too late. He watches the bright shade of red crawl up Henry’s neck to burn just beneath the skin of his ears.

“Perhaps,” is all he supplies, his voice muffled as he buries his face far too close to the book’s pages to realistically read anything written there.

***

Henry gets his daily horoscope, and Alex is intrigued, so Henry shows him the constellations.

30th - What started in beautiful rooms Henry’s never taken any extra care in his appearance when playing polo. Certainly, he’s given an adequate amount of time and effort to ensure that he appears composed, but the sport itself lends to a bit of chaos, between the pounding of hooves and the whipping of the wind in a frantic rush. It’s all incredibly…well, wild.

No, Henry’s never taken any extra care in his appearance when playing polo…except today.

Henry's point of view during the charity polo match.

October

1st - Do we still have forever? Alex has a sudden, serious allergic reaction, and Henry can't help but think about losing him.

2nd - Dear Dad I should start from the beginning, or rather, I should start by telling you how I got here, to this moment, writing you this letter.

Henry writes a letter to his father on his wedding day.

3rd - Liquor was the only love I'd known June finds them at some point and steals Henry away to gab at the bar. Alex watches them from afar, wondering what they could possibly be talking about that has June nearly falling off her barstool laughing, until the crowd overtakes him again.

3rd - Then came a baby boy with long eyelashes Following their initial spirited entrance into Alex's hotel room following the DNC, Henry asks Alex about his encounter with Miguel in the bar.

13th - Volume Control Prompt Fulfillment: I need someone to write a FirstPrince fic where Henry overhears Alex saying "Henry is so annoying I can't stand him" so Henry says "kneel then" and it short circuits Alex's brain.

20th - 5 Times Alex Made a Disney Movie Reference + 1 Time Henry Did Alex and Henry have watched a significant amount of Disney movies, and well, Alex tends to have questions.

20th - You can't escape this drying ink “There’s…a matter…that requires your attention, in the Red Room. I’d be happy to escort you there.” She glances sideways at Henry’s PPOs, who shift in place, readying themselves to follow where she leads. Henry nods again, uncertain what other options lie open to him even if he wished to take one.

Henry's thoughts at the state dinner as Amy leads him to the Red Room.

31st - Save a horse Alex convinces Henry to dress up as cowboys for Halloween and quickly realizes that Henry dressed as a cowboy was not something he was entirely prepared for.

31st - I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see At the royal wedding, Alex drinks and dances and contemplates both of the princes.

November

1st - The Candy Tax Ten-year-old Alex has invited his new friend Henry, who just moved to Texas from England with his family so that his movie star dad can be based in the US to shoot more movies, over for a sleepover the night before Halloween.

1st - Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all The mountains are on fire. Red, orange, and yellow leaves cover thousands of acres of land, and the peeking of the sun over the distant horizon illuminates the hovering fog, creating the illusion of a persistent fire burning brightly without causing any damage. Instead, it paints a masterful landscape for an early morning riser to gaze at as he sips at a cup of Earl Grey and marvels at the fact that this beauty is a sight he has somehow been blessed to see.

2nd - Heart enough "...there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement."

Instead of Alex flying to London, Henry is sent to D.C. to do the post Cakegate damage control just in time for Alex and June's annual Halloween party.

2nd - Life is a maze, and love is a riddle Alex, June, and Nora take Henry to his first haunted corn maze.

3rd - All at once, everything is different, now that I see you Alex throws out some possible suggestions for his and Henry's first ever couples Halloween costume, but Henry has something else in mind.

3rd - Halloween at Kensington The Fox-Mountchristen-Windsors may not be able to go out trick-or-treating like a normal family, but they can still celebrate Halloween in their own special way.

4th - No fear, no fences, nobody - no reins Henry takes Alex to a nearby farm outside Austin to teach him how to ride a horse. Eventually, they stop at a log cabin in the words for the night, and they decide to try another form of riding.

4th - I don't know why all the trees change in the fall Alex has had a terrible day. It's raining, it's cold, and he's absolutely miserable. All he wants to do is dry off and collapse in bed. But when he walks through the door, Henry is ready and waiting to take care of him. He even has a surprise that he's cooking up in the kitchen. And Alex gets to take a trip down memory lane.

5th - A-gourd-able “Oh, so that’s the reason you wanted a child so badly. Not for the opportunity to nurture and guide and love another human being that you helped to create, but for the perks of walking around to strangers’ homes asking for candy that our baby can’t even eat.”

Alex and Henry take their daughter trick or treating for the first time, and it's Henry's first time as well.

5th - I want to play a game Alex and Henry agree to watch all of the Saw movies to determine if one or both of them will end up too scared to continue. Do they make it through the series? Or does one of them give in and lose the wager that they've made?

5th - Barbecue Sauce "I want to see your mouth covered in barbecue sauce. And then, I want to lick it off."

6th - With magic soakin' my spine, can you read my mind? What happened after Alex, June, and Nora played their little HRH Prince Henry Fact Sheet drinking game? Well, in this version of events, Alex finds a mysterious bottle containing what appears to be a magic spell for "Clarity of Mind." As dumb as it seems, he does the ritual and reads the incantation and moves on, flying to London for damage control. But when he shakes Henry's hand, suddenly things change, and Alex realizes that maybe magic is real after all.

6th - Don't need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo (podfic included) Henry takes Alex on a trip to visit...a couple of old feathered friends.

6th - It's autumn in New York; it's good to live it again It's the first day of fall in New York, and Alex comes home from class with a special surprise for Henry.

6th - Reciting to the Waterloo Vase: Drabbles for the RWRDrabblePrompts Tumblr

13th - Wind me up, fill your cup like a river, drunk on watching me drown Henry sighs. "Is that the time you threatened to push me into the Thames?"

That time Alex threatened to push Henry into the Thames.

23rd - The injury of finally knowing you (a birthday present for @ships-to-sail) Henry's thoughts just before and immediately after the countdown to midnight on New Year's Eve.

23rd - Smutsgiving 2023 Alex's heart rate monitor on his Apple Watch alerts him to some strenuous activity…at the worst possible time.

December

1st - We need a little Christmas The one where I let a random Christmas word generator choose a drabble prompt for a Christmas advent. Enjoy!

20th - Four Christmases From Washington to Austin, London to New York, Alex and Henry spend Christmas with different members of their families from 2020 - 2023. Funny couples' Christmas sweaters, festive swimsuits, statement-making ties, and family pajamas all bring lots of laughs, some tears, and a bit of fun to be had by all along the way.

25th - Oh what a laugh it would have been When Alex dresses as Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, their five-year-old daughter makes an extra special, last-minute Christmas wish.

AND

Alex leaves his Santa suit on for a private evening with Henry while everyone else is snug in their beds.

Unpublished but Completed

December 30th - Take Your Time A New Year's Eve AU set in New York City (and that's all I'm willing to give away...for now)

January 1st - NYE Gift Exchange Fic

Tagging all of my lovelies who may or may not have already done this (please ignore this if you have!): @adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @daisymae-12 @duchessdepolignaca03 @gayrootvegetable @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @indomitable-love @indestructibleheart @leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @priincebutt @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @roseharpermaxwell @ships-to-sail @songliili @ssmtskw @statueinthestonetoo @stereopticons @suseagull04 @thinkof-england @tintagel-or-cockleshells @user-anakin @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew

#my fics #my writing #2023 writing roundup #2023 year in review #my posts #here's to filling the first 6 months of the year with fics in 2024

50 notes · View notes

thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

Note

Hi! can you write a Morpheus x reader where the reader is a primordial being of love and is older than the endless and was present during the birth of the universe and they have like a hades and Persephone relationship combined with with a zebalba (I’m so sorry if I’m spelling that wrong) and la muerte relationship from the book of life. Maybe? With the dialogue “not today my love” from the same movie

Yes! This is such a cute concept! 😍😍😍 I'm excited for this one! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy it! 🥰

You were a being of love and life, one of the oldest beings in the universe. You had been there at the start of it, had watched the vast darkness fill with light and swirl and explode and rage together until it created the universe you now knew. The Endless came quickly after, Destiny then Death and then Dream and the rest. Death was your friend, though your roles were quite literally opposites she was loving and warm and everything you were drawn to. Her younger brother Dream, however, was cold and distant.

The first time you'd met had been in the dreams of a mortal. He dreamt of love and thus drew you to him, you were however surprised to find the King of Dreams there, watching the mans unconscious fantasies from afar. He even had the gall to question why you interrupted his work, to which you gave him a firm reply. "He has called asking for my blessing, Dream Lord. It is you that is an unwelcome guest here."

"I am the ruler of dreams, I cannot be unwelcome in my own domain."

"This is his domain as far as I'm concerned." You said placing a glowing hand on the mans unconscious form.

The dream around you both faded and you stood in front of the gates of The Dreaming, of the broody Endless' domain. "All dreams are my domain, goddess. You'd do well to remember that."

"And you would do well to remember your purpose, sweet Dream." You met his gaze unflinchingly, something that made him fall for you. "Humanity does not exist to serve your function."

Then you were gone, back to your own domain of dawn and flowers and quiet whispers of love and life. That had been centuries ago. The second time you met was when Death had invited you to meet her for a quick catch up while there was a lull in her ever present work. You'd agreed quickly, excited to see your friend once again after so long, but the mood soured quickly when Dream appeared beside her, shoulder length hair and an ever present scowl.

Not even the stars in his eyes glowed as he looked up at the old building. Death greeted you with a bright smile and a warm kiss to the cheek. "Try to play nice."

"Tell that to him," you mutter as Dream moved into place beside his sister.

He bowed his head only slightly. "My sister did not mention that you would be here, goddess."

You ignored the way his voice made you tingle. "She failed to tell me as well, Dream Lord."

He whined as the three of you entered the tavern, smoke and livestock and the smell of something slightly off swirled around you, your body humming with the sensations of humanity. Death took one drink of the ale handed to her and grimaced. "Ugh. This is terrible."

Your lively spirits were dampened by the dark cloud that was the Dream Lord. He moved through the building with nothing but cold eyes and annoyance clear on his face. You found it odd. Dreams were supposed to be lovely and beautiful, though you did suppose he was quite beautiful in this form he'd chosen. He stood beside you and his sister and nearly groaned. "They are such crude beings."

"Crude can be beautiful to the right eyes," you reminded, focusing on the pair of lovers sitting side by side in the back, talking softly of their coming marriage.

"Look, I've seen Death," another voice said from the center of the room. "I lost half my village to the Black Death. I fought under Buckingham in Burgundy. It's not like I don't know what death is. Death is..." All of you looked at the man. "Stupid."

"You're a fool, Hob."

The men at his table laughed, but a flash of pain crossed over your friends face as she quickly erased it to look up at an angry Dream with a soft smile. The man, this Hob, continued. "Nobody has to die. The only reason people die is... is cause everyone does it. You all just go along with it. But not me. I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die."

The siblings held one another's gaze. "Hobs, death comes for every man."

"You don't know that. I might get lucky. There's always a first time. There's so much to do, so many things to see. Women to swive. Ale to drink. People to drink with." They clinked their large cups with laughs.

"Why would any sensible creature crave an eternity of this?" Dream asked quietly.

You rolled your eyes. "Life is full of many beautiful and wonderous things Dream Lord, if you ever cared to look out the window of that posh tower of yours."

Death smiled. "You could both find your answers."

"How?" Dream asked, a slight mischievous upturn of his lips.

"I could grant him his wish."

"Do that and he will be begging for death within a century, I assure you."

You watched this man, the one who wished to live forever, and shook your head. "No, I think this ones different."

Dream followed your eyes and scoffed. "Humans are all the same, goddess."

"This will prove very interesting," Death said before you could rebuttal her brothers statement. "Are you going to tell him or should I?"

"I shall."

"Very well, little brother. Very well." You watched Death for a moment, trying to decipher her intentions while Dream informed the man of his newly granted wish.

It was outside the tavern after Death had departed that you and the Dream Lord made your first bet. He would meet with this human every hundred years. Each time he chose to live you would be granted unrestricted access to the dreams of mortals wishing for love, but if he chose to accept death Dream would get to claim whatever prize he saw fit. And so began the years of you and the Dream Lord.

It had started out with you turning up in his realm, doing your duties and then leaving. That lasted only a mere eighty years, and then the allures of his well crafted realm began to cause you to pause. You met Cain and Abel and Gregory, adored each of them with all you were. You spent much time with Lucienne in her endless library with tales of love and life and books of every living being in the universe at your fingertips. Jessamy, when not glued to Dreams side, was full of tales and jokes that you simply loved to listen to while you walked.

Dream had come to the library one night in search of a book, only to find you reading on the floor. You read a book of love, a thing he thought was cliché but did not say it. You helped him find his book, your fingers brushing as you handed it to him and from that night forward you spent much of your extra time in his realm with him beside you. The two of you disagreed on nearly everything, and you felt a harsh resentment from him, especially as the years passed.

Eventually, you demanded to know, "Why do you detest me so Dream Lord?"

"Because love has only ever brought me distractions and misery."

You sighed, the realization of his coldness finally becoming obvious. "Not even I can change ancient laws or rewrite what has already been written."

"No," he said. "You cannot. But you could have at least blessed the matches I found."

"I did," you admitted gently.

Dreams face shifted, no longer tense and angry but now shocked. "When? Why?"

"I blessed them from the start, Dream. As for why... I wanted you to be happy."

For a moment you thought he wouldn't reply to you, but when he did it hadn't been at all what you expected. "I am happy when I am with you."

"What?"

"You make me happy, goddess," he said again, plainly. "Though you infuriate me to no end and insist upon arguing at every turn."

"You make me happy as well, Dream Lord."

"Was that agreeance?" He teased, a rare smile gracing his lips. "Here I thought you'd wish to argue more."

You smoothed a hand down his chest as you slid past him, "Not tonight, my love."

212 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 8 months

Text

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 19

Chapter 19 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Robin and Steve keep each other sane, before they have to split up for the day as she goes to chase the Creel lead with Chrissy and Nancy, while Steve stays to watch out for Max. Stays in the hopes he can save her before she dies. When they make it through it, they go to explore the Creel house where Nancy starts to act weird, but other things are afoot there as well…

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: general season 4 shenanigans

~~~~~

Chapter 19: The Creels

Relief floods through Steve’s veins when Chrissy and Robin are both okay, waiting on Robin’s curb for him to pick them up. Robin looks a little flushed as she climbs into the passenger side seat, while Chrissy looks like herself. Quite good for someone with a death sentence hanging above her head.

“How are you feeling?” he asks her, as he drives to the Wheeler house.

“I mean, I think I’m okay. It isn’t really landing yet,” Chrissy admits. She’s quiet for a second, then she adds: “I’m scared.”

Steve wishes he wasn’t behind the wheel so he could hug her, hold her tight and make sure she knows she is never going to be alone. But he can’t, so he just says: “Hey, you’re gonna be okay. Me and Robs are gonna be there the whole day. Nothing’s going to happen, okay.”

“Like the whole day,” Robin agrees. “We’re going to be like leeches, but friendly leeches, because leeches are pretty gross and not helpful. They’re actually quite terrible to have, but it is about the sticking imagery. What I mean, is yeah, we’re gonna be there.”

At that Chrissy gives a small smile and that’s worth gold at this moment.

They arrive at the Wheeler house Nancy is also just coming back. Steve gets out of the car and asks her: “Where did you go? Is Max okay?”

“She’s fine,” Nancy assures him. “Don’t think she slept much, but she’s alive. I went to get these papers.” She holds up a few files.

“What are those?” Steve asks.

“Aliases,” Nancy answers. “Today three interested psychology college students are going to interview Victor Creel about the murder of his family.”

“Okay, what’s my alias,” Steve nods, it sounds like a smart plan so far. But at his question the three girls look guiltily at him and it dawns on him that he doesn’t have an alias. “What the hell,” he exclaims. He wants to do something, help his friends. What is he going to do here? Wait until Max dies?

“Steve,” Nancy starts in that manner of hers that now grates on Steve’s nerves. That voice that tells him she doesn’t think he’s capable enough to get her mastery.

“No,” he cuts her off. “I can help. I look old enough to be a student, Chrissy doesn’t. Plus, Chrissy should be out of harms way. I’m not getting left out of this. I’m more than the babysitter.” He looks at Nancy, remembering that time outside of the Byers’ house in ‘84 when he told her how he was a good babysitter, how that is all he is to her now. The only part she cared to remember.

He might have never loved her, but at least he cared about her. Though, sometimes he wonders why he ever thought he liked her.

Nancy sends him a look and is about to say something back when Robin cuts in: “Okay, Nancy take Chrissy inside, I’m gonna talk to Stevie her for a second.”

It is clear that Nancy does not like being pushed to the side one bit, but she and Chrissy do go inside as Robin asks. Chrissy looks back at the door, to check on them. Steve sends her a tight smile, Robin a dorky wave that he would have immediately teased her about, were it not for the circumstances.

“I can’t believe you’re picking their side,” Steve tells her the second they’re alone. “And that you didn’t tell me. Neither of you.”

“There were kind of other revelations going on before we could,” Robin points out, not replying to Steve’s prissy tone. “And it’s the smartest move.”

“How? Because I can’t be a college student?” Steve frowns. Robin knows he’s sensitive about not getting into college.

“No, that’s not it,” Robin’s eyes immediately grow wide. “You know I don’t think that about you, dingus. And neither does Chrissy.”

“Then why can’t I go?” Steve asks petulantly.

“Because Max is going to die today and Chrissy tomorrow,” Robin says bluntly, making Steve flinch. “Max needs someone that she actually likes and knows and is capable of protecting her if something goes down. Someone she would want to have there with her in case she doesn’t make it out.”

“Robs,” Steve begins, needing to say something as if that will undo the truth Robin has just spoken into the universe.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, neither do I,” Robin tells him gently. “Trust me, I might be oblivious 50% of the time and incapable of shutting up the other 50% percent, but I’m not heartless or stupid. Max is our priority right now. And she would want you there over me, Chrissy or Nancy and we both know that.”

“But Chrissy is still also in danger,” Steve protests, though he is already convinced to stay with Max, now he is worried about Chrissy being out there.

“If she’s here, you’re responsible for both of them, you can’t do that by yourself,” Robin says not unkindly. “This way, we both carry half the responsibility. And if Victor can sense something, then Chrissy is there. It might be useful. We’re a team, dingus. Even if we’re apart.”

That makes Steve smile, he would be lost without Robin. She means so much to him. The only person, who knows how to talk to him, to explain in a way he can get behind it. “Thank you, Robbie.”

“Course, dingus,” Robin smiles. “I’ll look after her, don’t worry.”

Steve’s smile now turns into a sly smirk as he says: “Ah yeah, you’ve been very graciously watching out for her, haven’t you, Robs.”

“Oh shut up,” Robin blushes.

“Come on,” Steve whines. “We’re not going to be able to talk about it for a long while. Just fill me in right now. All going okay?”

Robin blushes and looks around, before allowing a dopey smile to crawl onto her face. “She’s just been so nice, Stevie. And touchy. Like I don’t want to take advantage of her or something, but she keeps cuddling me and grabbing my arm. It’s a lot.”

“She is quite taken with you,” Steve agrees.

“God,” Robin covers her face. “I’m never going to make it out of here in one piece. She’s making me get my hopes up.”

“If we all make it out, we’ll hold a pity party together,” Steve offers.

At that Robin perks up. “I’m keeping you to that, dingus. Do you need one? How was your night with Eddie?”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Steve scolds, cheeks pinkening. Then he mumbles: “It was good. We- uhm, we talked.”

“Just talked?” Robin asks with a raised brow that tells Steve she doesn’t believe him.

“Yeah, talked,” Steve says stubbornly, before adding: “And maybe also a little bit of cuddling and I cried all over him.”

“What?” Robin exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Steve assures her, touched by her care even after all these months. “Just, you know, it all kind of caught up with me.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that,” Robin nods, before going back to their previous topic. She grins: “Soooo, cuddling?”

“Shut up,” Steve tells her. “He was asleep and huddled up to me. It probably meant nothing to him at all. Plus, we only just made up and he’s being hunted, it’s not like I’m going to make a move on him or something.”

“Maybe an ‘it’s nearly the end as we know it’ confession will be romantic,” Robin says, luckily not pushing into his own insecurity. Both know they don’t have time to get into that now.

“You should consider your own advice,” Steve shoots back, getting a glare.

However, before Robin can say something bitchy back, and start a squabble fest like the two so often do, Dustin appears in the doorway, yelling: “Are you two done yet?”

“We’re coming,” Steve yells back, rolling his eyes as he looks at Robin, who rolls her eyes right back at him. That little conversation with her has made him feel more normal ever since Saturday, it’s like she’s magic.

When he gets to the basement, Max is there, looking like she didn’t sleep for a second. She must be terrified to not even know when she’s going to die, just that it is today. Steve’s heart breaks for her and he pulls her into a hug, despite the fact that Max usually resents them.

This time, though, she doesn’t scoff and push him away before rolling her eyes. This time she hugs back and allows herself to take a deep breath while hiding away in his chest, away from prying eyes filled with concern.

Yeah, Steve will be better off staying with her.

After a second, Max lets go if burned and ignores Steve again, going to sit at a desk where she feverishly starts writing again.

Steve follows her with confusion, before spotting Lucas, who is looking at Max’s back with anguish, like he doesn’t know how to approach her. He sits down next to him and softly asks: “How are you doing?”

Lucas looks surprised and startled at being addressed, obviously somewhere else with his head. He looks apologetic as he scratches his nose, before he shrugs: “I’m okay, you know, seeing the circumstances. Are the girls really going to an asylum?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. He can see right through the deflection, but he isn’t about to push. Lucas needs reassurance, not digging through his turmoil. “They’re going to find a way to survive this, don’t worry.”

“That’s good.” Lucas manages a small smile. It’s not much, but it is good enough for now, yet Steve wonders if he should be guilty for saying that when he has his own doubts.

However, before he can consider the dilemma, Robin is screeching upstairs that Nancy is trying to murder her. So, he rushes up to save her. Even if she is only being dramatic about the outfit that – admittedly – does not suit her at all, but is right for the part. Steve just comes in, spots her, then bursts out laughing.

“Stop laughing, dingus,” she pouts. “I am actively being harmed by this outfit. Convince her,” she jabs a finger at Nancy, “to give me something else.”

Nancy looks annoyed at Robin, which is the only reason Steve stops laughing. Robin hates it when people are annoyed at her and he’ll step in and say something, if Nancy even dares to say anything mean right now. He gets that she is under stress, they all are, but he’s watching her.

Fortunately, before Nancy can say anything, Chrissy comments: “I think you look nice. Not your usual style, but you do pull it off.”

Chrissy herself is also in similar clothes, but these are close to her normal daily garb, so it’s not as stark a difference as it is on Robin. However, Chrissy could have been in a trash bag and Robin still would have spluttered: “Well, I- It’s not the worst I guess. If you- If you think so.”

Steve sends her a raised brow that she pointedly ignores in favor of blushing at Chrissy’s bright smile. Steve isn’t judging too hard, as long as Robin can make Chrissy smile like that and forget about the danger, she can be as hopeless as she wants.

Before long, the girls have left, having been hustled out the door by an anxious Nancy.

The kids and Steve watch them go and Steve tries not to feel a sense of doom as he watches them drive off. Chrissy still has a day, Max doesn’t. If they don’t come back with something, Steve might have to watch Max die and be strong for Dustin and Lucas in the fall out.

God, he hopes they find something, because the responsibility weighs on him before they’re even out of sight. He’s going to take this so seriously. Nothing terrible will happen to Max. Not on his watch.

However, that mentality is hard to maintain when she gives them a letter, just in case she doesn’t make it through today. Steve feels honored and horrified. He hopes he will never know what Max really thinks of him. That he never has to read that letter that now burns in his pocket.

And it all gets more out of hand when Max wants to leave. Steve does not want her out in the world even if the attacks aren’t physically there and can reach her here too. It’s safer for her to be somewhere he can keep an eye on her.

But this is Max. Max is stubborn and independent. He loves her for it and he knows she will make good on her threats. Not to mention that he has a weak spot for her and won’t deny her her agency on what might be her last day. He doesn’t want to take that from her.

So, they get in the car and Steve drives her wherever she wants to go. His eyes flitting between Max’s trailer and the crime scene that is now Eddie’s, before driving to a cemetery where he watches Max sit at Billy’s grave. The brother she could have had, were he not the largest asshole the world had ever seen. He’s not going to tell Max that, but he is kind of glad Billy is no longer among the living.

Then Max becomes too still. She hasn’t been moving much, but Steve’s gut tells him something is wrong, so he moves to get her as he says: “Alright, it’s been long enough.”

“Steve, just give her some time,” Lucas protests, wanting to do whatever Max wants. Steve feels the same urge, but Lucas isn’t responsible for her, Steve is.

So, he starts walking and replies: “I have, alright? I’m calling it. She wants to get a lawyer, she can.” Then he turns to Max and calls out: “Max. Time to giddy up, yeah?”

Max doesn’t respond.

Fear grips Steve and he walks a little faster, coming face to face with rolled back eyes, unresponsive. Just like Eddie had said. She is being attacked right now. Vecna has her. Despite knowing that, he still yells: “Max. Max.”

He yells just in case it will work this time, just in case the universe wants to grant him some kindness, just in case he won’t have to watch Max die this time.

“Wake up,” he begs, pleads, grovels, whatever will help. “Hey,” he snaps and claps his hand in front of her face, anything he can think off. “Max, wake up. Max, wake up!”

Nothing is working and he looks back at the others, beckoning them over here, but they are already running. They know too that something is very wrong. He doesn’t want them to see, but they’ll kill him if he didn’t let them help. Such guilt can tear someone apart.

The three of them try to wake her up, but nothing is working. Nothing. Panic is now truly setting in and Steve realizes that their only hope lies at Penthurst Asylum.

He seizes Dustin by the collar, knowing he can feel bad about that later, as he commands: “Call the girls. Go get them. Call the girls! Now. Go!”

Dustin runs off as he and Lucas try to wake Max up, even if they know it’s hopeless. They have to try, because quitting? Giving up? That isn’t an option.

It seems to take forever, before Dustin is running back, arms full of stuff as he screams for their attention. Dropping a confusing assemblage of stuff that has Lucas frantically asking: “What is this?”

“What’s her favorite song?” Dustin asks, ignoring Lucas entirely.

“Why? Why?” Lucas demands, panicking.

“Robin said if she listens-” Dustin cuts himself off. “It’s too much to explain now. What’s her favorite song?”

Lucas luckily has an answer for that and they all scramble to find the right one. Steve’s hands are steady, despite the adrenaline. There is no room for emotions or thoughts right now, just action as they get the headphones onto Max’s head.

Nothing happens, so they continue screaming for her to wake up, begging her to just come back to them.

Suddenly Max starts to float. It’s almost like Billy, like there is something invisible piercing her chest and lifting her up. Steve feels a little sick. Eddie had told them about it, but actually experiencing it is a whole other thing.

She’s out of their reach now. All they can do to not feel so helpless is yell, scream until their throats are raw and hope that whatever Robin discovered is right and they won’t have to catch Max’s corpse.

They watch as she suddenly gulps in a big breath, but they don’t have time to feel relieved, because she’s falling, hitting the ground as all of them are too late to catch her. Steve tries not to think about it as they all hover around her, comforting her, as she heaves panicked breaths. He can’t imagine what she might have seen.

In a teary, cracking voice, Lucas says: “We thought we lost you.”

And Max assures them: “I’m still here, I’m still here,” and those are the best words Steve has heard all day. Max is still here. They have a weapon against this.

Enough time has passed that the sun is starting to set, but Steve doesn’t care about that right now, because Max is safe. He can allow himself a moment of respite as he feels her shoulders move with every breath she takes.

Max is alive.

There is hope.

They broadcast the news over the radio as Lucas and Dustin sandwich Max in the backseat, who for once doesn’t protest, but curls into the comfort as Kate Bush plays on repeat in her ears.

Eddie whoops, relief coloring his voice and Robin exclaims: “Oh thank god, that was totally a shot in the dark,” which makes Steve want to strangle her, though that lessens when Chrissy takes over and says: “She’s being modest. She just figured that out.”

“Well, it worked, so I count it as a win. Over,” Lucas replies and if Lucas is happy, Steve can live with Robin putting him in an early grave.

Then Nancy comes over the radio, professional as always, though an edge of relief and victory colors her voice. “Lets meet up at my house again. We’ll figure out our next move in the morning, it’s safer to stick together. Over.”

Dustin takes the radio from Lucas and says: “What about Eddie? Over.”

“I’m fine here, dude, don’t worry,” Eddie says.

It’s quiet for a second, then Dustin snootily tells him: “You’re supposed to say over. Over,” which is naturally an invitation for Eddie’s mockery. The banter makes Steve smile and relax. If they’re joking, they’re okay. Steve kept them safe. Steve did okay.

At the Wheeler house, the girls are already there, Robin back in her normal clothes, looking quite relieved about it. Chrissy next to her is smiling widely, headphones on her head. Steve hugs both of them tightly, happy that they’re alive and well.

“So, what is your anthem, Chris?” he asks her.

“Oh, uhm, I don’t really know. I’m not much of a music person, you know how my mom can get about it,” she answers with a shrug. “I borrowed some Madonna from Nancy, thought that was a safe enough bet.”

“Madonna can save anyone,” Steve assures her with a wink.

Max still doesn’t feel up to sleeping, which is understandable, she just saw a nightmare and nearly died.

Steve also doesn’t feel up to sleeping. He’s been having good nights, despite his wakefulness and the last thing he wants to do is scare the kids by waking up screaming. So, he pretends to sleep as he listens to Max draw and the feint sounds of Madonna from Chrissy on his one side and Robin’s breathing on the other.

Because he’s only dozing a little bit, he hears the radio crackle to life. Eddie’s voice says: “Hey, Dustin, this is Eddie the Banished. You there?”

He doesn’t hear Dustin get up to get the radio and apparently Eddie is tired of the quiet, because he tries again: “Dustin, can you hear me? Dustin? Earth to Dustin. Oh for fucks sake. Over.”

Steve snorts quietly at that. He also wouldn’t put it past Dustin to ignore Eddie because he isn’t saying over. While Eddie has been talking, he worked his way out from between Chrissy and Robin, who seek each other once he is gone.

He gives them a soft smile, before grabbing the radio and saying: “Not Dustin. Hope Steve is also good.”

“Stevie! Hey,” Eddie greets. Then adds sheepishly: “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s fine, I was already awake,” Steve assures him.

“That’s good, that’s- Yeah, that’s good,” Eddie says. “Uhm, so you’re kind of out of food. I guess doing groceries kind of goes on the back burner when stuff like this goes down. But, uhm, I’m a bit hungry and I can’t really venture out in the world.”

“Yeah, no, don’t do that,” Steve agrees. “We’ll bring something by soon.”

“Great, thanks,” Eddie replies with a hesitance in his voice that is cleared up when he says: “I- I was wondering if you could pick me up a six pack? I know it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves and you don’t have any alcohol, which I respect, but you know…”

Steve hasn’t stopped drinking like he did smoking after Starcourt, but he has lessened it, only sharing a beer on occasion. He doesn’t mind others drinking more excessively in his presence, though he hasn’t really been to parties much to test that much. Still, he doesn’t think it is smart to drink right now, though that’s not his place to say.

As he thinks he looks around to the others, suddenly noticing the empty spot next to Lucas where Max is supposed to be. He freezes. Max is gone. Did something happen without any of them noticing? Who was supposed to be on watch?

“I’ll see what I can do, have to go now,” he tells Eddie, ignoring his protests as he shakes Nancy awake, who blinks blearily. “Nance,” he whispers. “Who is supposed to be on watch?”

“Mhm? Dustin,” Nancy replies, rubbing her eyes.

“Dustin is asleep and Max is gone,” Steve informs her. That snaps her awake and soon they’re both looking for Max, sheer relief washing over them as they find her at the kitchen table with Holly and some crayons, surrounded by drawings of a strange red world.

“Hey,” Steve greets her kindly, getting her attention as he sits down at the table with her.

Max looks up in surprise, before replying: “Hey.”

“You okay?” Steve asks, knowing the likely answer, while Nancy studies the drawings she is making.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” Max shrugs, both of them knowing it’s more than that. Though, she tries to play it off by joking: “People kept blasting music in my ears for some reason.” She chuckles, not fully successful, but better than Steve could have done in these circumstances. “But Holly let me borrow some crayons.”

Steve eyes drift over to Holly, before turning back to Max, who is now directing hew words at Holly, sounding more gentle than Steve has ever heard her as she says: “We’ve been having fun, right, Holly?”

Holly hums as she nods, completely absorbed in her own drawing and happy to sit with Max, who would be an amazing sister, if she is ever given the chance.

The moment is broken by Nancy, who asks: “Is this was you saw last night?” as she points to the drawings. The frown between her brows is familiar to Steve and he knows she found a thread to keep pulling at, convinced it will give her answers.

“I mean, it’s supposed to be,” Max tells her. “I thought it’d be easier to draw it out than to explain, but not so much.”

What Max describes at Nancy’s questions sounds horrifying. Steve is glad to have not seen it, but he would have a thousand times over if it meant Max didn’t have to. She is trying to hide it, but he can tell she is shaken up and he doesn’t blame her for it.

However, with what she says and has drawn, Nancy is able to figure out that the house she saw is the Creel house. It isn’t much, but it’s something. A lead. A place to start.

They gather the troops and go to explore the house. Steve hasn’t been with Chrissy or Robin once and he wants to stick with them. But Nancy takes control and assigns him with Dustin. He doesn’t mind being with the kid, he loves him, but he has been able to check on him consistently throughout this whole thing, while Chrissy and Robin continue to stay out of his periphery.

He trusts both girls to be fine and of course he wants Robin to be able to have time with Chrissy, but this is Robin’s second time going through this and Chrissy’s first. He is just worried for them. So, so worried.

But, he knows Nancy is the better planner, so he lets her assign him to Dustin as they explore the house. He has not clue what they’re looking for, because he had been busy making sure they had everything with them here to be safe when it was explained. Like extra batteries for the two walkmans.

He is checking one of the rooms for something more creepy than the normal creepy that haunts the abandoned house when he feels something on his head and startles backwards as he sees a spider, walking into Nancy, who immediately asks: “What’s wrong?”

“There was a spider,” he admits, feeling a little silly about it.

“What?”

“It’s a black widow,” he explains, because that will make it slightly better.

“Okay,” Nancy smiles in that small way of her as she looks up at him from under her lashes.

“Don’t go in there,” he warns, unsure what to do now, because that is a smile he recognizes, but can’t place in this setting. Why is she looking at him like they’re still together?

Steve is about to walk away when Nancy stops him and reaches for the back of his head as she plucks off some left over cobwebs or dust. The whole thing feels a little too intimate and Steve feels a bit uncomfortable. He doesn’t like Nancy like that, plus she is with Jonathan and Steve does not help anyone cheat, nor does he cheat himself. He refuses.

After thanking her, he tries to walk away but she is kind of blocking him. As if she has sensed it, Robin comes walking by, saying: “If there’s a spider, you’re never gonna find it until it lays eggs and the babies spill out.”

It is the grossest thing and Steve does a full body shudder. She knows how he hates it when she says things like that and he knows she knows by the little shit eating grin she gives him when he exclaims: “What is wrong with you? Robin, seriously.”

She chuckles evilly, dragging Chrissy behind her, who is hiding her own giggle behind her hand, the traitor.

Nancy is raising a questioning eyebrow at him, then Robin. He pretends to be annoyed, but his voice is too fond, as he says: “She’s got problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Nancy says and it makes Steve’s skin crawl. She sounds too familiar, too close, when she isn’t. Steve has seen her annoyance at Robin. Her judgment at Robin’s comment about the spider eggs. He doesn’t like it.

“Robin is the best there is,” he says. ��I like her oddities.”

At that, Nancy looks a bit confused, before she asks: “Oh, are you two together? Robin said not, but maybe I misunderstood.”

“No, no, we’re platonic, capital P,” Steve quickly says, he doesn’t want to date Robin or have anyone think that. He can’t imagine faking romantic attraction in the midst of all this stress. “She is my best friend.”

“I’m glad you found someone like that,” Nancy tells him, sounding a bit too condescending or coddling for Steve’s taste. “You know after the whole thing at school. You could’ve come sit with me and Jonathan, you know that, right?”

Steve suppresses a scoff, that would have been so much worse. Not just the rumors, but also having to sit with Nancy, who broke his heart despite neither having been in love with the other. Not to mention Jonathan, the guy that stole his girlfriend, never liked Steve and who Steve had a pathetic crush on for a bit. No thanks.

“It’s okay,” he says, not wanting to start anything. “I was okay. But thanks.”

Then he walks off, looking into a room where Chrissy and Robin are giggling together. He catches Robin’s eye and winks at her. She blushes in return and covertly sticks up her finger at him. Sweet vengeance for the spider eggs thing.

Searching the whole house, and finding nothing so far, takes time, so it’s getting late by the time they finally get something. The lights have flickered, much like they had done for Will when he was trapped at the other side. Much like the demogorgon had done.

Steve feels himself tensing, but before he can panic a hand is holding his, warm and steady. He looks to the side and there is Robin, giving him a smile. She remembers what he told her on those sleepless nights. About how the lights had flickered and a monster had come through the walls of the house. How scared he still is of them.

God, he loves Robin.

He’s distracted by Chrissy, who nudges his shoulder. She might not know about his fear, but she saw Robin comfort him and that had been enough for her. Steve doesn’t know what he did to get this lucky with his friends, but he embraces it nonetheless.

“Vecna is here. In this house. Just on the other side,” Lucas says out loud, realizing what is happening and putting it into words.

The light goes out and Robin says: “I think he just left the room.”

“Did he hear us?” Max asks and a fear grips Steve’s heart as he asks: “Can he see us?”

“Headphones,” Lucas says immediately and both Chrissy and Max immediately start playing their songs, so they can’t be taken.

Nancy has been thinking and must have deducted something, because she says: “Wait. Everyone turn off your flashlights. We can track him.”

While Steve hates the flickering lights, he hates the idea of the dark empty house more, but it is their best bet and everyone turns off their lights, so Steve follows. They spread out as they try to find him, walking through creaking, hollow halls.

Robin yells first. “I got him! Got him!” Her flashlight glowing as she holds it up and attempts to follow. “I got him!” She sounds excited, which dies out when the flashlight does and she apologetically says: “I- I had him.”

“Ah,” Steve exclaims when his light suddenly turns on, before he realizes what it is and starts to follow. “Oh, I think he’s moving. He’s moving.”

The others follow after Steve as they walk through the house, until Steve’s flashlight also goes dark again. He curses: “Shit, I lost him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Max says, shouldering through the group to walk towards something. She opens a door that Steve had missed and a glowing, flickering light comes from above them.

Max peers in tentatively and nothing happens, so she walks further. Steve immediately follows, because god knows what’s up there. The others are close behind them, Robin complaining and Dustin cursing.

In the attic all their flashlights start going crazy and they know they have found where Vecna resides. It’s a little crazy to think they’re in the very same room as the man who murdered two teens, just a layer of reality separating them.

By now, it’s already dark and Steve knows how everyone’s parents will be worried. But they’re making huge steps. If they let them go home now, they’re never getting out again, except for maybe Karen Wheeler. They’ll likely spend the night there again and then in the morning, they can do groceries and tell Eddie about their discoveries.

At that point, Steve can’t know what is happening to Eddie, to the cabin.

The group tentatively searches the attic to see if there is anything more to be found, before they leave. Steve is more keeping watch, than searching for clues, but with the amount of eyes they have, he’s sure none of them mind.

Because he is keeping watch, he is the one that spots when Chrissy stands on a bit of flooring that doesn’t look very secure. He calls out: “Chris, that doesn’t look stable.”

Chrissy looks back at Steve, then his words register and she looks down. In slow motion, Steve watches as her eyes grow wide in terror and she lets out a scream as the floor breaks out from under her.

All of the others yell and Steve has to drag them away from the unsafe spot, before more people follow after her. With everyone safely out of the way, he is sprinting down the steps, grateful for the years of sports that enable him to hurry as he hears Robin stumble after him.

As it turns out, Chrissy has fallen on a soft surface. There had been a bedroom under the attic and she is just fine as she lays on the bed. Steve feels like he can breathe again, while the dust – which had been on the bed – quite literally settles around them.

“Thank god,” he says partially to himself, only to notice that Chrissy is lying quite still and not responding to what has just happened to her. Worry is back immediately and Steve runs to the bed to check if she is alive or if she snapped her neck during the fall.

She is lying stock still in the center of the bed. Her eyes are rolled back, not seeing anything as she lays there. The walkman next to her is smashed to pieces, having been broken while she fell through the floor.

Chrissy is under the curse.

A/N:

I am feeling evil today with that cliff hanger >:3

Btw, I’m making it a little easy on myself by sticking to the show’s plot beats, but it’s not going to be the same completely. Hopefully these chapters are enjoyable, despite being similar to season 4 itself :D

Also, I never know what to do with Nancy, bc a lot of shit she gets is thinly veiled misogyny, but she is also insane and I dislike her, while I also think she’s fascinating, so I’m trying to respect her while also not being very friendly towards her

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #buckingham #chrissy cunningham #cheerleader steve harrington au #st season 4 #the party stranger things #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #vecna

20 notes · View notes

imagine-that-one-thing · 6 days

Text

Chapter 2 "Alliances of Convenience."

Word count: 5,901

Harry x Anastasia || Fanfic series

Master Link || Chat with me

•••

The Piper's principal duty is to play every weekday at 9 am for approximately 15 minutes under His Majesty's window when he is in residence at Buckingham Palace. I have just over four hours until I hear the Piper playing and beginning the day of the Royals. The sun hasn't yet begun to rise from its nesting position, the birds are beginning to rise and sing their morning glory song, and the Palace grounds are quiet. It's a favourable time for me, there is no hustle and bustle of the staff, and there's nothing but a sweet serenity, something that I do not come across very often.

"You're late," I beam at Harry as he makes his way towards me, shoving his phone in his pocket and rolling his eyes, "Tsk tsk, you're tardy," I jokingly nudge him.

He lets out a chuckle, "I'm late. There's a first for everything, Princess. I have to report to Matthew by six, in full attire, so we need to get moving," Harry informs me, flicking his head towards the pathway we tend to take.

I nod and commence our jog, "So, why were you late, anyway? You're never late," I curiously examine.

"I had some things to take care of. Forgive me for being late and tired," Harry answers, jogging beside me, commencing to pick up the pace, giving me no choice but to drop the conversation and focus on my breathing.

One of Harry's responsibilities is to ensure that I am physically fit and ready for any possible scenario. This includes being able to run and maintain a steady pace without becoming overwhelmed. While I may not excel at shooting a pistol or taking my training as seriously as I should, I can run proficiently. I am grateful for the early morning runs we share when our schedules align. Occasionally, he is not already awake and working by four in the morning.

The palace is enclosed by 100 acres of grasslands, and each window of the Palace has a scene that is stunning and captivating in various ways. There is nothing better than overlooking the morning wildlife bouncing around the fields while the dawning sun inaugurates to wake up the gardens, and in the evenings there is nothing better than the gold tones pouring in through each windowpane.

I pause to catch my breath and slow my pace, while Harry continues ahead of me. Placing my hands on my hips, I begin to walk, prompting Harry to turn around and wait for me to catch up. He teases me with a smile, commenting on my sudden change in pace. "Giving up already?" he asks with a small smile.

I nod my head and reply, "I didn't want you to push yourself too hard." We continue walking along the gravel path towards the beautiful garden, where soft petals of various colours await us. I smile, leading our way towards my winsome serenity of satin soft petals while an amethyst-purple tint overruns the sunrise sky, begging to clash with orange.

I smirk and toss my hair over my shoulder as I glance over towards Harry with gleaming eyes. His honey-sweet lips which are lilac soft, begin to curve slightly before he flashes me an amiable smile.

The further I wander into the garden, the more I sense the golden hour rays kissing my skin with a flawless, bronzed complexion and my opulent hair glittering in the morning glory of the sun. It feels rejuvenating to belatedly breathe amid scents, the frill of flowers and the scent of the early morning breeze. "Do you want to talk about what's going on or are you going to ignore it?" Harry questions, "Because I don't think you can ignore that you will be ruling a monarch, soon." "I also don't think you can ignore that it changes everything."

"It's too early for me to think about this monstrosity of a monarchy, so can we please not talk about it?" I ask, and Harry shrugs his shoulders. "You know what is fascinating, Harry?" I turn to Harry.

Harry gazes at me with his fulgent, smaragdine-green eyes, "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," Harry responds.

I playfully roll my eyes at him, "Charming," I grin, "Have you noticed how flowers can wither away during the winter and still come back to bloom in the spring?"

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, "I guess." He doesn't think too much about it.

"Amazing, isn't it? They can withstand winter's suffocating skies that strangle the fields, and then bloom in the spring like they didn't endure a deathly winter."

"When you put it that way," Harry nods, "It is rather fascinating, my dear. Shall we?" Harry offers me his hand, taking me by surprise as I glance down at his hand longing for mine. His devil-may-care outlook and stellar smile make an appearance, causing me to mischievously grin.

I grant him my hand before taking it upon myself to guide him further into the astonishing gardens I love to get lost in followed by the flower blossoms wavering in the air.

Howling laughter permeates the air while the two of us, clumsily dance our way through the gardens laden with goldenrod-yellow flowers. I welcome the flowers grazing against my every move, their buds swaying in the slight breeze, almost as if they're dancing with us, stem by stem, overflowing the silence between our giggles with their delightful love song.

His eyes are a reminder of what love is, the lambent, jade-green that holds the windows to a loving man's soul. His eyes are a reminder that there is more hidden than what is on the outside.

On the outside, he is potent and somewhat unapproachable due to his career, but on the inside, he is caring, compassionate, winsome and most of all, he has a loving side to him nobody sees.

There are rules for everything within the monarch, from what we wear to when we wear it, to how we travel and what we travel with, along with who we love and how we keep it hidden.

This is modern times, age-old traditions need to be divulged, We are no longer in the 1800s when it was frowned upon to marry a commoner.

With these rules come the traditions associated with marriage. Commoners are frowned upon, still. Even if by some miracle someone could overcome the commoner barrier with the sovereign, there would still be a stringent protocol I would have to follow, well, we would have to follow. For crying out loud, the bride must wear white on her wedding day, a big tradition that I can thank Queen Elara from 1840 for.

For most women, the groom has to get the permission of the father or mother depending on the circumstances, In my instance, the Royal Marriages Act of 1772 requires all royal descendants to seek the sovereign's approval for marriage. The King, also known as my Father, has to approve of my marriage and sign a document called the Instrument of Consent, which makes his blessing official. I call it all bullshit.

My Father is strict on traditions, to my knowledge, he has obeyed almost all age-old traditions and he must make sure the crown is preserved and sojourns within the family. I find it asinine that the monarch has so much dynamism when it comes to love, but what can I do?

I am not yet Queen.

If I had things my way, I wouldn't be taking the crown or I would take the crown only on the terms of not being bound to having a King. But if I don't take the crown, the referendum and the monarch fails, calling for an abolishment.

Now isn't the time to expose my thoughts. Or is it? Fuck, I don't even know anymore.

I want to tell him my thoughts and plans, but I can't. I don't have the courage. Who'd have thought— the soon-to-be Queen has no courage.

Harry and I part ways with our hands and he lets out a sigh, distracting me from my slight thoughts, "I'm afraid I have to start heading back, I have work to do and you have a garden party to attend," Harry shatters my sweet tranquillity and playfulness, reminding me of the duty that calls my name as a sirens call. I want to stay away, but I can't. "Come on," Harry flicks his head.

"You never told me what you had to take care of," I probe gently, curious as to what he had to do in the early hours of the morning.

Harry grows quiet for a moment, "Mhm," he hums, seeming unsure of how to answer my question.

"Because you appear tired like you haven't slept."

"I haven't," Harry nods, "Spent most my night driving up North and back. We need to go."

I frown for a moment, "On royal duty? Everyone stayed in the Palace last night."

Harry shakes his head, "Anna—," he lowers his voice, "I need to get back, let's go."

Reluctantly, I follow Harry back to the palace of hell.

♔♔♔

My father is the Head of State of 16 governments and leader of the Commonwealth of 53 nations, and yet somewhere along the lines, he failed to figure out how to stop the monarchy from ruining my life. Dramatic? Maybe.

My Father inhales a sharp breath, breaking the stillness in my room, "Anastasia, you can't take over the sovereign as you stand. A Queen simply doesn't rule without a King."

My father is mistaken, a Queen can oversee without a King, Unfortunately, he is stuck in old-fashioned ways and isn't too fond of the concept of me governing without a King.

"Queen Elizabeth Ⅰ never got married and did just fine," I mutter, reminding my father of an ancestor who was victorious without a King beside her. "My relationships have nothing to do with my adequacy to rule a kingdom."

My father is not impressed at all with my comment, and his lips purse like he has been chewing a lemon rind, "It's frowned upon," he bitterly comments. He knows that I have a valid point, but just as I am controlled by a monarchy, so is he, and at this point, the monarchy wants to stick to old traditions.

It may be frowned upon, but I refuse to permit barriers to stand in my way. Barriers are meant to be broken in some cases— this is the case for them to be shattered.

"It was also frowned upon for Queens to rule. England was ruled by Kings until the second half of the 16th century when the crown passed to two Queens. These foolish rules need to be revised. I don't want to participate in this royal protocol." ... "I don't want to be Queen, we all know this."

My father arches a sly brow and sighs, "Anastasia–"

My brows bump together in a scowl towards him, endeavouring to defend him for aspiring to overpower me to wed just so I can rule the monarchy the way everyone desires me to. "No."

I am tired of being governed by a monarchy and living up to the expectations of everyone else. I have had expectations bestowed upon me from a young age, it gets tiring and aggravating to live up to them continuously. I want to break free of the chains they hold me down with. "I do not care what they say. I am not going to frolic around with a Prince to obtain a good-standing association with a monarch I do not want to oversee."

"You don't have a choice. This is your legacy, this is your blood," my father steps closer to me, "You will govern this monarchy and you will have a King. If you don't choose, I will do it for you, even if it is just media propaganda."

I shake my head, "I said no. I also do not want to hold the crown. You have known that I don't want it."

I am firm with my decision. I don't care for the media propaganda nor do I care to abide by the rules of parliament who intend to make my ruling an ever-lasting hell.

"Succession to the throne is determined by ancestry and laws put into place by the British government. You have no choice. This is your obligation. You will be Queen Regnant. End of discussion," My father storms out, authorising the door to slam behind him, rattling the walls of the bedroom.

I glance out the window, peering down at the Elysium-green and silk-soft terraces this summer. The staff are scurrying to get everything ready for the garden party meant to open its gates in just a few hours. Against my mother's requests and somewhat complaints, my father refused to reschedule the garden party, insisting that even in a heatwave, the party needed to go on.

I overhear the doorknob of my room rattle before the door rasps open, diverting me from my gaze below. "Your father needs to get that fixed, sounds hideous," my mother shakes her head at the racket of my door, though, the door shouldn't be the foremost priority for what ought to be revised in this household or lineage. What needs to be corrected is the inequity of the damn monarchy and its traditions that should be annulled, but what would I know? After all, I am only the Princess.

"Good afternoon, it's good to see you're on schedule with getting ready," my mother half beams, solely being sarcastic but endeavouring to lighten the mood and keep high spirits.

I don't respond, instead, I offer my mother a contrived smile the best that I can. "Anastasia, your attire is on its way up. You'll be expected to be ready."

I roll my eyes, irritated by the fact regal protocol is only observed when it is damn convenient for my Father. "Please tell me I will not be compelled to obey royal protocol for what I wear."

My mother nods her head, "You still have to follow protocol, Anastasia. It's a royal occasion."

"I'm not wearing pantyhose, and this isn't a royal occasion, this is an announcement for my unknowing relationship with the crown." I remind my mother of what today is about, thereby forcing me on a pedestal and narrating to the world an immaculate monarch tale and declaring a crown takeover.

"Anna—"

"No," I cut her off, "Unless you're going to tell me that we don't have to go through with this, then I don't want to hear another word," I bluntly react, not having any respect for the verity that she is the Queen. If anybody else were to speak this way to her, they'd be screaming for their heads. "I will forfeit my right to the crown if he announces he is abdicating today."

My mother clears her throat and laboriously sighs, "Your dress will be up in a minute, be ready to walk the gardens by three," my mother informs me in her soft-sounding voice. "Anna, sometimes we do things we don't want to do. This monarchy isn't always going to be your best friend, but don't make it your enemy, either," my mother half smiles at me, "Be wise about your decisions. Your father can only do so much." ... "I fought hard for this monarchy, don't allow them to be your enemy."

"I don't understand," I respond. It appears she's coming off as cryptic. How did she fight for it? The very thing she has fought for has destroyed her, even if she does not wish to admit it, it hasn't been her haven.

"Play your cards right, dear child. Lord knows your father didn't," she responds before she ambles out of my room, her heeled shoes chiming against the dark floorboards.

A lot can be said about my father, he was great for the monarchy until he wasn't.

I shift back to gaze out the windowpane down at the terrains below me where momentarily I will be hurled into the multitude of people who want to know every component about me, but I don't have any details to bestow. The attributes I want to disseminate, I am forbidden.

♔ ♔ ♔

The gardens are bustling with people, the cortege can't keep up with the demand for food and drinks, and the band is playing modestly enough for me to catch the melody of the birds sheltering in the trees, but loud enough for me to disregard the conversations around me that more than likely pertain to me. The menacing thing about these affairs is the fact that more times than not, the conversations are regarding me, the future of the crown or the forthcoming expeditions.

The shadow that has been lingering behind me since I stepped out of my room, strides closer to me as there is a void between me and others.

For a moment, there is silence between us and it takes everything in me not to turn around and convey with him.

"You look cute wearing a hat," Harry comments while cruising to scan every inch of the garden he physically can observe.

I stop to smell some of the roses before I turn to him, "It's a fascinator," I bitterly correct Harry, but I immediately retract my tone of voice, "But thank you. You look good in your suit." I dully compliment Harry.

"Thanks, it's new."

I silently agree with his sarcastic remark while trying to hide my amusement. It's no secret that he always wears the same thing. He's not one for change; he's been using the same cologne for years, hasn't changed his hairstyle, and probably still goes to the same barber he did when he was a child. His wardrobe consists solely of identical outfits, and it's rare to see him in anything other than his usual black suit.

I've suggested before that he try mixing things up a bit, maybe swap out his white shirt for a maroon one, but he wasn't receptive to my advice. "Must you be so close to me?" I mutter.

"Yes, I must be close to you," as we continue to navigate through the crowded gardens, he speaks softly so that only we can hear.

For a moment, I feel a sense of comfort.

"Harry," I breathe out and he hums for me to continue but I can't discover my words.

"I'd like space, please," I inform Harry, still uncertain of how to arrange my thoughts about the entire circumstances, especially today when in a few mere hours it will be announced that I have been courted, but I don't know who by. I'm not enraged at Harry, I'm incensed at my position, however, it's easier to take it out on him than face my problems head-on.

"As you wish, Princess... space from me or everybody else?" Harry inquires and I can't help but grin to myself.

As the soon-to-be Queen, I understand the importance of fulfilling my monarchical responsibilities and attending royal parties thrown at the palace. However, I often crave distance from others. It's challenging to find freedom in the royal family, as every move I make is closely monitored by the entourage or the press. Even when I'm asleep, there is always a guard outside my bedroom. Although I'm not complaining, there are some nights I want my bodyguard in my bed. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be completely alone - no entourage, no security, no press, no assistant - just peace and solitude. It would be a truly blissful experience.

I laboriously sigh as I witness the mother of one of the men who are on the list of prospects. "Need space from her?" Harry questions.

"I'll allow this encounter. My father would be mortified if I avoided her, Aunt Elara." I respond bitterly, anticipating Harry to take his usual step behind me, but he doesn't, he remains beside me.

Elara wanders closer to me and grants me a smile, and for a moment I hope she marches past me, but she doesn't. "Anna, hello, darling," she's cheery and enthusiastic with her greeting.

"You curtsy to Princess Anastasia," Harry makes it a point to remind Elara to be courteous and curtsy, also making a point that he doesn't like her being informal and calling me Anna. Nobody beyond the immediate family calls me Anna, it is informal and unmannered. Harry, however, is the anomaly to the rule.

The woman narrows her eyes towards Harry as if in an attempt to show dominance and superiority, "And who are you?" Elara questions with a tone of voice that only indicates she's talking down to him.

I don't have to glance at Harry to know he's more than presumably offering her the glare that is a warning not to try him. "SO14 bodyguard." He bluntly responds. "Curtsey," He instructs firmly.

He despises being questioned and talked down to, whether it be by Royals or by those who are considered normal.

"What level?" She inquests. "You are supposed to curtsey to me."

"None of your business. And no, thank you." Harry sneers.

"Hm, I don't think I like your attitude, I think this family ought to make some security changes."

"My bodyguard doesn't change," I immediately inform Elara who appears to live under delusion tthe hat she has any sort of say of what happens on the grounds of this monarchy. She may be married to Syras but she has no say in things.

"We'll see about that one," she mutters, skimming Harry up and down, commencing to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Princess, you're needed by the marque of food, Queen Willow is requesting you," Harry informs me, shortening the conversation with Elara. I excuse myself politely and step away from Elara.

I make my way towards the marque of foods that are set up meticulously. Garden Parties always consist of cakes, tea sandwiches, and sweet and savoury finger foods, all of which I am meant to bypass. It is not okay for me to be photographed eating, it isn't ladylike. Lucky for me, the staff make sure to put aside food for me in the palace, they always leave me with Scones with homemade Balmoral jam and clotted cream on top.

"Well, she's a royal bitch," Harry murmurs when there's nobody but the staff around us.

I glance over towards Harry and roll my eyes, "Be polite, she's still royalty and a part of politics."

Kings and Queens stay politically neutral but some royals go into politics when they're not as high up in the monarchy chain. Elara is in politics and has meetings with my father on occasion. How she is in politics, I am unsure— If my Father and I both die, her husband, Syras is meant to take the throne.

"The quicker this day is over, the better. It's bloody hot in this dress."

Harry smirks before he softly speaks, "Take it off?"

I raise a brow and grin, "Are you propositioning me?"

"A proposition would be me offering to help you out of the dress and me receiving something in return," Harry answers, "I'd do no such thing."

"Hm, and what would you want in return?"

"Whatever Her Royal Highness desires to give. But for now, back to the party," Harry subtly motions towards the gatherings of individuals who are conversing away and appreciating the establishment of the regal gardens. "We are being watched," he whispers, flicking his head subtly. He's continuously scanning his eyes around, looking at the hands, eye contact, and dress code of others, all indications of a threat or being supervised when we don't need to be speculated.

I'm tugged aside by my father, "Have you made a decision?"

"I told you my answer was no. I'm not changing my mind."

"I'm not giving you a choice, you will accept the crown of your own will."

"I said, No." I hold my ground, "I have every right to disagree with this. If you continue this conversation I will cause a scene," I threaten the King of England, Harry's eyes growing wide as he overhears the conversation.

My father narrows his eyes on me and bites down on his tongue, his jaw clenching as he takes a deep breath... "I need you to be courted." ... "You will do no such thing."

"Try me," I respond.

"Your Highness," Matthew steps between us, "I think we are done here. sir, you have to stand by Syrus as he makes his speech on your behalf, walk away."

My thoughts continue to spiral and the world around me feels as though it's spinning as I amble away. I contested a man who has never been oppugned in his sovereign, a man who harbours more power than I can abide. My Father walks away, and I stand still in my thoughts. My mother told me to play my cards well, and I intend to do so, even if it means challenging my father and every single person who tries to force me into what I do not want.

I glance at Harry and his eyes lock with mine, "Anastasia?" he questions, stepping closer to me, surpassing the expected distance between bodyguard and princess, "Anna, are you alright?" He challenges and I nod my head.

I'm not entirely sure when life got so hectic, perhaps it was always dishevelled and I just don't remember having to share the burden as much as I do now.

Growing up, I was informed I'd grow up to wed a precious prince where we'd get married at Westminster Abbey, we'd be welcomed and adored by the populace of Britain and they'd accept my husband as King while I reign as Queen. But here I stand, in the epicentre of the grasslands encircled by individuals who have had too much of a vote in my life from the moment I was born. Here I stand, waiting for the moment the people bestow upon me a future King.

I take deep breaths, the summer sun shining down on me as the relentless heat persists to suffocate everyone. We are only on day two of this heatwave and I already want to whisk myself off to a more unperturbed place, one where nobody will encounter me nor bother me for quite some time. I take a breath and seize my fascinator from my hair before turning to Harry. He raises a brow as he stands in his immaculate stance, hands behind his back, his eyes aware of everyone's placements and his lips pursed into a fine line, his facial expression being one that merely depicts nobody should fuck with him.

"I uh.. I need to leave."

"Your Father is watching, Turn around, Princess," Harry instructs, subtly motioning to my Father who I can only presume is far from satisfied with me.

I turn to watch my father as he commences to welcome the guests with his endearing voice that the public relishes hearing and so do other royals. He starts lightheartedly joking, something he has grown to do a lot more lately in an attempt to show the public that he is still a mundane fellow... Somewhat. The crowd giggles and I, too, have to fake a laugh. While the assemblage laughs at the diminutive jokes, my inner thoughts eat me alive with the sentiment that this monarchy will possess my life until the day I die. My Father passes the speech to his brother and my breath hitches in my throat.

I press my hand to my forehead for the moment and glance down, closing my eyes briefly to shield them from the sun.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, "You okay?" Harry questions every so softly and I nod. I'm lying.

"Yeah, it's just hot." I respond, "This is bullshit," I whisper and Harry takes a step back, going back to observing the crowd and doing his assignment, ignoring my last comment.

I don't know how I'm the only one bursting with sentiments and rage. Harry is serene and composed, my mother, whom I can witness in the corner of my eye, is satisfied with a drink in her hand. Despite this being a dry fete, I am sure there is some alcohol in her beverage, I know my mother well, she is a Queen but a shifty one.

I turn to Harry, my eyes feeling heavy as my chest rises; my chest feels as though it is fighting a grave force over it with each breath. "Harry," I begin dryly but I shake my head and begin to make my way through the assemblage, not caring who I pass as I make my way to the end of it. The moment I am no longer encompassed by warm bodies holding onto every word of the King, I feel as though I've just come up for fresh air.

I sense a hand wrap around my arm and I'm tugged back. I swiftly turn on my heel and notice Harry, "What the hell are you doing?" He whispers.

"I'm not standing and listening to this," I gesture around me, "This alliance of convenience is overplayed."

"This isn't the way to handle this," Harry informs me.

I'm stunned by his wisdom. "Since when do you know the best way to handle this? You're not the one in this predicament."

"I'm not?" Harry raises a brow, "Last time I checked this concerns me just as much as it does you, but if you insist on being the only one to play victim, go ahead," Harry hisses.

"You have quite a bit of nerve thinking I'm playing the victim. I don't think you understand the magnitude of things."

"You're not the only one in this boat. I've kept quiet about it but the point is, it's not just you," Harry argues.

All of a sudden, I feel a rush of heat and apprehension overwhelm me. My stomach churns with unease, and I know I need to take a moment to calm down before things escalate. I also need to remind myself that we are in public and at any moment, anyone can see the two of us going back and forth. "Can we pause for a moment?" I press my hand to his chest, urging him to give me some space. "I need to sit down."

Harry helps me to a nearby garden chair, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly to collect myself. I realize that I need to establish boundaries with the monarch, for my sanity. "I know this affects you too," I say, sighing, "but we haven't had an opportunity to discuss it yet."

"Not now, Anna," Harry replies firmly.

"Harry—" I'm cut off.

"I said not now," he presses with a harsh tone. Part of me boils inside with rage at his tone of voice and assertiveness, the other part of me is mildly turned on.

"I want to leave, either you walk with me, or I will walk alone," I speak, providing him no room to deliver me any alternative besides me ambling away. "I don't want to hear about protocol, I don't want to hear about this party or the monarchy. I want to go inside, now." I'm demanding, not asking— he is aware that I'll test his limits and march my way back inside with or without him.

I have no desire for what comes out of Syrus' mouth. Whether I rule alone or not has nothing to do with my uncle— He wants me to stay single— My Father wants me to marry and will stop at nothing to get his way.

"Demanding," Harry murmurs, unenthused by my demands. "As you request, Princess."

"Do not be condescending," I narrow my eyes onto him. He does tend to be condescending and calls me 'Princess' when he is enraged with me.

"Why? Are you going to provoke a scene?"

"I might," I bitterly answer.

He shakes his head, "You wouldn't dare pull that shit on me," Harry replies as he inclines closer to me, "Now, we are going to make our way to the Palace, peacefully, without any further discussion. Do not challenge me right now," he whispers in my ear, steadily pushing his body away from me before presenting his hand and assisting me off the garden chair.

We walk into the palace, the cool air tapping my warm skin the moment the doors close behind us. I let out a sigh of relief, happy that I was away from the bustling crowds of the party. I'm sure I'll hear about my abrupt disappearance later, for now, I'll relish in it. "Your wish has been granted, I have you in the Palace. Now what?" Harry questions as he turns to look at me.

"I don't know why you're being so pissy towards me."

Harry shakes his head disapprovingly, beginning to walk, giving me a queue to follow him. "If you do not understand by now, I'm not going to keep fucking telling you."

"I get it, you're in the same boat as me."

"I don't think you do get it."

"For fucks sake," I groan, grabbing his arm and tugging him back towards me. "I get it, we are in a boat paddling up shits creek," I push him against the wall, taking him by surprise.

"At least you have us in the same fucking boat now."

"I'm not that fucking clueless," I hiss, pressing my body up against his as his hands press to my hips and my left hand reaches around him and pushes on the hidden door. He stumbles back and I grip his button-up with my fingers, pulling him back towards me, kissing him and kicking the door closed with my shoe.

I keep him pressed against the wall of the secret hallway, relishing in the fact it's one of the only places that doesn't have a security camera that's constantly being monitored. He breaks away from our kiss and moves his lips to the slender column of my neck, his hands gripping my hips and pulling me into him. I tilt my head to the side, allowing the rain of kisses across my silky skin. I needed this.

I press against him, his hand bunching up my dress, his other hand in the small of my back, making sure there's minimal space between us.

He squeezes my thigh before gliding effortlessly up my thigh, dancing across the lace of my underwear as I work steadily to unbuckle his belt. He takes me by surprise when he urges me forward and pushes me against the wall, taking full control. I swallow hard, feeling the sweet temptation of him.

"No foreplay," I groan, having a desire for more.

"Stop being so god-damn demanding today," Harry groans, clearly having some pent-up frustration with me. "Shut up and Fucking kiss me," he demands, causing me to grin before I comply with his demands.

"Now look at who's demanding."

"Anastasia, don't," he mumbles against my lips, shutting me up when he bites my lip and takes bold possession of the moment.

This isn't going to fix the issues at hand, but they sure will be diminished for a few moments.

#harry styles imagines #one direction imagines #imagine one direction #harry styles fanfic #imagine harry styles #anonymous #harry styles fanfiction #one direction fanfic #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #one direction fanfiction #fanfictions #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic

6 notes · View notes

blogger360ncislarules · 5 months

Text

The season 2 finale of The Gilded Age brought many of the show's central conflicts to a head, including whether or not The Academy or the Met would win the opera war, who the Duke of Buckingham (Ben Lamb) would choose, whether Armstrong (Debra Monk) would ever stop being a pill — and most importantly, if Larry Russell (Harry Richardson) and Marian Brook (Louisa Jacobson) would ever get together.

The moment finally arrived in the season's final scenes, and it wasn't a mere chaste brush of a gloved hand either. Standing on the doorstep of the Van Rhijn household, Larry walked Marian home from a night at the opera in the early light of dawn. She promised that even with a move on the horizon, she would keep in touch with Larry. Larry's response was to kiss her, drawing a shy, pleased smile from Marian.

Executive producer and writer Sonja Warfield tells EW that the romantic moment came after she directly solicited creator Julian Fellowes. "Julian had long game plans to get them together," she says. "Back then everything was very chaste. You didn't really kiss somebody; you shook hands or something like that. So, I really did want Marian and Larry to kiss and asked Julian if they could please kiss at the end of the season. He granted me my wish."

Though Warfield warns that if they do secure a season 3 (HBO has yet to order more of The Gilded Age), it won't just be smooth sailing through the tunnel of love. Even if Marian will now have a newly empowered Ada (Cynthia Nixon) on her side against what will no doubt be objections from Agnes (Christine Baranski). "Relationships had their challenges in 1884, and they do today," she says. "The modern challenges aren't that different from those challenges. Yes, we're rooting for them. But everything will be complicated."

EW got Warfield to break down more of the finale, including Peggy's (Denée Benton) decision to leave the paper, Ada's sudden new wealth and its implications, and the possibility that Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) has sold her daughter, Gladys (Taissa Farmiga), to a duke solely to win a society war with Mrs. Astor (Donna Murphy).

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: You all brought Ada some romance this year, only to immediately kill off poor Luke (Robert Sean Leonard). So, I have to ask, why are you so mean?

SONJA WARFIELD: Because that's drama. And back then, most of the time when people had an ache or a pain, it did mean death. I wanted to disrupt the status quo with Ada. I just adore Cynthia Nixon, and her performance was mesmerizing to me, so I wanted her to be empowered to have a love. Agnes is oppressive, and so, I wanted for her to have love and to feel loved and to understand how that helped her in the world. The heart of the show, it's about the warring classes and Ada and Agnes represent that old money, and so, they need to remain intact. That's why he couldn't stay.

Peggy decides to leave the Fortune (Sullivan Jones) paper. What will that mean for her future? She talks about a novel, but being a journalist seems like such a core part of her identity right now.

In that time period, a lot of women were writing serialized stories for newspapers, so Peggy's done some of that too. There's versatility in her writing and in her work. Listen, Fortune is great, but he's a bad influence. He drinks a little bit; he's married. Peggy has a whole future ahead of her anywhere she wants to be. So I'm excited for her.

Will she be able to stay away though?

We shall see. He is pretty cute.

Watson (Michael Cerveris) gets this happy ending where he's going to actually go and have a life with his daughter. Will we continue to follow him and how that develops in the future? Or once he leaves the Russell household, will we not really check in with him?

Now, he's going to be living as a gentleman. We've already seen Turner (Kelley Curran) cross over. Anything's possible in America at that time.

Speaking of Turner, we learn in the climax of the finale that both Bertha and George did her dirty behind the scenes, both with the opera box and learning that Bertha wrote Mrs. Astor to get the new Mrs. Winterton kicked out of the Academy. If there is a season 3, how might that come back to bite them?

Listen, she'll be conniving to take Bertha down. Turner, or Mrs. Winterton, will be in her orbit. There are crimes of opportunity that Turner will be looking out for wherever she can catch Bertha out. And remember, she was the maid and the maids know everything.

One has to assume she already is blaming the Russells for everything.

Oh, absolutely. She's a smart cookie. She knows what's going on.

Season 1 ended with this very short-lived triumph for Bertha with her party coming off. But it wasn't enough. If there is a season 3, would that be similar? She won this battle. Are there more battles for her to win?

The thing about power is that it's unquenchable. You get a taste of it, and you thirst for more. Bertha has her sights set on conquering American society.

There is a heavy implication that Bertha won the Duke of Buckingham by selling out her own daughter. Is that a fair reading of that scenario?

I think you're a smart woman and that's an astute reading. Sadly.

George also looks quite concerned with whatever might be happening with the Duke. And we did see him early in the season pledge that he was supportive of Gladys marrying someone she actually loves. So is he also suspicious? Is he still determined to stand firm to that promise?

That's something that will be tested, and we'll have to see where George and Bertha land. This season was great because we saw them, probably for the first time with their marriage, in some real jeopardy that they had not experienced before. What I loved about that is that they still emerged as this power couple, and so we'll see if they can sustain that and how much their marriage can take. Parents often want different things for their children and that can be challenging.

We've really seen the servants branch out a lot more this season, whether that be going to the opera or this overarching plot line with the alarm clock. Are we trending toward a situation conceivably where servants are leaving their profession or their power dynamic is in flux?

That's the difference between America and the U.K. You're born into a position there, but in America it's supposedly the land of opportunity. Turner married up; we'll have to see what happens with Jack and how he fits into this new world, or if he gravitates back to his old world and what really happens with it. Businesses go bust, anything's possible.

We've pretty much exclusively seen Larry interested in architecture to this point. So what would going into the alarm clock business potentially look like for him?

Money. He's young and he gets to explore a lot of things because his father's a mogul.

In the final moment, Ada warns Agnes that things might be a little different. Historically, Ada is pretty good natured. So her being in charge, what do you conceive that looking like? I feel like we're gearing up for the battle of the century between these two sisters.

Here's the thing, fighting with a sibling is so different than fighting with somebody else. You can go in and you can go deep and you can go back. It's so charged and it's so conflict ridden. At the same time, you can be at each other's throats and then the next minute, you can hug it out. What I love is that Ada didn't just get a lot of money. She was really empowered to be independent with Luke in that relationship. So the power dynamics, it'll be fun to watch what happens.

Does she hold any resentment toward Agnes for how domineering she was that we could see come out?

Listen, Agnes pushes people. Even if you were forgiving and didn't have resentment, she might stir it up again.

This cast is known for its stellar lineup of Broadway talent. Who would be your dream to join the cast next season?

Sutton Foster. That would be big fun.

#the gilded age #hbo

17 notes · View notes

captain-price-unofficially · 1 year

Photo

“Two Wasps take the controls of the Flying Fortress at Buckingham Field, near Fort Myers, Florida. Mrs. Dawn Rochow is the pilot and Mrs. Frances Green Kari her co-pilot for this flight.”

#wwii #aviation #home front

33 notes · View notes

celticcrossanon · 2 years

Text

Reflections

I've sat up to watch the journey of Her Majesty's coffin from Edinburgh to Buckingham Palace. The convoy ended up driving through the palace gates in late dusk/early night, so the palace was lit up with lights. At the same time, dawn was breaking in my part of the world, and as I watched the convoy drive through the gates I could hear the dawn chorus outside my window. Pre-dawn and dusk, the coming of light and the fading of light, all in one moment. I am taking it as another sign, although I don't know of what just yet. :) It has brought me peace and a sense of rest, and for that I am grateful.

Definitely goodnight from me now. :)

62 notes · View notes

timmymyluv · 2 years

Text

act six.

of let others wage war; you, happy child- marry.

romanov prince! timothee chalamet x princess!reader

series masterlist

main masterlist

summary: with your sister alix now married to the prince of wales, you prepare for your own journey to a land faraway - Imperial Russia. long gone are the humble days in the dusty Yellow Palace, when you are betrothed to the wealthiest man on the planet in his own right, tsesarevich timothee alexandrovich, and future ruler to the greatest empire the world has ever seen.

word count: 2.2k

"Time sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawls like a snail; but a man is happiest when he does not even notice whether it passes swiftly or slowly."

-Ivan Turgenev

At the send off gala in honour of the newly anointed Prince and Princess of Wales after their brief honeymoon at Osborne House in the Isle of Wight, you and your family were beginning to make preparations for your family's return to Copenhagen.

In your brand new attire of English designs adorned as you chatted and ate heartily to the banquet hall in Buckingham Palace, you were slowly starting to become acquainted with the family your sister had married into, and by association, were your in-laws bound by blood and matrimony.

Scrambling by your feet under the lace tablecloth of the marble table was little Wilhelm, all spirit and rambunctiousness in his little body as he wore a sailor cap that tucked in his chestnut brown curls and stared up at you with piercing, navy blue eyes.

Son of the Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia, your sister's husband's sister and brother-in-law, the toddler shared none of his mother's quick wit and father's patience and gift for grace.

However, discussions with the Danish parliament and foreign ministers who were in communication with the Russian Office if Foreign Affairs had interrupted your tranced observation informed you that your visit to Saint Petersburg was happening sooner than later.

Your trip was to coincide with the height of the Russian court season, so that you could witness the splendor and festivities in the society that was to become your own. You could not ignore your mother’s worried glances and your father’s wistful sighs when murmurs around the cabinet and ministers pondered back to the financial aspect of your visit, and your eventual matrimony.

As the faces begin to blend in and you drown in your thoughts, disassociating and consumed by the dawn of what could be and what future awaits you, you barely hide a frown that even your pearl necklace and bow in your hair could conceal.

Excusing himself rather impolitely and in a manner that caught some suspicious looks and open signs of disapproval, Dagmar sneaks into a secluded hallway in the glistening palace, seemingly darker and letting shadows in rather than light in the afternoon glow.

Later that evening as you pack the last of your luggages, you write frantically back to him with your quill wet with ink, hitting the parchment with such desperation you cared none about the dye sticking to your palms.

“Dear, beloved Timmy, I am completely despondent that my dear little Timmy writes to me so rarely; I feel quite unhappy and forgotten; not even a telegram! Why this awful silence, what is the reason for it? […]

Dear, dear Tim, now lovely spring is beginning and the time for us to meet again is coming with it, you cannot imagine how much this occupies my thoughts, and how much I long for news from you so that I will know what you think about it, whether you are happy about it or not, for otherwise I greatly fear that you have become enamoured of a lovely Italian girl with big black eyes who had made you forget your poor little fiancée in the north!!!!!

[…] Never leave me without news for so long, it makes me far too unhappy, dear Timothee. Now farewell, my dear, do not forget me completely, and always keep a tiny little corner of your heart for faithful Minnie.”

His absence of a response and scarcity of a sign of life or acknowledgement of your message leaves a sour taste on your mouth, but you refuse to dwell on it knowing as future Tsar, he has more important responsibilities preparing himself for the land he is to rule, not just answering your silly love letters all day.

…

Winter 1864.

Aboard the express train in Strasbourg that you charted alone, from the ferry across the English Channel and stopping by in the most eastern city in France to change trains that made its way directly to Saint Petersburg.

You had traveled across the Continent numerous times with your family, which were becoming more frequent as your royal house’s profile was on the rise, but never unattended, even without a lady in waiting or a throng of servants at your disposal.

To say your nerves had consumed you was an understatement, spending the entire ride towards the Great Northern city that was the window of Europe in a splendid, grandiose shuttle that had been dispatched for your comfort alone.

Your private cabin in your traveling train was ornamented with a variety of floras and faunas that were both native to Russia and among the most popular plants that were the trend in high society, the finest silks, furs, diamonds, precious stones of the finest caliber, and the most latest fashion tailored to your measurements, coming mostly from the esteemed House of Worth stationed in Paris.

In the few weeks of your journey, you were to want for nothing, as the caravan was staffed with ladies in waiting, butlers, maids and royal vanguards who were appointed by the Emperor himself to serve members of the Imperial family.

You felt rather conscious and slightly abashed with the meager, home tailored dress you and your mother had painstakingly finished the night before your departure, needle and thread to cloth by the candlelight as you followed the patterns from a dress magazine a few cycles too outdated.

Awoken from your slumber by the handmaids to freshen you up before your arrival in Saint Petersburg, you open your eyes sleepily, fluttering eyelashes as you watch the city built by the mythic Peter the Great in the flesh.

The capital and the lustrous, burnished capital of an illustrious, expansive empire, was built along the Neva River, slightly frozen in the arctic temperature, feeling the chill through your fogged windows with a coolness to your fingertips that you have never felt before.

Along the shores of the Gulf of Finland, the city has been raised artificially and built over, reclaimed land constructed over four meters tall. Based on the educational textbooks your Russian language tutors have sent you, the length of daylight in Saint Petersburg can be as short as just under six hours to over eighteen hours a day.

Your visit coincides with the period of the white nights, in which twilight may last overnight, and you cannot help the spring of excitement that turns in your stomach as your train approaches the city closer and closer. Due to its proximity to the Baltic Sea, its summers are torridly humid, while its winters can be harsh, long and moderately wet.

Feeling a lady-in-waiting tighten your corset before you jaunt into the ample hoop skirt frame that holds the bottom of your dress. After your plain white chemise underskirt sits on your waist and covers the frame, you slide into a matching pastel green ensemble, an appropriate day dress that complemented the frigid weather perfectly.

With a laced, textured hem that lined your skirt, you feel the frilly surface along your hands as you smoothen the surface. A similar hued ribbon is tied along your waist, with your billowing puffy sleeves with a hint of alabaster bodice peeking through just underneath your wrists and along your forearm.

A straight line of buttons finish up your look, as your ladies in waiting assiduously examine and assess your appearance to repair even a slight loose thread from your clothing. A scooped, white bonnet is adorned on your head, with obsidian ribbons just above your hairline and delicate bunches of white lilies and bluebells sat next to it, is tied to your chin with a coordinating onyx bow.

As you put on your russet satin shoes on your delicate feet, you take a deep breath as your train halts its movement and announces your arrival into the shining diamond of the scintillating Imperial Russian Empire.

The shuttle door opens, and you are escorted by the Royal Guards to the station, following the carpet path that leads you down the steps attached connecting the train to the floor of the terminal.

You resist the urge to squint as the sudden flash of the bright light outdoors as you step out calculatedly. A throng of the royal crowd is what you expected, but what you witness next is nothing like you have seen before.

The stark discrepancy between the wealthy and the impoverished is most exorbitant in the city than all of the Empire. The assemblage that greeted you were emaciated, destitute peasants and serfs who looked forward excitedly from their long days at work to see their future Tsarina and new Grand Duchess.

Guided with a firm grip by the Imperial Vassars of the Emperor away from the crowd suspiciously, Dagmar is welcomed by a lion’s share of the highest ranked in the royal court in the Winter Palace.

Approaching the terminal once the gap between the unbounded pavement with narrow walls, you witness a more esteemed crowd, of what you would presume are from the Court of Saint Petersburg. Standing tall and proud with a a full beard under his chin, a slightly round face with notions of wrinkles hidden by his one-eyed glasses, was Timothee’s uncles and one of his most trusted tutors, the Grand Duke Konstantine Nikolayevich .

As the Viceroy of Poland and one of the Emperor’s closest advisors, you recognized the influence this man in front of you had on the Empire and what it symbolized as he was the one ceremonially chosen to accompany you as you travel to your new motherland and the court that you will one day call your own.

Just as rehearsed and advised of you by the Russian officials and educators who have been guiding you closely, you jaunt gracefully on nimble feet towards him, conscious of the ogling, critical eyes around you observing every step and gesture.

Hiding the disappointment on your face on the absence of your betrothed, you accept the bouquet of fresh peonies with gloved hands and a picturesque smile, accepting your fate has been sealed and the future that awaits you with open arms.

…

Still slightly upset by the infrequent, sparse replies in letters from your dear love, you shake your head from your swirling thoughts when the carriage halts in front of the grandiose Winter Palace.

Its monumental scope in its mint green hue shone against the glittering sun, and your eyes sparkled with wonder and elation in the splendor presented to you. Opulent in its rococo architecture, and decorated in gold as it housed a thousand rooms and could situate hundreds of people.

‘There is no more reason to be unhappy.’ You tell yourself as you admire the spectacle ahead of you. Escorted down the carriage, setting aside your bouquet in the arms of your ladies in waiting for the tenure of your trip, you make calculated, rehearsed steps up the carpenter flight of stairs to the gilded palace. Pensive, analytical eyes monitor your every gait, as you flash a sweet, dainty smile, showing the apples of your rosy cheeks and drawing attention to your big, round eyes.

The Tsar and Tsarina stand gallantly with a merry warmth as the Emperor steps forward with pressing his lips with a welcoming kiss to either side of your cheeks. Seeing him up close you see fragments of your bethrothed’s features on his aquiline face, the strong, Grecian jawline and pointed, arched nose in their narrow, chiseled faces.

“Welcome to Russia, my beloved daughter-in-law.” Tsar Alexander II takes his rough, calloused hands in your gloved ones, grinning down at you with a gentle enthusiasm. He steps aside for his wife to welcome you with the same embrace, noting the disjointed body language between the spouses that raises alarm in your head, yet you know better than to speak more of it.

Making your way past the gold arched doorway with gargoyles and sculptures in every corner, oiled paintings and vases of numerous floras and faunas before your love, the light of your life, Timothee approaches you with a gleeful smile with tears brimming near his eyes.

Even with the entirety of Saint Petersburg’s court surrounding you both, you could not help but frown at seeing the gauntness of your fiance’s face, sunken, hollow cheeks and his own fine clothing already looser on his fine, delicate frame.

Timothee cups his hands around your face, closing in his finger tips on your cheeks, your neck like you would slip away before him and passionately, yet delicately places his lips on yours, sucking gently on your lower lip with unspoken consolation and comfort.

You ignore the teasing cheers by the court around you as you are flooded only by him, closing your eyes to take in his warmth, his touch, his warm vanilla and musk scent, everything else forgotten around you.

“I have missed you too long, my darling. Nothing brings me more joy than receiving you here in the land of my birth, of my people. They adore you already.” He admires you with a fondness, tracing his fingertips down your nose and behind your ears, grinning at the sight of you, at ease you are no longer apart.

Offering his arm for you to take, you take a reluctant grasp on his forearm, slightly tilting towards his shoulders as he leads you in the procession towards the grand Winter Palace, the traditions that future Romanov brides take on as they witness the court that will be their own.

Looking up at the ornate tapestry of rich colours and painstaking detail, you gulp at the fate that awaits you. The life you were going to take on was not built for the weak.

You only pray that the gods above may be by your side as you ontake this duty.

taglist: (pls lmk if you'd like to be added!)

@blackqueenstarseed1 @softhecreator @ohmysw33 @imnotoverlyobsessive @mondieumat @chanotel @starberry-cake @timotheel0ver @chalametsimp @hellomadamebutterfly @themonsterheloved @chal-latte @s-we-e-t-t-ea @zelleriz @strawberriescherrieskiwi @fangirl125reader @xoxoloverb @us3rd1stort1on @thebetawolfgirl @chelseamendes99 @yomidebby @esmaada @princessandtheflea @thestarsaregivenonceonly @meetmyothersouls

108 notes · View notes