#(friends in the same country I can at least send baked goods or tea or something. but on the other side of the word??? no chance.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangledstarlight · 4 years ago

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days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter)

julie's ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke's about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they've just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

ok hello hi so this is my wild ride of a fic that i’m working on, a scene (much later on) came to me in a dream, and much like how smeyer wrote twilight, i just had to find out how they got there fhbdj there’s some drinking which would be classed as underage in the us but is legal in the uk which is where it’s set so

trigger warnings!! alcohol and swearing

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

winter

There was a line almost outside the door for the coffee shop, people wanting something to warm them up or just to avoid the sudden downpour of rain. Julie had been in England for just over a month now and she still wasn’t used to the randomly changing weather, how were you supposed to plan an outfit for the day if it started mildly sunny and ended in a thunderstorm? It was January! She had come prepared for snow, not rain, damn it.

From her table in the back corner of the cafe, hands wrapped around a mug and headphones blaring music, Julie people watched. Sure, she was supposed to be working on an essay, but she’d been there for half an hour already. She deserved a little break.

Even through her music she can hear the sounds of the cafe around her. Customers placing orders and rain on the windows and cups hitting tables and people laughing and it’s comforting. The sounds of life going on around her while she pretends to be doing work.

Pretends, because she’s been trying to work on this essay for a week now and getting nowhere with it.

When she’d signed up for the study abroad scheme her mind had been on experiencing a new country, on the places she could visit, the new friends she could make, the thoughtful looks she could escape.

She hadn’t thought much about the work she would have to do, the essays that would need to be written, the awkwardness of settling into a new place, the strangeness of hearing new accents.

The actual creative side of her course she found easy enough, but when it came to writing about her stylistic choices and her themes and her influences and how they all tied back with what they’d been reading about? She was drawing a blank.

Blowing on her drink, Julie let her eyes wander around the coffee shop. It was a fairly small place with an extensive collection of teas and fresh baked cakes and free wifi. She’d found it by mistake while looking for a music shop her first week in the city, they’d lured her in with carrot cake and coffee and she’d been coming back at least once a week ever since. A group of boys push through the door, shaking off hoods and laughing at something as they join the queue.

Something about them seemed vaguely familiar, like she’d seen them from a distance in a dark club, or scrolled past a group photo of them on her instagram suggested posts. Or maybe it was because they just looked like every other group of young adults she’d come across, both back home and in Liverpool. One thing she had learnt pretty quickly was that boys were the same everywhere.

She was saved from mulling it over by her phone vibrating on the table with a text, Carrie’s name popping up on the screen and Julie swapped her cup for her phone, a small smile already tugging at her lips as she read the series of texts on her screen.

Julie’s attention is dragged away from her phone by something – someone – knocking into her table, sending her pen rolling off and her cup to shake. Pulling her headphones out of her ears she looks up as the culprits eyes widen, mouth pulling into a grimace as he stares at the coffee now running down the back of her jacket that had been happily sitting in the spare chair.

“Shit,” he mutters, already pulling a napkin out of his back pocket and dabbing at the mess. “I’m so sorry, I uh– wasn’t looking and the chair leg and fuck I’m so sorry about your jacket, can it be dry cleaned?”

And he looks so sincere in his apology, all wide sad eyes and words stumbling out too quickly and messy brown hair curling out from under a beanie and accent that sounds like home, that Julie swallows back the annoyed retort she had ready to go.

It was just an accident. Accidents happened. At least it wasn’t over her laptop. Blowing out a breath, Julie shakes her head at him once, pushing back her chair to inspect the damage.

“It’s fine, honestly. Don’t–” she pauses, holding up the denim on either side of the collar and frowning at the pretty large brown stain. “Worry about it.”

Can she wash it? She’s never tried, but well. She bites her lip as she looks at it, the stranger awkwardly standing just a short distance away with a wad of used napkins and his half spilt drink, and yeah, she definitely won't be able to wear it tonight.

“I’m so sorry.” He says again and someone must catch his attention over her shoulder because his eyes dart away from her, eyebrows shooting up and shrugging his shoulders and, it’s kinda cute. The way he seems to be hovering, unsure if she’s going to shout at him.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Accidents happen, right?” She shoots him a quick smile – though not missing the way his cheeks turn slightly pink – before turning back to her jacket, carefully laying it out on the chair to hopefully dry out enough for her to stuff it in her bag before she needs to leave. She really hopes it stops raining.

“I uh– shit I’m sorry. Again. I gotta–” He gestures to the door where Julie can see his friends waiting for him, barely contained grins on all their faces that has Julie rolling her eyes. Boys. She looks back at him, raising an eyebrow even as her lips tick up into a small smile, she’s rewarded by his cheeks going red, the hand still holding the napkins rubbing at the back of his neck and a stuttered ‘goodbye’.

Sitting back down, Julie rolls her eyes again, muttering under her breath about ‘annoying cute boys’ and ‘favourite jackets’. Leaning down to pick up her fallen pen with one hand while the other tapped out a reply to Carrie. An hour more of sitting here, attempting to do her essay and then she’d have to go if she wanted enough time to get ready.

“So where are you?”

Julie couldn’t hear what was being said on the other side of the phone, but judging by the way Carrie was rolling her eyes the answer wasn’t correct. Flynn leans her head on Julie’s shoulder, their linked arms drawing them closer as they walk, it’s not the most comfortable way to walk, but they’ve already had a few drinks and Flynn gets a little clingy after one. Julie puts her head on top of Flynns as they stumble along cracked stone streets.

“She actually might end up killing Bobby at this rate,” Julie mutters and is rewarded with Flynn letting out a laugh that has Carrie looking over her shoulder at them, eyes softening for a moment before she’s rolling them again. If she hadn’t known the other girl as long as she had, Julie would be worried about permanent eye damage.

“Fucking hell. Okay. Yeah, okay we’ll be like, ten minutes then. Yeah, yeah, okay bye.”

Sliding her phone into her back pocket Carrie took a half step back so she was walking with them again, linking her arm on Flynns other side.

“They’re at the Cavern Club,” Carrie looks at Julie over the top of Flynn’s head and lets out a loud sigh, “I know. That’s where we were going to go anyway. They’re so annoying.”

But she says it in a fond sort of way. Like how you talk about your neighbour's dog that barks too early in the morning and wakes you up, but always runs over to say hello to you through the fence when you walk past and brightens up your day. Annoying, but sweet.

Julie’s only met Carrie’s cousin Bobby once, it had been a short ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ type interaction as he ran into Carrie’s house to pick up his bag and then run straight back out again.

She’s never met the other three members of the band at all, but she knows, after doing a little bit of internet searching, that their band isn’t half bad. They’ve got some pretty good songs and a small following that she is sure is bound to get bigger by the time they’ve finished being the opener for whoever they’re touring with and their first album is out in the world.

The three of them flash their id’s to the security on the door, slightly giddy smiles on all their faces even now, still not used to it all being legal for them to drink under the age of twenty-one. But the security guy doesn’t even blink and then they’re walking down a flight of stairs, the air getting warmer and the sound of drums and guitars reaching them.

Carrie grabs hold of Flynn's hand and Flynn grabs a hold of Julies and then they’re weaving through people and avoiding knocking drinks out of hands.

Her attention is pulled from the crowd to the stage at the back of the room, a band playing a cover of something she can’t name, they don’t sound too bad, and the part of her that used to fall in love with music every time she heard it wants to stop and listen. But that part of her is small and quiet and shy now, so she keeps her grip on Flynn’s hand and follows along.

Julie doesn’t know how Carrie knows where she’s going but all of a sudden they’re coming to a stop, her free hand reaching out to balance herself on Flynn’s shoulder even as a small part of her is still trying to work out what the song is.

Turning her eyes away from the stage she looks at the five boys sitting at the table, a collection of bottles scattered across the wood, and Julie smiles at Bobby who’s standing up to hug Carrie, opens her mouth to say hello before stopping. Her brows furrow as she locks eyes with a shaggy haired brunette who’s own eyes are widening in realisation.

“You!” She blurts out before she can stop herself, and if anyone asks she would blame it on the three drinks she had before leaving the dorms, detangling her fingers from Flynn’s to point at him. With the music blaring so loud only the boys still sat at the table and Flynn heard her, the latter turning to raise her brows while Julie can see the boys trying not to laugh.

“He’s the guy who spilt coffee on my jacket earlier,” she shouts over the music, hand gesturing wildly at the table and Flynn follows her hand, eyes resting on the culprit.

“That was her favourite jacket!” Flynn props one hand on her hip and almost glares at him, but it loses part of its ‘scare factor’ when she starts swaying a little in place to the music. Well, Julie thinks it should lose some of it’s scaring power, but the guy still looks kinda worried, so who’s Julie to know?

“I said I was sorry!” He puts his hands up, shoulder raising to almost his ears, and with his eyes already open so wide and his hair curling slightly at the ends, Julie has to wonder how much trouble that look has gotten him out of over the years.

“You guys have already met?” Bobby jumps into the conversation before Julie has a chance to reply and Carrie is looking between them, lips pursed.

“This is the girl whose jacket Luke ruined earlier,” the blonde one says and Julie vaguely recognises him as being one of the boys from the cafe.

“Dude,” Bobby raises his eyebrows at the jacket ruiner – Luke, Julie reminds herself – shaking his head in disappointment.

“It was an accident!” Luke turns his sad kicked puppy look on Bobby before looking back at Julie, his hands lowering but his eyes still drastically wide, “I really am sorry about it.”

Julie tries, she really does, to hold on to that small kindle of annoyance that she’d felt upon seeing him again. But well, the jacket is already ruined and she’s come out to avoid doing an essay and she’s finding it really hard to be mad at someone so cute. Blowing out a breath she shakes her head at him.

“It’s fine, I’ll forgive and forget the whole thing if you buy me a drink.”

“That I can do,” the furrow in his brows smooths out and his shoulders relax and suddenly there’s a smile spreading across his face that seems to light up his eyes.

“So, you’ve met Luke. That’s Reggie, he’s our bassist,” Bobby nods at the dark haired guy sitting next to Luke who grins and waves, and it’s such an infectiously happy wave that Julie can't help but wave back. “Alex, kickass drummer,” the blonde who spoke earlier ducks his head a little, an almost shy smile on his face as he nods at them, “And Willie. Officially he’s one of our roadies, unofficially he’s just here to hype us up and do cool tricks in empty arenas.” Willie, who’s sat pressed against Alex’s side, raises his hand in a wave.

“This is Julie and this is Flynn,” Carrie points at them each before claiming the seat next to Alex and looking at Luke, “We’ll take 3 vodka lemonades. Please.” She only adds the please on the end after Flynn sits next to her, nudging her elbow into her side, Julie notices with a smile.

There’s a moment of bodies moving as Luke gets up from his side of the table, pulling Bobby along with him towards the bar and Reggie is waving his hand at her, nodding at the empty space along the bench next to him that she slides into gratefully.

They can’t really see the stage set up from here, but the music is still just as loud and Julie starts nodding her head along to the beat, trying to focus on the conversation happening on the other side of the table. Something about Carrie’s group and choreography and convincing someone to add in a dance break to a song. She’s laughing at something Willie said when a glass is slid across the table in front of her, a bottle of something passing over her to Reggie and she looks up in time to see Luke sliding into the space next to her, a small smile on his face.

“Forgiven and forgotten?” He asks, eyebrow quirked as he lifts his own drink, tilting it towards her in invitation.

“Forgiven and forgotten,” she agrees picking her glass up and tapping it against his beer bottle, shooting him a smile of her own before chasing the straw of her drink to take a sip, trying hard not to blush at the intensity of his stare.

It’s two hours later, three drinks and a deeply regrettable shot later, happily on the precipice of truly drunk but hanging out in tipsy land, when Julie shakes her head at Luke who’s standing on the bench. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he writes on the curved brick of the ceiling.

“Dude no ones gonna be able to even read that!” Reggie complains from next to her, his eyes squinting as if it will help him to read their names better. It doesn’t, Julie’s already tried.

“Why did we let the one with the worst handwriting do this?” Alex tilts his head to look up at Luke, who waves the hand not holding the pen in his face, almost hitting him but missing by several inches to the left and it sets them all off giggling.

“Because the rest of you are cowards!” He wobbles a little as he shuffles his feet to change angle, and Julie reaches out on instinct to hold his leg, fingers wrapping around his calf as if it will stop him from falling. His head drops down to look at her, teeth biting his bottom lip as he smiles at her quickly before going back to the ceiling.

To leave his – their – mark on a legendary musical site. Luke's words, the rest of them hadn’t been able to talk him out of it so they’d gone right into encouraging.

“I think you’re getting cowards and idiots mixed up,” Carrie mutters, head propped up on her hands, elbows resting on the table. Well, Reggie and Julie and Willie had gone straight to encouraging, the others were still on teasing.

“Do you want your name added or not?” Luke grumbles but Julie can see his pen moving, going over the letters of what she assumes is meant to be Dirty Candi, and bites her cheek to not laugh.

“Don’t forget it’s an ‘i’ instead of ‘y’ for candy!” Flynn leans forward, eyes on the ceiling as she shouts up at him and Luke says something, but it’s too quiet for any of them to hear.

It isn’t until he moves to get off the bench that Julie realises she still has her hand wrapped around his calf, her fingers idly tapping along to the song some guy with a guitar is playing behind them. Heat fills her cheeks (that she’ll blame on how warm it is in the club and the alcohol in her system thank you very much) as she lets go, pulling her hand back into her lap, watching from the corner of her eye as he jumps down and back into his seat, a proud smile on his face.

“Now when we’re big and famous people can come and hunt our names down.”

“And finally realise that you have awful writing and question how any of our songs get written,” Bobby grins at him, elbow nudging his side which sends Luke leaning into her to try and avoid it, sliding along the bench until there’s no space between them, and she can’t find it in herself to be too mad about it. He smells like tequila and mint and aftershave all mixed together, not really a good combination, but one she finds herself liking anyway.

“Well why don’t you start writing the songs, huh?” Luke retorts, and starts a back and forth with Bobby, Alex chiming in and Flynn watching it all like a tennis match, and Juile tries to follow it, but all she can think about is how Luke hasn’t moved back. How his thigh is pressed against her leg and his arm is resting around her back, hand near her hip and how if she wanted to, she could rest her chin on his shoulder and kiss his neck.

Not that she wants to kiss his neck. Does she?

Julie furrows her brows, biting her lip as she examines those thoughts, tries to decide if it’s the alcohol or the music or her lack of sleep or if she just wants to kiss him.

Flynn says something and it makes him laugh, loud and bright and unrestrained, head thrown back and eyes closed. And yeah, she just wants to kiss him. Fuck.

Reggie slings an arm around her shoulders, the other going over Flynns and tugging them together until their cheeks are all pushing together and Julie giggles, poking at his side with her partially trapped arm.

“What do we think chocolate tequila is like?” He asks, eyes glued to the chalkboard menu above them.

“Not as nice as the summer fruits one,” Julie says back, wrinkling her nose a little at the memory of when she’d tried it. If you liked chocolate, it was a bitter disappointment in her opinion. But she was also drunk enough now not to mind.

“Alex says we can’t get the coffee one. Thinks we’ll have a repeat of the red bull incident.” Luke appears on her other side, pushing his body into the small gap between her side and the next group of people. He’s stood so he’s facing her – them – and rests one arm on the counter top.

“Man he’s gotta get over that, it was one time,” Reggie mutters and Julie wants to ask what the ‘red bull incident’ is, but then Flynn is sliding three shot glasses towards them, salt and limes following, apparently having ordered without any of them noticing.

“We’re standing with mango!” Flynn shouts, shot already in one hand and salt on the other, clearly waiting for the three of them to catch up. Reggie lowers his arms and Julie can feel Luke’s hand brush past her arm as he moves to lick the back of his hand, she can feel herself flushing as she watches him do it. And is happy to note that he flushes just the same as he watches her lick her hand in turn.

Idly, Julie notices that Reggie counts them down, that Luke inclines his head at her before he lifts his shot to his lips, that Julie lifts her own, the liquid sliding down her throat with a slight burn that’s not eased at all by the lime she bites into. She squeezes her eyes shut against it and when she opens them sees Luke grinning at her, eyes full of something she can’t name but makes her want to blush again.

“Y’know what? Screw Alex, four of the coffee my good man!” Reggie shouts next to her, waving a hand at the bartender in front of them who just rolls their eyes but puts out four more shot glasses.

“Okay, you gotta tell us about the red bull incident,” Flynn finally asks what had been nibbling at the back of her mind from the moment Luke had spoken so she pulls her attention away from him and back to her friends as Reggie launches into his story that even grabs the attention of the bartender for a moment.

But Luke is a warm presence at her side, leaning into her space and breath ghosting against her neck as he chimes in the story. If she stepped back, just a little, she could lean her back against his chest. She wonders if he’d wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady? Julie blinks and blows out a breath, raising an eyebrow as Reggie talks.

“Wait, how’d you get onto the roof?”

“So why Liverpool?” Luke asks, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat as they aimlessly walk through almost empty streets, faint music coming from clubs and other drunk people giggling in doorways. The fresh air has helped a little to sober her up, but not enough for her to know where they’re going. But they’re following Carrie, who has a plan for the night and they’ve no option but to follow it.

Julie wraps one arm around herself, the other pushing hair over one shoulder as she thinks about it. There isn’t really a big fancy answer, no special reason for her choice, she shrugs at Luke, lips ticking up into a smile.

“It was the only place still with spots open,” she can see the slight confusion on his face and explains more, “I wasn’t going to take the study abroad year, but I changed majors and I needed to get away from home for a while. Carrie and Flynn had already signed up and the internet said the train didn’t take too long to get to Manchester or Glasgow.”

“You changed majors?”

Of all the things she’s said that hadn’t been the part she’d thought Luke would zone in on. It wasn’t really something she liked to talk about much, her fall away from music. She still loved it, still listened and wrote and sang, but the passion she’d once had, the magic she’d once felt whenever she sat at a piano? It had gone away. Had been gone for a long time. Had been gone for four years and she’d only been pretending she still felt the magic.

Everything she played or wrote was missing something and no one had seemed to notice but here.

It hadn’t been until one of her teachers in first year had pointed something out that Julie had finally confessed. And changed course and major the next week.

Everyone had tried to understand, had listened as she explained why she couldn’t do it. How her mom and music were so intertwined together in her head and her heart that it felt impossible to detangle them, to love and play music without always feeling like there was something missing. But she knew they didn’t really get it

So she’d signed up for the study abroad, and picked Liverpool because they had a good English Lit course and was close enough to her friends if she needed them. Okay, so maybe she’d lied a little, there was a fancy answer for why she’d moved, but picking Liverpool had just been random.

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’ and glances ahead of them, where Willie has Alex clinging on to his back, running through a puddle and laughing loud and clear. She can’t help but smile at them, at the carefree way Willie spins around and Alex holds tighter, face red with whatever he’s trying to say between laughs. Luke must follow her gaze because he lets out a soft snort of laughter, and she can see him shake his head from the corner of her eye.

“I’d hate them if they weren’t so adorable together,” he muttered, but his gaze is soft as they both watch the couple; Willie lets Alex off his back and grabs hold of his hand before he had a chance to get too far away. They’re all soft eyes and teasing smiles and vibes that scream about being in love, you’d have to be blind not to see it. Julie looks away, feeling like she’s intruding on a private moment as they share a kiss.

“Tell me about the tour,” Julie says, drawing Lukes attention back to her and it’s the right thing to say because his face lights up with a smile that she’s sure is going to drive girls wild one day soon.

Julie nods along with the song blaring through the speakers, mouthing the words so herself as she scrolls through her phone, ignoring the press of bodies crowding the smoking area as best she can. From her spot near the wall, opposite the door, she can see Carrie and Willie and Alex dancing together, wide smiles and heads thrown back.

Flynn and Reggie are talking to a group of people off to the side and Julie can see the way Flynn has pulled her braids over one shoulder and is gesturing to Reggie every few words the way she does when she’s trying to hype someone up (she knows, from having been on the receiving end of it, many times). Bobby, standing with them, seems to find the whole thing hilarious, grinning around the cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Okay, favourite book?” Luke asks, leaning in close to be heard over the noise and if he doesn’t move back, well Julie’s not about to complain. The little space heaters on the wall don’t provide much warmth, and it’s January and she’s cold and someone ruined her jacket.

“Currently or of all time?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she turns her head a little to look at him. Her heart stutters for a second at how close his face is to hers, she can see the small flecks of green in his eyes, can feel his breath ghost across her cheeks.

“Current,” he says and she can see as his eyes flicker down to her lips quickly before back up to her eyes and Julie really hopes she’s not blushing right now.

“Stardust. By Neil Gaiman. I’m reading it for one of my classes and it hits all the boxes for a fairytale.” She likes fairy tales, likes the idea of them, likes the message of true love and pure of heart and happily ever afters. This one just happened to involve lightning pirates which was a bonus. Okay, so maybe the lightning pirates were mostly a film detail, but still. “Favourite food?”

“There’s this little hole in the wall place down by the strip? They do the best cheeseburgers. If I could have one for every meal, I would.”

They’re still standing close together, eyes staring too intensely for a game of twenty questions and comments about cheeseburgers and Julie’s eyes flicker to his lips, can see the way they’re pulling up a little on one side. She wants to lean forwards, close the gap between them and press her lips against his. But then she shivers, shoulders hunching up around her ears as she rubs her bare arms, conscious of how close they’re sitting and how much she just kind of wants to steal his body heat.

“Are you cold?” He’s biting his lip, pulling back out of her personal space and Julie almost whines at the loss of contact and body heat and – well maybe she’s too drunk to be making smart choices right now if she’s five seconds away from whining.

“Well someone ruined my jacket,” she points out, eyebrows raised at him and is rewarded with his cheeks flushing and one hand rubbing at the back of his neck which she’s quickly coming to realise means he’s embarrassed or just a little flustered.

“I thought we’d agreed to forgive and forget about that?” He mumbles and before she can come up with a response Luke is standing up, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and then he’s carefully draping it over her shoulders, fingers tapping lightly on her arm until she holds it out for him to slip through one arm hole, doing the same on the other side and then pulling her hair out from under the collar.

It’s too big on her, but the faux fur inside is soft on her skin and still warm from Luke and she can stick her thumbs through the little gaps created by the fastened buttons and if she turned her head a little she could smell his aftershave clinging to the collar. Julie can’t help the little smile that graces her face, rotating her shoulders to let the coat settle better on her body.

Looking up at him her brows furrow a little at the look on his face (if she wasn’t so drunk and giddy and tired she’d say it was something like awe but that made no sense. Why would Luke be looking at her in awe while she wore his jacket?), but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared and he’s smiling at her, that wide smile from back at the start of the night when he’d handed her her drink and she’d tapped it against his.

“Thanks,” she tilts her head to the side, loose curls falling across her cheeks as she looks at him, a wide smile of her own and she opens her mouth to say something else – though she’s not sure what she’s going to say – when another voice cuts through and pops the little bubble they’ve created.

When did they even create their private conversation bubble? Julie doesn’t know, and from the way Luke’s head whips around to land on Flynn and Reggie and Bobby with wide eyes, he probably doesn’t know either. But it’s nice to know that he’d been enjoying their conversation as much as she had.

“We’re gonna get food, come on!”

“I wanted to be wrapped up in bed an hour ago,” Julie sighed but there’s no real annoyance in her tone as she hugs Luke’s jacket closed tight across her chest, shoulder brushing against his arm as they walk.

“But you also wanted pizza instead of McDonalds like everyone else.” And Luke has a point but she still pulls a face, sticking her tongue out at him and getting a laugh in return. She couldn’t even be annoyed at it, he had a nice laugh.

Plus, when she’d said she wanted pizza Luke was the only one who’d wanted to come with her, the rest of their friends going back to their hotels. He’d walked all the way to the takeaway with her, shared half of his chips and then started walking her back to her dorm, insisting on carrying her half eaten pizza too. It was all very sweet and kind and not helping her not want to kiss him.

“Where’s your first stop?” She asks, because he was about to start a tour and she had school and maybe if they were both back home they might have been able to give something a go, but they weren’t and Julie wasn’t really a one night stand kind of person.

“We’re heading up to Newcastle on Sunday to kick it all off,” there was a slight bounce in his step, his excitement almost palpable and Julie could tell that this was all he’d ever wanted. To play music to as many people as he could. A small part of her remembered what that was like, to want to share your songs with the world.

“Sing something!” She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the street, bouncing a little on the balls on her feet and grinning at him. Because she was still a little drunk and she missed feeling excited about playing music and here was this sweet charming guy who loved it so much and felt it with everything he had and Julie wanted to be like that again too. She wanted to think about music without it being tinged with sadness.

“What?” He laughed, eyes a little wide and glassy and with his hair looking more wild then it had when they’d started the night, but Julie was pretty sure she looked the same so she didn’t comment.

“Sing! Anything! Please?” Julie tried pouting at him, doing her best impression of Carlos and his puppy dog eyes and something about it must have worked because Luke huffs out a laugh as he looks at her, biting his lip in thought for a moment before he nods his head for them to keep walking before he starts singing.

His voice is a little rough, from screaming lyrics in the clubs and shouting to be heard in the bars, and his words are a little slurred because he’s a little drunk and a lot tired, but Julie’s sober enough to decide it’s one of the best versions of Mamma Mia she’s ever heard. As he gets to the first chorus she joins in.

They were just two slightly drunk young adults, singing in the street and if nothing else comes of his night she’ll always have this memory of unadulterated joy.

“You can sing,” he whispers and now it’s Luke’s turn to pull her to a stop with a hand on her arm and a look of wonder on his face. Julie shrugs a little and can feel her cheeks heating, but she keeps their eye contact and smiles at him.

“Only drunk in the streets.” Which is more true then he’ll ever know.

Luke opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off by pointing over his shoulder at the building behind them.

“This is me.” She’s not sure what to do now, take her pizza and run? That seems a little rude, and unsafe. Julie’s not sure she can actually run in these shoes without falling. Luke looks over his shoulder quickly before looking back at her, blowing out a breath and nodding.

“Right, right.” He seems just as unsure as she is about what to do now, which makes Julie feel a little better about it.

“I should–”

“Can I–”

They both start at the same time and then Julie is laughing and Luke is huffing out a breath while a smile grows on his face. The only thing between them is a pizza box and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep flickering down to her lips.

“I can’t kiss you!” She blurts out, a hand quickly going up to cover her mouth and Luke’s eyes widen, taking a half step back, retracting his hand like he’d been burnt.

“That wasn’t– I– this–” Luke started stuttering, face going red and Julie quickly shook her head at him.

“That came out wrong! Fuck. I–” She curled her hands into fists at her sides, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them, “I want to kiss you, but I can’t.”

The shock on his face had softened at the start of her sentence only to morph into confusion at the end.

“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Molina.” Luke still looks confused, but he’s still standing in front of her and that’s enough for her.

“I like you,” she dips her head as she says it, because Julie’s pretty sure she could really like him if given the chance, “but I’m no good at one night...things and you’re about to go on a tour and I’m stuck here and I just, I think– I think I’d like us to be friends. I think we could be really good friends actually.”

Because they’d only spent a few hours together and she’d laughed and smiled more in that time then she had in awhile. Luke was sweet and funny and had something to say about every song the DJ picked to play but sang along anyway. Which is why she doesn’t want to risk a friendship for one night in bed. The confusion on Luke’s face turns into understanding and the soft, slightly sad smile that he gives her tells Julie that she’s right. A friendship with him would be better than one really fun night.

“I get it,” and he carefully puts his hand back on her arm, squeezing slightly before pulling away. “And, for the record, I’m not very good at one night things either.”

Her heart beat sounds loud in her ears and it takes Julie a moment to refocus her thoughts. Friendship. No kissing. Friendship.

“Well, maybe if we can keep a friendship going until we next see each other we can try this moment again,” she waves her hand around them with a small laugh. They could probably keep a friendship going long distance, but Julie isn’t so sure that they’ll ever get a moment like this again.

“Deal,” Luke grins down at her and pulls his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it, Julie raises her eyebrows at him when he holds it out for her, “In order to keep in touch we’re gonna need to exchange numbers.”

“You make a point,” she agrees, putting in her information and handing it back to him in exchange for her pizza box. “Text me when you get back to your hotel, okay? So I know you didn’t get lost.”

“Yes, boss.” His smile is a little teasing now and Julie shakes her head at him as she brushes past him to walk into her dorm. She’s half way across the road when stops in her tracks to turn back at him.

“Wait, I’m still wearing your jacket.” Julie stars to shrug the item off when Luke shakes his head, already starting to walking backwards down the street.

“No, keep it!” He shouts with a smile, “Means we’ll have a reason to see each other again and have another go at this.”

Julie just shakes her head at him with a laugh, watching as he walks away before tightening her grip on the box and finally making it into her dorm. She’s still got an essay to write and a pile of laundry to put away and magic in music is still missing, but she’s gotten herself a new jacket and a friend who she thinks could make her life a little brighter. So she’ll forgive and forget that she's home an hour later than promised.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #carrie wilson #willie #flynn #rosie vs writing #i just. really like making fake texts and igs and tweets lmoa #*fics

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hms-chill · 4 years ago

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Red Velvet, White Meringue, and Royal Icing

The Bake Off AU that I didn’t know 2020 would need, written for @rwrbbigbang!

Henry is a dramaturg who lives and works in London with his sister Bea and dog David. His bakes have all been approved by the casts and creative teams at the theater where he works, and inspired by his family baking tradition.

Originally from the American state of Texas, Alex now lives in Kent, where he balances studying law with his love for baking. He

Alex came to Bake Off to find out how good he is. Henry came to find new ideas and inspiration, and maybe to prove to himself that he can carry on his dad's baking traditions. But with ten weeks in a tent, they both find a little more than they bargained for.

With art by @emry-stars (which you can find Here and Here), and a massive thanks to Syd, @/wyverning on Twitter, for hopping in as a very last minute beta and dealing with my disaster of a first draft!

Chapter 1: Cake Week

“And you’ve got your recipes, right?”

Henry rolls his eyes with a smile, patting his bag. “Yes, Bea. They’re right here, safe and sound. If I lose them, I’m sure they’ll have the copies I sent them in the tent.”

“The little laundry sheets so you can do wash in case you get something on your top?”

“I’ve got them, too. I’m going to be fine; there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call you when I get there, and before we start tomorrow, and I’ll keep you posted.”

She hugs him again, adding, “Dad would be so proud of you.”

He grins when they pull away, and she reaches up to ruffle his hair while he swats at her hands and escapes toward the train, waving with a confidence he’s not sure he feels. Bea had been there when he auditioned for the show, to proofread his application and help him learn the basics of food photography for the Instagram account she’d set up for him. She’d been there when they called him for the phone interview, and she’d cleaned up while he made things for the first in person interview. She’d helped him scour cookbooks and drill baking basics before his technical application, and she’s spent the past week testing his practice bakes and cleaning up after him, typically with nightly pep talks about how good he is and how she’s proud of him. But now, it’s just him and his overnight bag getting on the train for Berkshire. He’s committed to his bakes, and he’s sure of what he’s doing. Now, all that’s left is to do it.

The train ride is somehow both too long and too short all at once. He tries to get some work done, but the nerves make it hard. He wants to shout at everyone on the train that he’s made it, that he’s going to be on the show and in the tent, baking with the best home bakers in the country. He wants to ask each and every passenger if maybe they’re going to the same place, maybe they’ve done it, too, and the two of them are going to get to bake together. He wants to ask if a Victoria sponge is too simple, if he’s committed to something stupid enough to get him sent home the first week just because he’s a sentimental sap.

A crew member from the show meets him at the train station, and there’s someone else next to him, a Black man wearing the most colorful shirt Henry has ever seen. He’s got a big smile as he reaches out to shake Henry’s hand.

“I’m Percy. Call me Pez, like the sweets.”

“Henry. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you. I think we’re waiting for one more, then we’ll go to the hotel and see the tent and things. You excited?”

Henry nods as another boy comes over in a rush, his curls flopping into his face and bag inches away from falling off his shoulder. He sticks his hand out, and the bag slips down his arm, settling around his elbow as he shakes their hands.

“Hi. Hi, sorry I’m late, I’m Alex.”

Henry and Pez introduce themselves, and the crew member whose name Henry doesn’t quite remember (it might be Sarah?) gets them into a car and driving toward the hotel where they’ll be staying for the weekend. Ideally, they’ll be back next weekend, too , but thinking about leaving already feels like a lot for week one. Alex introduces himself as a law student from Canterbury, and Pez works at a nonprofit in Manchester. Henry just tells them he does research for a theater; it’s not quite worth getting into everything when they’re all just getting to know each other. He’s more than happy to let the others talk; he hears about Alex’s classes and Pez’s charity work. He hears about how Alex moved from America to Scotland with his mom when she married his stepdad, but he still goes back to America in the summer and for some holidays.

He half-listens, half-worries about the upcoming weekend. He checks to make sure he’s still got his recipes at least three times. They still haven’t escaped, thankfully, and by the third time he looks in his bag, Alex, who’s sitting next to him, notices. “Hey, they’re there; it’s fine. We’re all nervous, but it’ll be okay.”

Henry just smiles at him. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice before, but Alex is… well. Alex’s face is very, very nice. He’s got a bit of a smile, and Pez is saying something, but Henry’s not sure what it is and he knows he doesn’t care.

“I just don’t want to go home first,” he admits, and Alex grins.

“Listen. If I think you’re going out, I’ll drop a cake on the floor and we’ll go together, okay?” Henry laughs a bit, and Alex pats his shoulder, then turns back to say something to Pez. His hand is still on Henry’s shoulder, and it stays there until they reach the hotel where they’ll meet the others, and Henry tries his hardest to think about or focus on other things, but it’s certainly distracting.

Alex doesn’t move his hand until they’re pulling up at the hotel, and when it’s gone it leaves a cold spot in its place. Henry doesn’t have long to think about that, though, as he’s climbing out of the car and joining a crowd already around a minibus with the Bake Off logo on the side. Probably-Sarah takes their bags to their rooms, explaining that they’ll be going to the tent tonight to get a look at it and learn how things like the ovens and the mixers work.

They have the obligatory round of slightly awkward introductions, and Henry finds himself next to a man named Shaan whose aura of calm somehow seems to quiet even Henry’s jangling nerves. They’re talking about Shaan’s role as a curator with the National Museum of Scotland and their exhibit on prosthetics when the bus turns a corner and they see the white peaks of the tent emerging from behind the Welford Park House. Henry stops in the middle of a question about the Alternative Limb Project’s Vine Arm to gape, and Shaan leans over to look out the window as well. The whole atmosphere of the bus has changed, and there are a few moments of silence before it erupts into excited chattering, everyone seeming to remember all at once why they’re here. Henry still just looks, grinning, out the window. That’s the tent. This is it. He snaps a picture to send Bea.

Then they’re getting out, and they’re walking the tent. They’re being shown which benches they’ll bake at tomorrow, and they’re meeting the hosts and judges and crew, and Henry’s brain can’t seem to focus on any of it. It doesn’t quite seem real, but between Shaan’s grounding presence and Pez’s chatter, it’s hard to believe he’s dreaming. Alex being here is another point in the not-a-dream category; he’s not sure he could have imagined a smile that bright.

It’s a whirlwind trip, and they’re loading back onto the minibus before too long, Henry’s head spinning. He’ll be back here tomorrow, baking cakes he used to bake with his dad, and he’ll be doing it for TV cameras and in front of the entire world. He’ll be telling the world about growing up baking cakes, and those very cakes he used to make with his dad could be the ones that send him home.

That night, the production team takes them out to dinner, and Henry meets Nora, the data analyst Alex has become fast friends with via a heated debate about how easy a pothos plant is to keep alive. He mentions that Bea’s kept one for a few years without much struggle, which drags him into the debate and gets them all laughing. They’re not talking about their bakes, and Henry’s glad. He’s got enough to worry about without hearing the amazing things the others have planned.

The next morning, they have an early call. Henry’s in the lobby of the hotel even before they need to be, though, texting Bea an extra thank you and checking, once again, that he has everything he needs. The last thing he wants is to get to the tent and realize he’s left something here. He’s halfway through another text to Bea when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to see Shaan.

“Hello. Couldn’t sleep either?” Henry asks with a smile. Shaan shrugs.

“I just think it never hurts to be a bit early to things.” He’s got a thermos of coffee, but beyond that, he looks just as polished as he would any other time of day. There’s no indication that he’s up at 5 AM.

“What do you think will happen today? I mean, I know they walked us all through it, but that’s not the same as actually doing it, and no one… no one really talked about things last night.”

“I think we’ll go in there and bake. What do you have planned?”

“Some… some Victoria sponges today. Mini ones. I… I’m sort of scared it’s too simple, but we used to make them with my dad growing up, and so I have a lot of practice. My sister suggested I pick something pretty simple that I’m familiar with for the first bake so I get used to it.”

“I think that’s a good plan, and I’m sure if you’ve been making these since you were young, you’ve got it down.”

“What are you making?”

“It’s a green tea cake; we had them at a gallery opening a few years back.”

“It sounds good; I’ll have to try some when you’re done.”

Shaan smiles at him, and Henry relaxes a bit. He looks around to see some of the other contestants have joined them in the lobby. He spends some time talking to Hunter, who’s very excited about the new high-protein flour he’s using for his cakes, and decides that he would maybe rather pull his ears off than hear more about high-protein flour or different milling varieties and their nutritional benefits. He’s in the bus when Alex arrives in the seat next to him, looking tired and carrying the biggest thermos Henry’s ever seen.

“Hello again. Ready for the big day?” Alex asks around a yawn.

“I’m not sure. I guess? We sort of have to be,” Henry says, and Alex nods.

“I can’t argue with you there. Still. You feel ready?”

“As ready as I can. What about you?”

“I guess. I think my sister’s more worried than I am, if I’m honest.”

“You have a sister?”

“An older one; June. She’s thinking of moving back to the states, but for now she’s working for a few magazines here.”

“Is it weird, sort of being here and sort of being back in the States?”

“I guess. It’s just sort of how it’s been since we moved, you know?”

“Think you’ll ever go back?”

“I’m not sure. It was sort of weird deciding to move, but June was coming since she was interested and school here’s a lot more affordable, so I came, too. It was… you know, this exciting new start and everything, and we’re pretty happy staying here and going back for summers sometimes.”

Henry just nods as they turn into Welford Park, looking down at the bag where he’s got his recipes again. Alex smiles.

“They all there?”

He’s teasing, and Henry just rolls his eyes. He’s expecting to be nervous as they all climb out of the van, but somehow, he’s not. Alex’s hand on his shoulder likely has nothing to do with that.

They file in to stand behind their assigned benches.

Henry puts his recipes and a picture of him and his dad baking down in front of him, taking a deep breath.

On your mark.

Get set.

Bake.

And then he’s reaching for the eggs and flour and sugar, and he’s baking a miniature Victoria sponge, just like he’s done a thousand times before. And yes, he’s in a tent rather than a kitchen, and yes, there’s the hustle and bustle of camera crews and other bakers around him, but it’s just baking. It’s just the same Victoria sponge he used to make for his mum every year on her birthday, when they’d each decorate one for her and she’d look at them all and puzzle over it before she declared them all the best decorators.

The first Royal Tour arrives before any of them are really ready for it. Henry sees Amy frantically cleaning a few things off her station as the judges come to stand in front of him. He’s seen this bit a million times, but it feels surreal to actually be the one in the spotlight.

“I’m Henry; I’m making some Victoria sponges. When we were kids, we used to make them with my dad, and all three of us kids would decorate them for our Mum.”

“Did you have to fight it out to have the best cake?” Noel asks, and Henry laughs.

“She’d always say we were all her favorite.”

“Bit simple, isn’t it?” Paul asks, and Henry’s heart is in his throat.

“I was hoping to do something where my nerves wouldn’t get in the way as much, at least for the first bake,” he explains, and Sandi smiles.

“Well, I think that if you do it well, something like this will really show us what you can do,” Prue says, and as they move on, Henry thanks every saint he’s ever disappointed that at least she’s on his side.

He has a second after he puts the cakes in when he can look around to see how everyone else is doing, and he sees an explosion of color on Pez’s station. Across the aisle from him, he sees a personal assistant named Zahra with a station he swears is neater than his was when they started. Nora is in front of him, checking things off a complex spreadsheet while surrounded by chaos, and somewhere, he thinks Alex might be swearing in Spanish.

After a second to breathe, Henry starts on his jam and buttercream, keeping an eye on his mini cakes. He’s making more than they used to with his dad, but even so, it feels just as familiar and comfortable.

The fillings come together, and then he gives himself a half second to check them before he’s on to assembling, setting a single raspberry in the middle of each cake and carefully piping designs on the tops. Noel announces that they have one minute left, and Henry gets everything on the end of his bench and leans back as they finish counting down.

Just like that, the first bake is over, and the bakers file out to rest. This is the part where the TV element of the show takes over; their bakes are going to get their beauty shots and the bakers are going to be interviewed. Hunter gets pulled first, so Henry gets to flop down onto the couch. Pez settles beside him, automatically resting a hand on Henry’s knee, and it turns out that he’s used a colorful mirror glaze and real flowers, either of which could have been the colors Henry saw. He asks about Nora’s spreadsheet, and she shows it to him, covered in frosting and batter and marking out what she should be doing every ten minutes.

When everything’s ready for them, the bakers traipse back into the tent, all quiet and nervous as they face their first round of judging. As much as Henry is trying to pay attention to everyone else’s comments, he’s too nervous to focus on much aside from the occasional word until the judges are in front of him.

He’s smiling, doing his best to relax as they take a bite. Paul reiterates that his cakes are simple, but says they’re perfectly done, and Prue agrees with him. Henry grins, finally feeling like he can breathe as he sits down. Behind him, Cash gets compliments on his flavors and the unique designs. Alex is next, and Henry hears them compliment his cake, but complain that it’s a bit claggy, which he’d been worried about. As they file out for lunch, Henry manages to get beside Alex and ask how it went, but Alex just shrugs.

“I made a damn good tres leches; if they thought it was a weird texture I’m not too upset about it. I mean, obviously I’m not thrilled, but you know. It was the type of cake they didn’t like, not my version of it. So it’s not, you know, that I’m bad at baking or anything, at least not really. This table look good?” Henry nods and sits, which is how he finds himself at a table with Nora, Pez, Alex, and Hunter, who turns out to be both very talkative and intensely boring.

Alex is across from Henry, and whenever they make eye contact, Alex makes a face, quietly mocking Hunter. Henry smiles, and he nods when Hunter says things, but it’s nice to know he’s not the only one bored with Hunter’s rambling. Alex is on his side, both in and out of the tent, and that’s nice to know, too, especially going into the technical.

Henry’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, but the technical’s been in the back of his mind. He’s done what he can to prepare for it, but he has no idea what to expect. Still, Alex will be baking near him, and Zahra will be across from him, and she seems like the sort of person who will know what’s happening if he gets really lost and needs to see what she’s up to. It’ll be alright.

They file back to the tent as lunch ends, and Henry takes a deep breath as he settles behind his bench, tying the apron. It’s just this technical, then they’ll be getting dinner together and spending time in the hotel, probably talking about the loved ones they’re making their showstopper cakes for. Henry is more than ready to talk about Bea and how much he loves her, and he wonders briefly who Alex is making a cake for. He’s been so focused on worrying about the technical that he hasn’t gotten a chance to know the other bakers as well as he hopes, but maybe that chance will come over a dinner with the bakers he’s starting to become friends with.

He tries to think about that instead of the gingham-clad mystery pile in front of him. There are ingredients for something under that fabric, but he can’t know what, and it’s not going to help to try and guess. He just takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the judges’ advice instead.

As it turns out, Prue’s advice is just to read closely, which is about as helpful as telling them to remember to breathe or that cakes need sugar. That’s all they get before the judges step out, and Noel has a joke about their figure skating class before Sandi announces the dish they’ve been tasked with.

They’re making something called nut cake. Henry thinks he may have heard of it once, and the cake itself seems fairly simple. The icing for it looks a bit more complicated, but that’s an issue for Future Henry. The cake is a problem for right now, and it’s not nearly as much of a problem as he thought it might be. And right now, Henry’s just baking, falling into the routine of reading a new recipe and figuring things out. He and Bea have been practicing technicals for weeks now, and he’s been reading old recipes for years so he can bake things appropriate for different plays he’s working on. As it turns out, deciphering them has helped him get ready for figuring out pared down modern ones.

Behind him, he hears Jeffrey, a man he’s not particularly close to, panicking.

Zahra seems in control, and while there are varying degrees of panic happening around him, everyone else seems relatively calm.

Nora’s workstation is a mess, as is Pez’s, but they and some of the other messy bakers seem like they’ll thrive in that mess. By contrast, Jeffrey’s mess just looks like mess.

But as much as he cares for the other bakers, Henry does his best to ignore them, at least for now. He tries to just concentrate on his own cake, even if it demands less concentration than he might have guessed. Even as they shift to icing, it’s far from the hardest thing he’s ever baked. The judges might be easing them into the technicals, but Henry’s glad for it. As the final seconds tick down, he’s drizzling the icing on his cake, and as he steps back he declares it ‘good enough’.

Carrying it up to the table and setting it behind his picture feels surreal, especially surrounded by the other bakers doing the same. He’s seen it on TV a million times, but somehow, doing it himself still sends a slight shiver down his spine. His cake doesn’t look bad compared to the others, and as he’s filing out to take a break with the rest of the bakers, he gets a glimpse at Jeffrey’s. It doesn’t look iced. In their resting area, Henry learns that he’s afraid it’s underbaked; apparently he’d forgotten to add nuts to his first one and had to restart with barely any time left.

As much as Henry hates to see anyone upset, a tiny, tiny part of him is relieved. He doesn’t want to come last in the technical, especially not the first one. They’re called back into the tent once it’s clean, and as they file onto the stools, Henry is sandwiched between Shaan and Alex. Alex grabs his hand; his cake is on the end where they’ll start the tasting and he’s pretty clearly worried. Henry just gives his hand a squeeze as the judges try his cake, and when they move on, Alex doesn’t stop squeezing, so Henry keeps a tight hold through the whole thing.

It is, by far, the worst part of the day. The deliberation about cakes is too quiet to hear, and it seems to take forever, but then they’ve decided. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard he thinks his fingers might go numb as the judges step forward to announce the results of the first technical challenge this group of bakers have ever faced.

Jeffrey comes in last. Alex is fourth, and to his shock, Henry comes in first. He’s not sure what to think, but he knows he has to call Bea as soon as he can. He has to thank her for how much she’s done to test him and get him ready for this part of the competition. Alex pulls him into a hug almost immediately, and Henry grins as Cash, a stay at home dad who seems great, joins in. They get pulled aside for more interviews, and Henry gets to be really, really excited without having to worry about hurting or offending anyone else, but even on the bus back, even as he tries to keep it toned down a bit so as not to upset anyone, he can’t quite help his grin.

He calls Bea that night from the hotel room, because really, he can’t think of anything else to do with these emotions. She picks up on the first ring.

“Henry! You did so well! I knew you would.” Just hearing her voice is enough to pull some of the tension out of his shoulders, and he laughs a bit.

“I never… god, it was a lot, but I… I did it.”

“You did it! And you got first in technical; I’m so proud of you. Dad would be, too, I know it.”

He just smiles, talking to her until there’s a knock on his door, and Pez is there to invite him out for dinner with some of the other contestants. Bea tells him to go have fun, and he finishes getting changed, then finds Pez, Alex, Nora, and a reporter named Oliver at the hotel bar. Alex is talking about a family friend he’s planning to make a cake for tomorrow, about how they’ve been friends since his dad took Raf in when his coming out didn’t go well. They’d had a tradition of birthday cookies, but Raf was used to cakes, so he’s the only one they make cake for. He’s planning a big cake decorated with cookies, just like they’d always done.

Henry gets to talk about how much he loves Bea, then a student named Liam joins them and hesitantly talks about how his boyfriend’s parents’ anniversary was last week, so he’s replicating the cake he made them. Pez demands a picture of Liam and his boyfriend, and they all get to admire how cute they are while Liam blushes. Pez moans that he and his partner will never be that cute, and he uses the word ‘partner’, which makes Liam relax a bit and makes Henry grin as a wave of quiet warmth washes over him. Even though he’d known that people would probably be fine if he came out, it’s nice to know he wouldn’t be alone if he did. Seeing Liam and Spencer’s pictures, and hearing that Pez probably isn’t straight (though honestly, he’d piqued Henry’s gaydar early on), helps quiet the part of him that’s worried.

Apparently Liam was the only one they were waiting for, so Pez leads the way to a nearby restaurant. Shaan and Zahra are there already, and they wave them over. The eight of them end up monopolizing a corner booth, filling the table with good food and the benches with good conversations. Zahra’s planning a baby shower cake for her sister, and Shaan’s planning one as a test for his parents’ renewal of vows. They finish dinner and go to bed relatively early, knowing they’ve got an early call tomorrow, but Henry goes to bed feeling better about the showstopper than he ever could have imagined.

It’s him and Shaan downstairs early the next day, and they make small talk and text their families while they wait for the others to come down. It’s a nice way to wake up, and Henry’s already starting to get used to this routine, to morning conversations about Shaan’s museum over tea and coffee. Shaan offers to give him a tour of the archives if he comes to visit, and Henry promises to take him up on that next time he’s in Edinburgh. Even that feels nice, to plan to see each other again after this is all over, and to know that even if he goes home this week, he’ll have made at least one friend.

The other bakers trickle down as Henry and Shaan are finishing their tea, and it’s not long before they’re all there, loading into the minibus and heading off to the tent to make cakes for their loved ones. Henry’s planning one shaped like a guitar for Bea, using a sponge recipe similar to the one they’d made with their dad but flavored especially for her. It’s the one bake he hasn’t practiced with her around, the only one she’s never tried in full. He wants her to be surprised when she watches the show.

He tells Paul and Prue about having lied about his plans to her when they come on the royal tour, and it makes Paul laugh, which is a relief from his regular stoicness. Prue tells him it’s sweet, Noel asks if there’s anything else he’d like to confess to lying to her about, and Henry honestly admits to having never lied to Bea in any other circumstance, and then they’re moving on. Behind him, Henry hears Cash talk about making a cake with layers for each of his kids, and he can’t help but grin. He’ll have to take a peek at that cake when decorating time comes.

His own cake is going well. He’s been playing it safe this week, and he knows that, but at least that means that he doesn’t have to worry about anything too hard. He’s made each of these cakes for Bea before, and he made a guitar cake for her last birthday. The hardest part is the assembly. He’s decided to have the guitar stand upright, probably because he’s an idiot, so the last two hours of the bake is entirely dedicated to carefully, carefully stacking cakes on top of each other and carving them into the right shape. He’s planning a mirror glaze, both because it will mimic the shine of Bea’s guitar and because he’s an idiot who likes to use every second of their allotted time and stress himself out as he does. He’s sure he’ll have time, but he’s making a brown fondant just in case.

He’s just getting his fondant-covered cake in the freezer when he hears Alex swear behind him, and he doesn’t even think before he turns to see what’s wrong. Alex has a decorative cake tin, and he’s frantically tapping it on a baking sheet. Henry goes over to his bench, and he can feel a camera following him as he asks, “How can I help?”

“Just… it won’t come out.”

“Did you run a knife around the middle? Try that.”

There’s a tense silence as Alex does. Henry’s holding his breath.

Alex flips the cake over again, shaking it up and down a few times on the baking sheet. Henry can just hear the thunk as it falls, and Alex lets out a shaky breath as he pulls the tin off. The cake emerges, looking complete, and Alex grins. Henry grins back, and Alex thanks him as he picks up a piping bag. Henry turns back to his own bench as Alex says, “Hey, if you need me to drop this on the floor, I still will.”

Henry just laughs as he goes back to his own bench. As he goes around Cash’s, Cash says, “Hey, either of you are welcome to drop anything on the floor as long as it’s not mine. Amy looks pretty confident over there.”

Alex tosses the top of a strawberry onto the ground behind Cash’s bench, and Cash laughs, and Henry starts on his mirror glaze infinitely less worried than he would have been otherwise.

He’s pulled shortbread decorations out of the oven and drizzled his mirror glaze over the cake when Noel calls the two minute warning, and his piping of the strings is a bit sloppy, but when he steps back he can barely believe he’s done it. It’s a bit messy, but it looks like a guitar, and he knows Bea would be thrilled with it. Really, that’s all that matters. He’s feeling good about it, but when he turns and sees Cash’s cake, he knows he’s lost any shot at star baker. It’s a towering beauty, each layer individually decorated with castles, jungles, and pirate ships.

Cash brushes aside their compliments, but when Henry asks about the kids, he starts talking about each of them, rambling and rambling as they leave the tent for their break. Henry just grins and listens as Cash’s excitement completely overwhelms any worry Henry might be feeling. Instead of thinking about if his cakes are too dry or if something is wrong with his fondant, Henry gets to look at pictures of Cash’s kids and husband and dog. It makes for a fantastic distraction while they wait for the tent to be cleaned up, and Henry wonders briefly just how many more people he can ask about pets or kids while they wait.

Cash rambles about his family through most of their break, and Henry is happy to just sit back and listen. Cash is clearly a good dad, and he’s more than happy to ramble about his son’s ballet recital or his daughter’s favorite cookie recipe throughout the entire cleaning period and photoshoot.

He’s still talking about his kids as they photographers finish up, so Henry gets to focus on that instead of worrying as they settle behind the benches for the final time that day. Henry is too far back to hear what the judges are saying to anyone else, but he watches Hunter’s and Jeffrey’s shoulders slump, watches Prue smile at Cash and Oliver, and he grins when Pez brings a rainbow explosion past his bench. Pez just winks as Henry laughs a bit.

Then it’s his turn, and he’s carefully carrying the cake up. It looks good; recognizably an electric guitar leaning against an amp. The judges like the flavors and the look, but it is dry. He’d been afraid of that; he’d been making fondant while it baked, and left it in a bit too long. Still, over all, it’s positive. Alex gives him a thumbs up as he carries the cake back, and Cash smiles at him. It’s not a bad cake, and he’s done well in the technical. He’s probably going to be back next week, and that’s good enough for now.

He does his best to focus on the others’ comments, but this far back it isn’t easy. It feels a bit like playing telephone as the bakers closer to the front say things like we’ve all had dry cakes or I heard good things. Reactions seem to be pretty varied across the board, and it doesn’t seem like Henry’s the only one who’s not done his best, but this far back he has no real idea.

The judges and hosts leave to make a decision, and the bakers are left to mill around the tent before eventually settling on the stools at the front. Alex is beside Henry again, and he grabs Henry’s hand as the judges and hosts come out. He’s had a good bake, and done decently in the technical, but nothing’s guaranteed in the tent.

Cash gets star baker, surprising no one but himself. His showstopper pushed him over the top, just like Henry knew it would, and he’s thrilled to get to reach over and squeeze Cash’s shoulder to congratulate him. His husband and kids are going to be so proud.

Then comes the hard part. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard it’s turning white.

Sandi opens her mouth.

“Jeffrey.”

Alex drops Henry’s hand and gives him a little half-embarrassed smile, and Henry has just enough time for half a thought about how he hopes he and Alex stay on the show. He refuses to let himself think on that, just gives Cash a big hug and gets through their final interviews. He tells the interviewer that he’s not surprised Cash got it, because he really deserves it, and that he’ll be glad to come back next week. Cash joins them again while he’s on the phone with his husband and kids, and he’s beaming as he talks and they load into the minibus.

It’s a strange atmosphere on the bus. Jeffrey’s upset to be going home, but Henry can’t seem to find it in himself to be all that sad. He’s staying, and so are Alex and Shaan and Pez. He gets to come back and bake with his friends next week, and as much as going home sucks for Jeffrey, Henry can’t find any particular grief about it.

They only have a few minutes to get their bags together before they’re heading back to the train station. Henry says goodbye to Alex, Pez, and the others, then calls Bea as he slips his ticket into the slot. The train is already on the platform, and he finds an empty table and slides into it, still talking as he pulls his laptop out to get some work done. He’s just hanging up with her when someone slides into the seat across from him.

“Anyone sitting here?” Alex asks with a smile. Henry smiles back, shaking his head.

“Hello.”

“Hey. Good job in there today; that guitar looked great.”

“Looked great, tasted dry. Yours looked good, too; I’m sure your family friend would have loved it.”

“Thanks. I needed it to be good after that tres leches disaster yesterday.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t have to drop anything on the floor,” Henry says, and Alex grins.

“Me too.” Alex pulls out a laptop, but even as he opens it, he seems no less willing to end the conversation. “And, if I’m honest, I know this is meant to be the most wholesome experience and all, but I’m sort of glad Jeffrey’s gone.” He’s leaning across the table conspiratorially, and Henry finds himself leaning forward, too. “He rubbed me weird.”

“He… he sort of rubbed me weird, too. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

They share another conspiratorial smile, and Alex says, “Exactly. Like maybe he’s fine, but I’d rather him than someone else. I’d rather him than you or Nora or Pez any day.”

“He was just so…” Henry’s not quite sure what he wants to say, but Alex is nodding.

“Yeah. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

He’s finally turning his attention to his laptop, making an excuse about a paper he’s got to work on, so Henry turns back to his own work with a small smile, his leg occasionally brushing Alex’s. They both get drinks when the cart comes, tea for Henry and coffee for Alex, and Alex pays for both, promising that Henry can get it next time.

Next time, because there will be a next time.

When he meets Bea at the station that night, he’s not quite sure how to tell her about Alex, but she seems to know what to think, even if Henry doesn’t.

On AO3

When I started this fic back in February, I had no idea how much the world might need it come October. But here we are, and here it is! Ten chapters of gay baking! That I hope y'all love!

As always, if you want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund, you can tip me in ko-fi here! And if you want to support the Emry-Makes-Art fund, they’ve got commissions up on their blog!

#rwrb big bang #rwrb #rwrb bang #red white and royal blue fic #rwrb fic #my fic: rwrb #red white and royal blue au #bake off au #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #firstprince #red white and royal blue

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everwitch-magiks · 5 years ago

Text

of neighbourly attachments (part 4)

It takes Bitty seven attempts before he deems his maple-glazed apple pie passable.

It is, after all, an important pie. Partly, it is an apology pie, or at the very least an I’m so sorry I’m an awkward idiot pie. Yet it’s also a welcoming pie, or perhaps a thank you for welcoming me pie. Which, well.

Bitty isn’t entirely sure that Jack will be quite as welcoming, this time.

Ever since his realization at the garden party, Bitty has nervously tried to recall all his previous conversations with his neighbour Jack – also known as hockey superstar Jack Zimmermann, except Bitty unfortunately didn’t realize that before. On an even more unfortunate note, the memory of several of his interactions with Jack makes Bitty want to crawl into a deep hole and never come back out. If only he’d recognized those piercing blue eyes the first time he saw them, perhaps he wouldn’t have made such a complete fool of himself, repeatedly.

Bitty’s friends are never going to let him live this down.

Pie in hand, Bitty leaves his apartment and crosses the hallway. A moment passes. Then another.

Finally, his hands shaking, he manages to make himself ring the bell.

Steps are heard from behind the door, and then it’s quiet for a brief moment before Jack opens.

Bitty tries his best to smile politely.

“Hello there! I come bearing baked goods, as promised.”

“Eric,” Jack says, his tone warmer than Bitty had expected. He steps aside, quickly. Almost eagerly. “Come in.”

Bitty makes his way across the threshold somewhat hesitantly, toeing off his shoes when he sees that Jack is only wearing socks. This seems to be the right call, as Jack doesn’t comment on it – instead, he beckons for Bitty to follow him into another room.

Bitty does.

It’s the kitchen.

And although Bitty’s breath hitches for a moment – it’s a gorgeous kitchen, with countertops made of wood in a dark shade, black cupboards and silver details – he soon manages to compose himself. After all, Jack doesn’t have double ovens. And while those countertops look absolutely divine, they’re likely not maintenance free.

“What kind of pie is it?”

Jack has opened a cupboard and procured two cups. He’s holding what must be a package of coffee, and if Bitty didn’t know better, he’d say Jack looks sort of almost… Nervous?

“Do you want coffee? I also have tea, or, eh… Juice?”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.” Bitty carefully sets down his pie on the nearest countertop. “And the pie is a maple-glazed apple pie.”

“That sounds delicious,” Jack says, after a beat. “I guess this means that you know that I’m, uh. That I’m Canadian? And all that.”

“I most certainly do.” Bitty takes a deep breath, trying to gather his courage for what he’s about to say next. Because unfortunately, it really, truly needs to be said. “Jack, you should know that I had absolutely no idea that you’re… Well, that you’re you, until Eliana mentioned it at the party. I wasn’t trying to get close to you for any other reason than the fact that I really do think it’s lovely to be well acquainted with one’s neighbours, and if I’d known who I was talking to I’d never even have dreamed of bringing up hockey in the way that I did, and-”

“It’s okay,” Jack interrupts hurriedly. Somewhere in the middle of Bitty’s monologue, Jack’s ears have gone a little pink. “Really, it’s fine. I could have introduced myself properly to you, but I didn’t. And that’s on me.”

“All the same, I feel quite silly.” Bitty offers Jack a tentative smile. “I’m not sure if you’ll believe me when I say that you’re my favourite player of all time? But you really are. You’ve changed everything for those of us in the sport who… Well, who weren’t always accepted in the same way.”

“You… Oh.” Jack looks startled. And more importantly, his ears are no less pink, per say. “Were you out? When you played?”

“More or less.” Bitty grimaces. “I was in high school, there were some cute boys. And I wasn’t always open about it, but somehow a lot of people knew. It was really difficult for a while, especially with the team. Until you happened.”

Jack smiles wryly.

“I happened, eh?”

“That’s what it felt like. You were the top scorer in the league – and you had a boyfriend? Suddenly, everything was different.”

“I’m glad it made a difference, for you,” Jack says sincerely. “It’s just what we hoped would happen. That’s why it was worth everything that followed.”

“I haven’t actually told any of my old teammates that you’re my next door neighbour,” Bitty confides. “Or my mom, for that matter – goodness me, it might be better if I just never mention it to my folks. My mom might be on a plane across the country before I’d finished the sentence.”

“Your parents follow hockey?”

“From time to time, yes, but I have it on good authority that Suzanne Bittle never misses one of your games.” Bitty grins. “I imagine she’d be quite beside herself, if I ever told her about you.”

“Wait,” Jack says, staring at Bitty. “Wait. Bittle?”

“Yes?” Bitty says, confused.

“No,” Jack says.

“Actually, yes. Is it important?”

“You’re Eric Bittle.”

Bitty feels his cheeks go very, very pink.

“... Oh, right. That would be me, yes.”

Jack takes a step backwards, and then a step forwards, leaning slightly on the counter between them – almost as though Jack Zimmerman, superstar athlete, suddenly has trouble standing up without leaning on something for support.

“The Falconers watch your vlog before every single game.”

“What?”

Jack cracks a smile.

“We did once, at an away game against the Schooners? And we, uh, we won that game. So…”

“Oh my goodness.” Bitty feels quite breathless. “I’m your pre-game ritual?”

The tips of Jack’s ears suddenly look quite pink, once more.

“You’re, uh, definitely part of it? There’s also some stick-taping, and a nap if I can manage.”

“Sweet Mary,” Bitty murmurs. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah. It is.”

For a moment, they’re both silent.

“Oh,” Jack says.

Suddenly, he’s starting to smile.

“I can bring the leftovers from this pie to our next game. The guys would flip, if I did.”

“Now wait just one minute!” Bitty immediately protests – Jack looks startled. “First of all, I wouldn’t assume there will be much left over, if I were you. Secondly, you must let me bake more than enough pie for your whole team! It simply wouldn’t be right, otherwise. I’ll need lots and lots of apples, of course – you wouldn’t happen to know if there’s usually fresh fruit at the local market?”

“There is,” Jack says. He’s started to smile again, except now his smile is truly warm. “They’re likely open, still.”

“Oh, then I must go as soon as I can,” Bitty says eagerly. “I’m sure we can have coffee some other time, Jack – I hope you’ll enjoy the pie.”

“We could go together, maybe? To the market.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’m sure I’ll find my way there. I’ve already been-”

“No, I mean – we could go together, together. If you want.”

Bitty falls silent.

The tips of Jacks ears are, once again, quite adorably pink. The NHL superstar is shuffling his feet and looks a bit lost, as though he suddenly has absolutely no clue what he should do with his hands, or why he even has any external limbs in the first place.

Bitty swallows, and tries desperately to find his voice again.

“That would be lovely,” he tells Jack breathlessly. “Maybe we could go out and get the apples, and then come back for that cup of coffee, and apple pie?”

The smile Jack offers in return is Bitty’s favorite one yet.

“I’d really like that, yes.”

“Good. Great.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, Jack chuckles. “I think I might be about to lose a bet.”

“Pardon?”

“Just something Eliana said when she invited me to her family’s garden party.” Jack shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’ll just have to remember to send her flowers, one of these days.”

“Whatever you say.” Bitty lets himself take another breath, and then purposefully holds out a hand towards Jack. “Should we go, then?”

Jack nods, and takes Bitty’s hand in his, carefully lacing their fingers together.

As they set off together towards the local market, Bitty can’t help but think that moving to Providence wasn’t such a terrible mistake, after all.

#zimbits #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #check please #omgcp #the end #of neighbourly attachments #fanfiction #au #evie writes #thanks so much for reading this y'all it's been so much fun writing a lil series #now I wonder what I'll be writing next #trying not to go outside unless I have to because of the global pandemic so #writing seems like a pretty neat way to pass the time eh

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lilypixels · 4 years ago

Note

All of them 😄

ok wow you really went for it huh? ahdjkhsd I’ll answer all of them minus the three I just did I’ll put them under the read more thingy since this will be long :’D

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

I woke up two hours ago and only took a shower thus far so I’m feeling good lol

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

...idolish7 ajhjkfh i’m too obsessed with it h e l p

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

would it be bad if I said Idolish7/all the related groups (Trigger, Mezzo, Zool)?? cause technically a recentish discovery and I defiantly can’t get enough :’D my real answer is Reol

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

my room lol

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

my mom i guess??

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

one that some might not deem normal but works well for us lol (I mean, we’ve been friends for about 10 years now) we have a good understanding of each other and know we don’t have to talk/hang out all the time in order to know we still matter to each other, we both have our own lives and just knowing the other is there no matter what is enough. we’re the type to not talk for weeks and then send random memes and act like we’d been talking the whole time😂 it works really well for me too cause i’m not good at “socializing” on a constant basis and tend to just...not text people for ages on end, but I’ll still care for them and think about them just many see it as me cutting them out rip

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

tbh the time between spring and summer but fall has been earning some points recently

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

I often bake and game

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

I guess?? but i don’t like bothering people with my emotions often times so I just cuddle my cat haha

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

hmm...the second i think

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

i was binge-watching Tsukiuta but I’ve slowed down with s2 cause now I’m distracted with other things like genshin impact

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

i don’t even know/remember anymore, maybe left now???

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

Van Gogh’s Starry Night cause I like stars and nightviews

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

oooo interesting one, but I like all accents, I find them cute :3

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

I have a type with fictional characters and idol biases does that count? no?

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

i have none 😗✌

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

bold of you to assume i would go on a date idk a movie so i don’t have to talk lol

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

bold of you to assume I would- ahfkj i really don’t know, go to the library and have tea???

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

that’s a big NO from me, someone be catching hands if they tried

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

is it bad i thought of work? i have a fun time watching baby 😊

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

baking/decorating Christmas cookies that I’m gonna share with family and friends!

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

like a victorian house, gothic victorian is better, probably haunted, with an attic room hehe

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

anywhere but here lol

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

finish schooling and get job :b

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

uhhhhhh Clearwater Beach?

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

yesterday I guess cause i had good time shopping with my dad :3

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

my dream last night rip part of it was genshin related cause I played like 3 hours before sleeping and the rest was my mind trying to figure out where the story of an otome I’m playing is gonna go i’m at end of this dudes route and he just erased mc’s memories of him so like enggg

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? how many of each?

i wanna foster, adopt at least one kid and have one of my own, all the pets, maybe there’s some dude there idk kids and animals all i need aha

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

i don’t like my name but at same time it’s kinda who i am and idk what else i would name myself i do have a Chinese name though (we picked them in class and what we went by) which is MingYi 明怡!

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

coconut, vanilla, MINT

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

peppermint tea, green tea, I did like Earl Grey but I can’t have black tea anymore :(

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

all the herbs and vegetables! also some of my favorite flowers like foxglove that hopefully don’t make my allergies worse

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

probably not

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

5′ 5″, tiny, long legs that hold all the muscles and weight in my body lol my torso is like a rectangle, i am very flat chested and do not mind that

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

i can not picture cause i just imagine itchy grass and lots of sneezing😔

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

comfortable enough i guess, i try not to nitpick too much on what’s “lacking”

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

all the countries! I almost went to China for study abroad but then stuff happened TT

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

I can technically speak basic Chinese and French, but I’ve also already forgotten too much rip I really like learning languages and hope to get back into it soon!

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

legit any Rick Riordan book, my fav author

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

I’m in like the middle of Trials of Apollo book 2 and it is great

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

idk Megamind??

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

technically already did it, was shower

umber; have you drank enough water today?

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

rpg/fighting games where I can smash monsters to pieces

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

music, babies, Alice, baking, others being happy~

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

idk i shy away from compliments most of time :’)

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

“welcome to your doom uwu” ajshdjk idk it’s always changing

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

no thanks💖 maybe later but its gonna be gone fast

#this took me 2 hours #mostly cause I had to help with groceries in middle #I started this at 9 #so had to go back and edit the first answer lol #thanks for asking ajdbd #asks and answers

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edengarden · 4 years ago

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Hello sweetheart ❤

I'm here again 👋🏼

I would love to request class matchup for my hero academia

I prefer Male matchup i'm girl [ straight ]

my height is 160CM I'm in the chubby side .

I have dark brown eyes they are almost black i have 5 beauty marks in my face small two under each of my eyes and big one between my nose and my upper lip .

I have one dimple, even with the tip of my lips, on the right side of my face, appears with the smallest expression

i wear big black farame glasses.

my hair is black 3B curly type and it's on the long side.

I'm an INFP-T personality types. hufflepuff

my sun sign is aries , moon virgo and rising libra .

I'm an only girl between 4 boys so I'm kinda spoiled kid .

I have mood swings but it's under control most of the time .

I have a childish personality most the time and Sometimes I act like a mature person , mostly lazing around and careless but i can also be a responsible and dependent person .

I get scared easily but i don't show it excited for the very close people to me because of that some people think I'm brave they are so wrong.

I'm clumsy person , my father saved my life a lot and always hold my hand when we are out together because I may spaces out in the middle of cutting the road.

i have a bad sense in directions i get lost a lot in my life and scared everyone in family so now they make sure I know where I'm going .

sometimes i really don't know what going around me and understand the subject late and it will be so late to open that subject again so I just imagine a 100 scenario about re-opening that subject.

To others I might appear cocky and ostentatious person but I am shy , quiet and awkward when meeting new people and i don't know how to respond.

but I changed completely when I'm comfortable with someone i act without thinking and talk a lot Literally about everything happen or anything I see .

Simply I turn to annoying human being .

I somehow can adjust to the people around me like my brothers used to call me nickname on purpose to make me angry but now I do anger them and call them by nicknames on purpose because they starts the game and I will continue playing it.

I think i was the person how hold my friends group because when my family moved to different country my friends go on different directions they all stayed my friends but they are not friends Anymore and that really make me very sad .

I'm now most of the time happy and chill person it's not easy to anger me .

When I get angry with someone they know they are in big trouble.

In some cases i turn to salty bitch like when someone harmed a close friend of mine or a family member i will eat that person alive because how dare they harm my people .

I love kids and I'm good at taking care of them so I'm the official babysitter for my cousins .

I speak 3 languages and I am about to learn the 4th one .

By the way I feel I'm not good at any one of the language I speak

The top two language i speak are Somalia and Arabic .

I'm bad at math if someone suddenly ask me 1+1 i will answer 0 but really good at all the other subjects math is my weakness.

In my life choices i follow my heart most often the times.

I like reading Romance novels , crime and mystery ones.

i love Baking, making sweets and eating them but I don't like cooking meals and I'm an decent chef because I start to cook a lot and my mom teaches me .

I'm addicted to coffee i drink at least two cups a day with all the coffee and start to fall for tea recently.

I really sleep a lot because I'm tired of socializing so i need to recharge my social battery.

most of my clothes are black and a little bit of different colors clothes

i don't use any makeup at because I think i don't look good with makeup all do is a simple skin care routine every few days.

i enjoy listening to music so much and I don't have a favorite type .

I playing playstation and mobile games but I'm slow player .

I shows my love and care by doing small things like making hot drink for someone in cold weather or buying small things i know the other person need and l like hugs a lot.

The most thing I hate about a person are lying even if it is a small lie in the eyes of the other person i will not accept it i value honest and truth a lot .

Also breaking a promise that literally will break my heart because I still remember an old promise my father made with me but he couldn't keep it .

I don't like people who try to manipulate me in any way or try to change my personality because I will accept everyone that way they are or i will leave them without harming them because everyone is precious .

Finally i don't like two face people how act nice in front of me or in front of someone else and they took bad about them in their back if someone told me bad things about other person i will immediately lose trust in that person .

this is what i have in mind now and I think i really talk a lot 😅

I hope I'm not bothering you here.

I will really enjoy reading what you will write

Thank you so much sweethearts

Have a wonderful time beautiful 🥰

I’m sending you to 1-B

Pls, as if Kendo didn’t have enough on her hands with Monoma, I can see her babysitting/tutoring you too because you have a tendency to zone out, get lost and stuff. You and Monoma have this odd vibe going on, where the two of you are completely different individuals but you always end up in the same space. Aka Kendou’s space, poor girl. It’s even worst because you probably can’t even STAND Monoma half of the time.

Other than that, you and the other 1-B girls are ADORABLE together, please most of you exude a Calm with a Feral Side Underneath vibe, and I think you guys all get really close together! A lot of helping goes around. You and Pony get close as friends because you both know the struggles of trying to handle multiple languages at once. SOLIDARITY. Everyone admires you two for being fluent in more languages but they don’t know the pain. You two vine hardcore together I SWEAR.

Pls you’re in such a tightly-knit group, I love the concept

#matchup #bnha #mha #bnha matchup #mha matchup #class 1b

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

When was the last time you baked something for someone? I’m not a baker, so never. Like, I make stuff like those easy Pillsbury sugar cookies or cupcakes from the box once in awhile, but I’m not baking stuff from scratch or for other people. I don’t make anything great.

Do you ever spend the night at random people’s houses? No.

What did you eat for dinner tonight? Was it any good at all? I haven’t had dinner, yet, it’s only 4 in the morning.

Would you be mad if your mom showed your boyfriend your baby pictures? I like my baby pictures haha I don’t know why people get embarrassed about that. Just don’t whip out my middle school photos or any random ones after that. It’d have to be approved by me first, ha.

Would you say you’re someone who has good manners? I believe so.

When was the last time you went to an amusement park? Which one? I went to Disneyland last February. Almost a year ago, wow.

Would you rather be kissed on the neck or on the lips? Lips.

Do you completely trust the person you’re dating? I’m single.

Has someone ever called you heartless before? Why is that? No.

What color was the shirt you wore yesterday? It was a dark blue sweatshirt.

Have you ever completely given up on someone any time in life? Myself.

What is one thing you’re not looking forward to in the next week? I have my monthly doctor appointment coming up. Blah.

Would you consider Christmas your favorite holiday? Yesss. I love Christmas. I’m sad it’s over and we’re in for another long year ahead. Not to mention, we’re not even a week in the new year and madness has already ensued.

Would you rather give someone presents or receive them? I love getting presents for my loved ones.

How many chances do you normally give someone before giving up on them? I give a lot of chances.

Did you parents know what gender you were before you were born? I’m actually not sure.

Are any of your really close friends pregnant right now? No friends, but as far as I know no one I know is pregnant.

Are you for or against inter-racial relationships? Uh, for of course.

Would you say you’re more of a pessimist or optimist? I’m very much a pessimist.

Do you know what your true typing speed is? What is it? I do not.

What would you say is the longest survey you’ve ever taken? The 5,000 questions survey. I’m like really close to being done with it I think. I’ve taken many long breaks, but eventually I’ll finish it.

Do you get bored by things really easily, or not so much? No, not usually.

Do you hate it when people pronounce ‘potatoes’ as ‘taters?’ No. I say that sometimes.

Do you wear a lot of make-up on a daily basis? I haven’t worn any makeup in over 3 years now and back when I did I kept it simple with just mascara and eyeliner.

Who makes the best desserts in your entire family? My parents and brother each have their own specialties.

When was the last time your received a hug? Who was this hug from? On Christmas from my family.

Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? I have very random and weird dreams most of the time.

Would you rather color pictures with markers or crayons? How about colored pencils.

Do people come to you for advice a lot of the time? I used to be that person, but not anymore. No one should be asking me for advice, I’m a mess.

Look at your display picture. Where was it taken and when was it taken? Just a few days ago in my room.

When the holidays come around, do you watch holiday movies? Yep, all month long.

When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? I don’t recall.

Would you say you’re a friendly person or not so much? I think I’m nice, but I’m not overly friendly.

Have you ever/do you ever recycle? We recycle plastic bottles and cans.

When was the last time you ate something from Burger King? It’s been quite awhile, actually.... I don’t remember.

When someone mentions a song, does it make you wanna listen to it? Not necessarily.

Do you usually talk more than you should about things? How much is more than you should, like what’s the appropriate amount? And about what things? I have questions.

Who is the nosiest person you know? Do you like them anyways? My doggo actually takes that title haha. She’s very inquisitive. She has to know what everyone is doing and what’s going on.

When did you last talk to one of your teachers? Not since I was in school still, so sometime back in 2015.

How many class periods does your school have? What are the classes? I’m not in school anymore.

Would you say you’re a faster or slow learner? Depends on the subject.

Are you one of those people who like The Nightmare Before Christmas? Yeah. I’m not obsessed, but I like it.

Do you fully understand the concept of ‘love?’ I don’t know. What’s your second favorite color? Pastels, rose gold, mint green, coral, and yellow.

Do you ever wish you lived in a different country? No.

Do you have a credit card with a picture on the front? Nope.

Have you ever gone car shopping? No.

Have you ever bought the car yourself?

What movie have you watched most recently? I watched The Santa Clause movies, Home Alone 1 & 2, and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation many times last month.

Have you ever given someone the rejection hotline number? No.

Do you know what dog treats taste like? No, I’ve never wanted to try one. I imagine they’re very dry and gross.

Who’s the last person you “pounded” fists with? I don’t recall the last time I did that.

Do you think you could defend our country? No. I couldn’t anyway, I’m physically disabled.

If you leave the TV on at night, do you set the sleep timer? No, it just stays on.

When’s the last time you drove farther than 2 hours away? Two years ago. I didn’t drive, but yeah. Will you pass all your classes this semester?

Have you ever been involved in an affair? No.

Ever won a spelling bee? I was never in one.

How many times a week do you speak to your boss? I don’t have a job.

When’s the last time you exercised? Uhhhh.

What’s the last movie you saw at the drive thru? I think it was the Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Our drive-ins closed a long time ago. I really feel like they should make a comeback given our current situation, especially, but they were also just fun. I know they’re still around, but they’re pretty scarce. Nowhere near me, at least.

Are you a parent? Nooo.

What about an uncle or an aunt? Nope.

How many jobs have you had? Zero.

Who did you last smile at? My mom.

Who was your last voicemail from? Probably an appointment reminder from my doctor.

Do you know how to spell well? Pretty well, I think.

Have you ever worn a leotard in public? No. Or ever.

Are you currently writing a term paper? Nopeee. Those days are over for me.

On average how many texts do you send a day? I don’t text a lot at all, it’s not a daily thing. When I text, it’s just a few quick ones. I don’t have long ongoing conversations with anyone.

How many times have you been so drunk you didn’t remember the night before? There’s only one time where parts of the night are splotchy.

How often do you watch Lifetime? Very, very rarely. It’s been quite awhile.

What do you want for your birthday? I don’t know, man, we just had Christmas and my birthday is still months away.

What’s your favorite flavor of tea? Peppermint and chamomile.

What’s your favorite fall drink? Hot coffee, but that’s really my favorite year round. It is especially nice when the weather is cold, though.

What’re you going to be for Halloween? I don’t dress up for Halloween anymore.

Do you think you’ve learned a lot and grown a lot in the past year? No. :/ That’s the problem. The past few years have come and gone and I haven’t made any positive changes or started to move in the right direction like I should be. Are you satisfied with how you’ve spent your year? ^^^ I’m afraid this year will be more of the same.

What’s something you’ve learned lately? Hmm.

Do you have a lot of friends? I don’t have any friends.

Do you own a yellow scarf? I don’t have any scarves, either.

Do you own brown shoes? I have a pair of brown boots.

Do you own anything leopard print? No.

Will you buy a cake for your next birthday? Haven’t thought about it.

Are you counting down the days until your birthday right now? Nooo.

Are you excited for something currently? No.

If you could change just one thing about your life right now, what would it be? My health.

Have you ever been to a school dance? Yeah, I went to a few in middle school and I went to winter formal and prom my senior year.

Do you make a list of goals at the beginning of each week? Ha, no. I’m not that put together. I don’t have the motivation or energy for that.

Are you artistic? No.

When was that last time you drew a picture in a sketchbook? I don’t draw.

Is there a tree right outside your bedroom window? There is, actually.

Is it windy right now where you are? I don’t think so.

Is it raining? Nope.

What’s something about you that makes you different from everyone else? *shrug*

Do you dress the same way as your peers? I don’t know how many 31 year olds live in leggings and oversized graphic tees like I do. I feel like it’s not many.

Do you talk the same way as your peers? I think so? Do you have the same life goals as your friends? I should have some goals to begin with... :/

Are you having a good day? It’s only 5:53AM.

Is your hair red? I dye it red.

Do you like brownies? I love brownies. My brother just baked some recently and I quite enjoyed them.

Have you ever dressed up as a witch on Halloween? Yeah, that was a common costume for me as a kid.

What’s one color that you never wear because it doesn’t look good on you? I don’t feel I look good in any color. Most of my clothes are black, though. I feel most comfortable in black.

Have you ever been to a masquerade? Nope.

Do you eat vegetables? I eat spinach, green onions, and potatoes pretty often. Not nearly enough veggies, I know.

Do you wear leggings? Like I said, I live in leggings.

Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? Alexander Skarsgard.

Who is the most inappropriate person you know? I don’t know any inappropriate people.

Did anything bad happen to you in August? It was just a long, hot month.

Who in your phone has a heart after their name? My mom does.

Anything you’re avoiding? Yes.

If you could have one thing right now what would it be? To feel better.

If your parents searched your room, would they be angry at what they’d find? No, but also I’m 31 years old so there’s no reason for them to be doing that. They wouldn’t do that either.

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? Not romantic feelings, no.

After breaking up, what’s the worst? The heartbreak and moving on.

Do you think your last ex deserves to die? No, absolutely not. I don’t wish that on anyone and he certainly didn’t do anything to warrant that.

Do any girls like the last guy you kissed? Probably?

Are you happier now than you were three months ago? I wasn’t happy then and I’m still not, so.

Honestly, are things going the way you planned? I certainly didn’t plan these past few years to be the way they have and continue to be that’s for sure.

Have you done anything sexual today? No.

Do you have a second mom? No.

Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to? Nooo, I love my brother.

Describe your most recent purchase: Food, of course.

Did you enjoy the last movie you watched in theatres? Yeah. Man, I miss going to the movies.

If you make surveys, where’s the last place you saw a survey made by you on another person’s site? I don't make them.

Do you take the subway train often (if your city has one)? We don’t have a subway train here.

What shoes did you wear today? I haven’t worn any shoes so far and won’t be wearing any later because I’m not going anywhere.

Who was the last person to leave you a comment on Facebook? I think it was my aunt.

Does your sibling have a significant other? Neither of them do.

When and why is the last time you cried (or at least, shed tears)? Like an hour ago.

Have you ever cried at a real wedding? No. Also, what do you mean by “real” wedding?

How would you feel if a girl asked your boyfriend out for a drink? Uh, I’d have an issue with that.

Do you use Skype? No.

What do your flip-flops look like? I don’t wear flip flops or sandals or any open-toed shoes.

Describe a poster on your wall. One is a giraffe painting. I actually have 3.

Are there any gadgets of yours that need charging right now? My phone is charging.

What do you use to remove makeup? I just used water and a cotton pad. I just wore eyeliner and mascara, so.

Tilt your head up and look straight ahead. Describe what you see. My bookshelf.

Which awards show would you wanna go to the most (e.g Oscars, Grammys etc.)? One of the music ones.

Any idea what time you’ll be going to bed tonight? Well, it’s 6:06AM and here we are.

Do you think George Clooney is hot? I’ve never personally found him attractive.

Have you ever participated in local magazine cover girl searches? No.

Have you ever bought a lottery ticket (and even better: won)? Yes. I’ve won small amounts, but not the big prizes. I wishhh.

What colour is your keyboard? Black with white letters.

Do you keep the plastic/paper/whatever bags after you buy stuff? We reuse plastic bags for like the little garbage cans and stuff.

Do you own any high waisted pants? No.

What’s the craziest thing you’ll ever do to your hair? Bleaching and dyeing my hair the first time was a big change for me. It’s so normal now, though.

Do you know anyone who has two different coloured eyes? No.

Does your significant other like the same colour as you do? No significant other.

Do you wanna be a pirate or an elf? I’d rather be an elf.

Have you ever purchased anything online? Numerous things over the years. I’ve done a lot of online shopping especially these past few years.

What’s your favourite classic Disney movie (no, Camp Rock doesn’t count)? Alice in Wonderland.

Gold or silver accessories? I like both.

Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? No.

Name all your friends whose name starts with the 4th letter of your first name.

What websites do you absolutely have to visit daily (or at least, every time you get to go online)? I always go on Tumblr, YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook.

Have you ever ridden an elephant? No.

Are you a fan of acrylic nails? I’ve never had them. I don’t get or do my nails. I don’t have any nails to do, for one. Also just not my thing.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

Text

A Gentleman’s Guide to Dancing (chapter three)

I am so very sorry this has been such a long time coming. It’s a Taakitz Austen/Little Women style AU in case anyone’s forgot, I wouldn’t blame you!

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Please comment on Ao3!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

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“You know he actually invited you, right?”

Taako looked up from fussing with his lapels. Caught between dressing overly formally and overly casually, he’d ended up with an outfit that was a bastardisation of both, trousers with a hole in the knee on the bottom and a poet’s shirt with an absurd amount of ruffles on top. He was trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked, trying to convince himself that if he could get the lapels of his jacket to lie flat, that would fix it.

“What?” his amber eyes were sharp as they faced his sister, sat on the stairs and watching him pace by the door. Too sharp but she’d hit right at the heart of him and it stung. Easier to pretend he didn’t know that and act affronted.

“Kravitz invited you over to the manor,” Lup said patiently, like she was explaining one of the spells she’d mastered and he hadn’t gotten yet, “You don’t have to be so nervous about it. He wants you there.”

“Who says I’m nervous?” Taako sniffed though he knew fne well it was his shaking hands and his restless feet and the twenty minutes he’d spent pacing in front of the door that all said it, loud and clear.

Lup only sat forward, her chin resting on her knuckles and her elbows resting on her knees. Her smile was lopsided, the one they shared.

“What is it you’re going over to do?”

“He...he said we’d have tea,” Taako mumbled, back to fussing with his jacket, “He’d teach me chess. And...and he mentioned something about composing his own music when he was hear the other day. He said he’d play me some.”

Lup’s face lit up with a knowing delight Taako didn’t like at all. He was starting to regret telling her about how the Countess’ ward had come to visit him, how they’d baked together. He’d known she’d read things on it that weren’t really there.

You want her to, a sly, truthful part of his mind he’d never gotten along with chimed in, you want to know she sees it too, so you can tell yourself you’re not going crazy.

“Don’t,” Taako said, to Lup and to the voice, turning away to the leaded glass in the door, the blocky, poor painting it made of the country beyond it.

“I didn’t say anything, Koko,” Lup hummed, the smile still in her voice, “I just think it’s nice how you’ve made friends with this guy. You haven’t really clicked with anyone since you first met Merle and Magnus. Poor Barry thought you hated him for a full year.”

Taako grunted, “I never hated him…” If the blacksmith courting his sister had read any animosity in his face whenever he’d return her hime far past dark or would kiss her hand when he thought no one was looking, that was his prerogative.

But, he had to admit, he’d softened on the guy lately. It was hard to stay so cold with someone who made your other half smile in a way you’d thought you’d never see again.

“I know that,” Lup said, “It’s just good to see you letting someone else in. And Kravitz seems really nice. Not like you at all but...nice.”

Taako bristled a little, like a cat being petted against the grain of his fur, “Since when is he Kravitz to you?”

“Since we spoke,” Lup shrugged airily, “Just yesterday actually.”

“What?” he whirled, sending his enormous hat slipping over one eye and leaving him to find some dignified way to fix it.

Lup ignored his tone, examining a small hole in her skirt, “I was going to take Barry some lunch at the shop and he was coming back from the post office. I was worried he’d thought I was you but he knew immediately. Thought that was strange, no one’s been able to do that on sight since Auntie. He was jumping at every cart and carriage going past like an owl in daylight, bless his heart, but he stopped and talked to me for a while. Managed to mention you a few more times than was strictly necessary.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up at that, like a rising inflection, turning it into a trailing thread. Taako scrunched up his nose in response.

“I mean...yeah, he’s nice. He just seems lonely and he was nice enough to visit so I’m returning the favour. Probably be so bored stiff I won’t ever go back but I have to take him up on the invitation at least once. It’s courtesy. That’s all.”

“No one ever said it wasn’t,” Lup replied with maddening patience. Have fun. When you eventually get past the threshold. Which looks like it will be sometime around...never?”

Taako made a strangled noise of exasperation and indignance, sticking his nose in the air and whirling out of the door, just to show that he could. It was only when he was halfway down the path, their Auntie’s lavender plants grown so tall they were tickling his fingertips, that he realised what his sister had done to goad him out of his spiral.

Lup only grinned at him and fluttered her fingers when he made a very rude gesture at her through the window before stomping off in the direction of the big manor. Her smile didn’t fade when the tip of his ridiculous hat had disappeared below the rise of the valley. It just shifted, changed slightly, softened into something that was no less of a smile but felt deeper and sadder.

She remembered how it had felt for her, right at the start. The defensiveness and the doubting and the uncertainty. Dodging and diverting when thoughts strayed too close to where you didn’t want them to go. And then, finally, when you were cornered and had nowhere to go, the crushing realisation that you were falling for someone you weren’t supposed to.

She could only hope it wouldn’t hurt her brother too badly.

It had been so long since Taako had lived somewhere with servants that he jumped a little when someone who wasn’t Kravitz answered the door to the manor. Already on the back foot, he stammered out that he’d been invited, sounding more unconvincing with every word. There was a chilly silence, while the elven butler looked him up and down, taking in his mismatched outfit and the blush rising on his skin, before eventually admitting in a slow, sonorous voice that Master Raven was expecting him. Everything about his expression told Taako loudly and clearly that, if this weren’t the case, he would have been gladly tossed off the premises as soon as he stepped on their porch.

He was shown to the same library from the night of the party, tucked cunningly away so it could never be found unless the flat oaken door was pointed out to you. Or unless you staggered in on pure, desperate happenstance.

“Taako!” Kravitz got to his feet as soon as he walked in, his face lit up so brightly it was hard for the elf to tell himself he wasn’t genuinely delighted to see him.

“Hey there,” he grinned back, it was hard not to, and grasped his forearm in greeting, “Sorry, I know we said midday, I got caught up with, ah…”

“Oh it’s absolutely fine,” Kravitz tilted his head, saving Taako from having to come up with something that delayed him that wasn’t his own anxiety, “You’re here now and I don’t have to crawl the walls with boredom any more. At least, not by myself.”

As before, his easy humour and earnestness had Taako relaxing despite himself. Enough that, after tea had been sent for and Kravitz had turned the blinds to gentle the afternoon sun into a pleasing ambery gold glow in the library, he was actually glad he’d come.

“You spend a lot of time here, huh?” Taako sank into the same chair he’d occupied at the party, “That’s the second time you’ve talked about being bored.”

Kravitz shrugged, sitting back down, lounging in a very unlordly way. It gave Taako the confidence to tuck his own legs underneath him and sprawl in the way he liked to do, very different from the stiff backed position he had to hold himself in around the other gentry.

“I sound like I’m complaining, don’t I?” he sighed, “I don’t mean to, it’s only that Mistress never leaves the manor and I’d walked the length of the village in less than a morning. The fault is mine, most likely, I’m struggling to adjust to a...well, a quieter pace of life than the cities.”

Taako blinked curiously, plucking a horse from the chess set between them and fidgeting with it, “So...you’ve been to Goldcliff? And Rockport? All those places?”

Kravitz nodded, “All of them. It’s wonderful being in amongst so many people, this messy tangle of so many different lives. You could meet a hundred different stories just by walking through the squares. And they’re unique too, each one has its own rhythm. When you’re there, you know there’s nowhere else like it in the world. Nowhere has ale like you find in Rockport, only in Goldcliff can you find that kind of architecture, it’s amazing. But it isn’t just the cities! There’s wonders all between them, like the elven forests and the red canyons and the deserts and thousands of little villages and towns between, unlike anywhere else. And even though you’re sad to leave each one, you get the excitement of knowing you’ll experience it all again, finding somewhere new. And…” his ears darkened and his smile slipped, “And I’ve been talking for too long, haven’t I?”

Taako blinked, shaking himself out of the visions Kravitz’s words had been painting around him, “No, no, it’s fine. I...I was enjoying listening to you. I’ve never been anywhere like that myself, after all. I’ve never been beyond the valley.” It made him feel foolish to say so, in front of someone so travelled.

Kravitz smiled softly, “You’d love it Taako. And they’d love you.”

That was so absurd, he snorted aloud, before blushing and covering his mouth behind a hand, as if that would erase the embarrassment.

But Kravitz didn’t seem concerned by the social faux pas, though something was creasing his brow and deepening his dark eyes, “You don’t believe me.”

Taako’s ears came down to bracket his face, “It’s just...people can maybe take a few hours with me at the most and then the shine kind of comes off the old penny. You know, words like ‘acerbic’ and ‘vexing’ start coming out, the polite, high society ways of saying I’m annoying. And then I normally do something ridiculous to make them out and out hate me before everything can just fall apart in that slow, agonising kind of way. Don’t want to even think about how I’d embarrass myself in somewhere like Goldcliff.”

Kravitz was still and silent, long enough that Taako was worried he’d just gone and done that ‘something ridiculous’ without even realising it. They both jumped out of their skins when the knock at the door sounded, the servant with their tea. As it was all laid out before them, piece by black enamelled piece, agonisingly slow, Taako sank further and further into the chair, feeling his skin take flame and wondering if he could bolt out of the door left open by the butler. But the whole time, those dark eyes were fixed on him, curious and impossible to read beyond that.

When the door closed again after Kravitz’s quiet thank you, he spoke in his same soft tones and Taako realised he’d only been choosing his words with a careful exactness.

“But what about me, Taako? I enjoy your company more and more each time I see you. And I can’t imagine my opinion ever changing, when I know you better.”

Taako felt for a moment as if he couldn’t breathe. His hands fluttered anxiously, reaching for a teacup then thinking better of it, going to the sugar, the milk, even with nothing to put them in. After a moment, they found Kravitz’s own, bumping into each other like it was a simple coincidence. But then Kravitz squeezed his gently, allowing them to shake in his sure grip. It could be a gesture of comfort from one friend to another.

Or it could not.

What about you indeed?

Taako swallowed, risking a glance up at Kravitz who still had that gentle smile on his face, like all he wanted to do was help. Like he meant it all with a pure earnestness Taako had never encountered with anyone else. It was what relaxed him when he’d first stepped into the library, this time and the last, but now he felt like what was going to break him apart.

He could have said so many things when his mouth fell open but good sense finally prevailed and in a slightly hysteric voice he barked out, “So chess, huh?”

Kravitz blinked, looking dismayed for a fraction of a second when the elf snatched his hands back.

“Gonna teach me how to play?” he grinned, practised at throwing up smiles to mask panic and distress, “You promised.”

“I...I did, didn’t I?” Kravitz followed his lead, though his smile wasn’t as practised, some of the confusion and maybe even a little bit of hurt showing around the edges, “Though you must promise not to get better than me, let me keep my dignity for a few days at least?”

Taako tilted his head, smirking, “Well, we’ll just have to see. I’m making no promises…”

He didn’t have to, not at the start. For a few games, he was beaten fairly resoundingly while the rules sank in. Taako was grateful for it, as much as he didn’t like losing. The strategy and remembering all the rules through a sugary fog of strong tea helped keep his mind off how soft Kravitz’s skin had felt against his own, how cool and pleasant it had been, how just an inch would have slid their fingers through each other in such a perfectly fitting pattern than nothing could have made them let go, not if they didn’t want to.

But thoughts like that were unacceptable. So he thought of knights and rooks and little black and white squares and how to mage hand Kravitz’s pieces off the board and to his side so he might believe he’d taken more than he had. The last never worked, Kravitz would only laugh and steal his pieces back with quick and clever hands when Taako was distracted.

And before too long, only one and a half games in, it was as if it had never happened. Almost. A traitorous part of Taako’s mind was still thinking how the cool ebony of his pieces didn’t feel all that different from Kravitz’s hand. But almost was good enough.

Eventually, when the tea was just black speckled dregs in the bottom of their cups, Taako got to his feet.

“I should head back,” he noted the colour of the sky, far darker than he’d meant to let it get, “My sister will be wondering where I am. She’s a terrible grump when she gets hungry.”

“Of course,” Kravitz nodded politely, rising to show him to the door like a good gentleman, “Will I...I mean, you know you’re welcome any time?”

There was a nervousness in his voice that he wasn’t even trying to hide, a careful hopefulness like he was telling himself not to get too excited. And Taako knew he was thinking about that moment where their hands had touched and he’d spoken so tenderly, worrying and wondering if it had been too much. Wondering if he’d ruined something good.

Taako knew that feeling. He straightened the front of his jacket and smiled, fully, so the gap in his teeth would show.

“Of course I’ve got to come back. I almost had you at the end there, I’m not giving up until I have victory.”

The relief that flooded over Kravitz’s face was so genuine and real it was hard for Taako to look for a moment, “Then I shall have to practise…”

Taako very deliberately didn’t think about what that meant as they made their polite, formal goodbyes and he was turned back out into the air, grown cold and thick now evening had fallen and stolen the thin warmth of the winter sun. The walk back to their house felt longer now than it had in the opposite direction.

And as he walked Taako thought of what he would make for their supper with what little was left in the pantry, he thought of checks and pawns and how white always moved first, he thought of stalemates.

But that annoying little part still whispered what about him?

Taako did go back, every day for the next week and every time it got easier. Worryingly, maddeningly easier.

The next time, Kravitz presented him with a small, elegantly decorated package with the stamp of a Goldcliff bakery on the top. Inside were perfectly baked, exquisitely formed macarons, shining with sugar and even coloured coal black. Taako laughed aloud at that and quickly comforted Kravitz when his expression turned stricken, he’d only been appreciating his commitment to a theme.

Taako had read about the high class bakeries and lauded restaurants you could find across the continent, mostly from his cookery books. But he’d never thought to actually taste anything from one of them before, their wares were expensive. Taako didn’t even want to think about what it would have cost to have even these few cookies sent to their little valley. There was a lot of it he didn’t want to think about.

He didn’t want to bite into it and break the magic of that perfect almond scented shell but he was so glad when he eventually did, blackberries thick and rich on his tongue. High on joy and sugar, he��d gone on for nearly an hour about flavour balance and texture and how recipes travelled from place to place and shifted from being only for the rich to being everyday staples. A hundred times he told himself to shut up, that he’d gone on for far too long and Kravitz was bored stiff. But somehow he didn’t think so, seeing how he still leaned forward with his eyes wide and open, his mouth turned up in an admiring smile.

And when he brought one of the macarons home for Lup, she’d given him a smirk that had made him blush and make an excuse to leave the room.

The next time Taako turned up at the door holding a folder that looked like moths had been at it for decades. It wouldn’t be far wrong, give or take a few years. As soon as Kravitz saw it, the apologies came tumbling from Taako’s lips, it was stupid, it was just some old trash, he’d happily throw it in the fire right now if he wanted. But slowly, surely, Kravitz got out of him that it was a collection of sheet music he’d found in the attic, it had belonged to his Auntie. She’d loved to play piano, he said, eyes firmly fixed on his feet, drenched in snowmelt. And now she was gone, Taako had just thought he might like them. Most of the songs were in Elvish, it was old and probably boring and, gods, he’d never even asked what instrument you play…

He’d been well and truly worked up when Kravitz had gasped, the folder open in his lap. His eyes had been wide as a child presented with a jar full of sweets, his jaw dropped, fingers gentle as he stroked the yellowed pages with their carefully printed notes. He’d thanked Taako so sincerely and softly, like those brittle sheafs of songs waiting to be wrought in pulls and snaps of those clever fingers were a gift worth every bit as much as those macarons, maybe even more.

And Taako had suddenly been so glad he’d spent the entire morning digging the music out and had turned up to tea late and with dust clumps in his braid, just for the look on his face.

Kravitz had given him something of the world beyond their valley so Taako gave him something wholly from it, from a part that meant a lot to him. Kravitz’s gift said there is a place for you out there, Taako’s said there is a place for you here. And both learned something more about themselves.

The next day, Kravtiz brought it together so beautifully by finally playing for Taako.

The answer to what instrument he played was apparently all of them, there was a room of the manor entirely given over to them all. A sleek black grand piano ruled as king but it had a flock of attendants, a flute, a violin, a chello, even instruments Taako couldn’t name. It was practically a museum to every form and shape of music all over the world, as much a testament to where Kravitz had travelled as his stories.

Kravitz watched his face carefully, his grin spreading as he saw his awe. And then he’d guided Taako to sit on the piano bench, lovingly taken the violin down from it’s stand and stood before him, not like someone would if they were performing for an audience but something softer and more vulnerable, more intimate. That word, even spoken in Taako’s own mind, made him tense a little but there was just no other word for it. He was being let in to something that used to be a secret, doors opening to him that hadn’t opened before. Just like when Kravitz had stumbled into his kitchen and he’d allowed him to stay, this was Kravitz showing a part of himself that had grown so comfortable in hiding.

This was what let Kravitz be himself in a world that told him he couldn’t.

And he did it so well. Taako knew his Auntie had loved music, she’d played the guitar out on the porch on soft summer nights while Taako and Lup would chase each other through the meadows out the back of the house. Listening to Kravitz made him feel a way that was the same and different, all at once. The notes and instrument and hands were different but it was the same feeling of his chest opening wide enough to hold anything it wanted. The same feeling that this moment would go on forever and there would never need to be anything else.

But Taako didn’t want this moment to go on forever. As he sat and listened to the high, swooping notes shivering on their strings and melting together into something beautiful as Kravitz flexed his fingers and drew his bow back and forth, he wanted it to grow. He wanted more.

The song ended before Taako was ready and there were a few reasons his eyes were wet, some he’d be willing to say and some he’d rather die than speak out loud. Kravitz looked at him shyly, a man with his heart on display as recklessly as a child, and asked what he thought. Taako smiled, wiped his eyes on his sleeve and asked why Kravitz bothered studying magic when he could do something more magical than he’d ever seen in a book. He blushed the way he did everything, handsomely, and grinned in delight. They didn’t move from the music room for the rest of the day, Kravitz explaining how each instrument works and showing more of his compositions, excitedly taking Taako through nearly every note and why he’d placed it that way, showing him the thought and care in every song. Taako didn’t leave the manor until the sun had gone down, far later than was strictly socially acceptable for two young men to be alone together.

Taako had fallen asleep that night with soft, beautiful music wandering around his mind rather than worries and uncertain deadlines and murky futures.

Through it all, every day, there were chess games, around their moments of growing closeness. Taako got better quickly, picking up the rules and seeing strategies and plays he wouldn’t have noticed before. He learned Kravitz’s style, clever and strategic but predictable, and started to answer with his own, slightly manic, high risk high reward approach. With this he began to see ways to win, though few and far between, openings and paths and attacks he could nudge into motion and steal his first victory.

But he never did. Not once. And every game would end with the same joke, that he’d just have to come back tomorrow, that he wouldn’t give up until he’d won a game.

Their days together were full of ways out that neither of them took.

Taako wondered how the old black manor house had ever made him nervous. When it decided to remind him, it came as a nasty shock.

He no longer felt the need to be ferried from place to place by the sour elven butler, when he needed the bathroom, he just got up, announced the fact and flounced out of the door. Kravitz hadn’t minded, sat in the window seat to get the best of the pale afternoon sunlight and wiping rosin off his violin strings, only made him promise not to get in trouble on the way there and back.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Taako snorted, golden hair bouncing as he shook his head.

He managed to be half right, nothing happened on the way there, despite him happily wandering through a mansion that wasn’t his own in just his socks, his shirt opened two buttons from the top because he liked to sit close to the fire like a cat but despised sweating, humming one of Kravitz’s songs. It was on the way back that he ran into the trouble.

One moment Taako was wandering the halls, eager to get back to Kravitz and hear him tune. He loved that part, even though it wasn’t music, he loved listening to Kravitz find the notes in the discord and steer it towards something perfect and clear and pure. He loved listening to the journey.

One moment he was walking. And the next moment, there was a ghost at the end of the corridor he’d just walked into. He only just managed not to scream and was proud of himself for that but he did jump noticeably.

“Master Taco,” the ghost took a slow step forward and became an almost impossibly tall woman in what seemed to be a flowing mourning dress and a gossamer thin veil covering her face. Except it wasn’t her face. It was a perfectly circular, bright white china mask, painted with a delicately beautiful but otherworldly face. There was no ornament to her except a silver bird skull worn around her cloth wrapped throat, “How wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Countess Raven…” Taako stammered. Now that a few seconds had passed, he was honestly less disturbed by her appearance than her seeing the hole in his sock that one toe was poking through. It was hard to find someone who dressed like this intimidating when you spent all of your free time with your new best friend who wore black silks and rings with silvered skulls set into them.

“I have heard much about you from my ward,” Actually no, it was a little spooky to hear a voice and see no lips moving as she walked towards him, seeming to hover across the carpet because her skirt covered her shoes and there was barely a whisper in it, “I only regret how long it has taken us to meet in person. Please, join me in my parlour if you would.”

She moved to a door just between them, a gloved hand appearing from the folds of her dress to turn the handle. Taako shivered, what were the chances they just happened to meet right outside the room she wanted him to enter? Had she been watching him? All of a sudden the rumours that surrounded this sorceress and the possibility of eyes in the walls prickled the wrong way up his spine.

But then he told himself he was being foolish. He reminded himself of what this woman was to Kravitz and everything she’d done for him. And he followed her through the door.

It was a surprisingly cosy room, for it’s darkness. There was a fire, like there was in every one of these high ceilinged rooms, filling the space with it’s merrily crackling voice. There were books lining the walls in towering shelves, the spines showing a multitude of languages. There were candles, their scents of clove and citrus peel buoying the smell of burning wood into something very pleasant. All the furniture was in dark wood, expensive and ornate. And of course there was a chess set, old and dented, set on a side table. Taako imagined the countess teaching a younger Kravitz to play and smiled.

“I promise I won’t keep you from my ward for very long,” her voice was smooth and not marred at all by age, “I simply felt it improper that we hadn’t been formally introduced yet, with you spending so much time with him.”

Taako flushed and didn’t take a seat when she did, standing and holding one arm like a schoolboy dragged before the headmaster. The word ‘improper’ was what stopped him in his tracks, pinned him awkwardly like a butterfly under glass, one of a host of words that pricked him in his nightmares. There was a lot about how he thought of Kravitz that fit the description, only in his own head of course though he was wondering just how much those hidden eyes could know.

“I mean...he has become a good friend to me, my lady,” Taako cleared his throat, one hand going to his throat to hold his shirt together but there was nothing he could do about his lack of shoes, “I am simply...we share some interests and…”

“I think you have misunderstood me, Master Tacco,” she saved him from his miserably stumbling, politely interjecting, “I brought you here to thank you.”

Taako blinked, uncertain he’d heard her, “Thank me?”

She seemed to choose her words carefully, just as Kravitz always did. The longer he was in her presence, the more similarities Taako could see between them.

“My ward is a very accomplished gentleman,” the countess said, the tone in her voice barely shifting, “Witty and talented and kind natured. Powerful too, gifted in his magic. And yet he struggles to connect with people, to make friends as it were. I fear this is something he inherited from myself, or else something I neglected to teach him. There is a natural loneliness to him that easily turns to sadness on his darker days.”

Taako could see that. It was the same sadness inside him, though Kravitz clearly preferred to turn inwards to it, whereas Taako grew louder and louder to drown it out. He suspected neither of them were very successful.

“I will not tell you how he came to be my ward, that is his own tale to tell. I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know, I think,” something behind the arctic cold mask sparkled that might have been her eyes, it was hard to say, “But I worry about him. I worry there are things I cannot save him from. Though, Master Tacco, you seem to have that power.”

Taako felt his face redden more, clearing his throat, “I...I wouldn’t call it a power, my lady, I just...I just care about him. There is no effort in it.”

“Even one such as me can see that. And this is why I wanted to thank you, Taako. I wanted to thank you for seeing him, as he is, and letting him in.”

“Ah, well…” Taako felt like those painted eyes were staring into him, past his skin, seeing things that he hadn’t wanted anyone to see. And yet she didn’t seem angry or disgusted or even surprised.

“And if I may be so bold, as I often am...I encourage you to let him do the same. I have seen the way he looks at you, I have heard how he speaks of you. Forgive an old lady dispensing wisdom where it hasn’t been asked for but I do wonder if you both couldn’t find a deal of happiness in each other. Or at least...a fulfilment. An understanding. Something to fill a need you share.”

Taako didn’t know how much more he could take, his pulse racing and palms sweating. Was he reading too much into it? Making ridiculous leaps and bounds between her words? Gods, what did she want him to say?

“But I am rambling. I’ve kept you from him for too long, you may return to the library, Master Tacco. Thank you for indulging me and...think on what I’ve said or dismiss it as you see fit,” with a movement of her hand, the door swung open again.

Most of Taako wanted to flee through it as soon as it revealed itself, some wanting to keep running right out the door and back to his safe, familiar house and his safe, familiar hiding places, to check the king and win the game. But there was still that one little bit...and wasn’t it always that which got him into trouble?

Instead of running, he bowed poliety and summoned up every scrap of bravery he had, which really wasn’t very much at all but proved just enough to say, “I will think about it, my lady. I promise.” And to mean it.

The smooth, bone mask inclined in a satisfied nod, “Then return to your chess, Master Tacco. I hope you and Kravitz can find what you seek.”

With a nod, Taako ducked out of the Countess’ parlour and continued down the halls, taking a few wrong turns in his distraction and ending up somewhere he didn’t mean to be. It was only because the sound of his footfalls changed so much when he stumbled out onto the polished wood that he noticed he was standing in the ballroom from the night of the rout not that long ago.

It was jarring to see it empty, at first, when last time it had been so full and rich with music, fine silk and candlelight. It was like a chest with no heart and lungs, bare and empty and devoid of its purpose. For a moment, Taako was frozen by the horror of being somewhere he wasn’t meant to be.

But he was also alone, no one to scorn him or cast him out. So he gave himself a moment, stepping across the parquet flooring, looking up at the grand chandelier with it’s drips of wax frozen in time and the black, sleek arches of the ceiling. He’d run from it before so it was nice to be able to appreciate it, away from the eyes and cold, cruel, polite smiles that had driven him away.

Some of the bravery still lingering, Taako made slow, spiraling circles and imagined a very different party in the same hall. He imagined Lup there, in her best dress but brand new and with no subtle mending, Barry on her arm, the two of them dancing happily. He imagined his friends, Magnus and Merle and Lucretia and Davenport, laughing and making their jokes, louder and far more fun than would ever normally be allowed somewhere like that. The Countess Raven perhaps, if she wanted, sitting in a chair and watching it all from behind her mask.

And Kravitz. Kravitz smiling and holding himself proudly, his eyes bright as Taako took his arm and adoration clear on his handsome face. The two of them dancing, the way a man would with a woman, openly and freely with no need to hide, to music Kravitz had written, everyone able to see how beautiful it was. And how beautiful they were.

Taako stopped, suddenly finding his lower lip trembling and needing to focus so he could hold it at bay. The music faded in his ears and the faces of his friends dissipated, like snow on a breeze. He was alone again, in his socks and threadbare clothes playing at being luxury, with his two large ears and the gap in his front teeth.

He could think about it all he wanted, that much he’d promised. But it wouldn’t change the fact that he could want and want until his heart broke and it would never mean he would have it. Wanting couldn’t change the world, not in his experience. Wouldn’t it have happened by now, if it could? He’d been wanting for a long damn time, after all.

Taako gave a shuddery sigh and turned himself around, following the same route he’d taken that night to get back to the library, back to Kravitz and chess.

Because that much he was allowed.

A week. That was as long as they were allowed even that small happiness.

Because the end of the seventh day was when Taako shut the front door of Auntie’s house against the winter wind and gathering night, whistling as he unwound his scarf and hung it with his coat on the peg. He smiled, content and happy and full of warm tea and sugar, stepping out of his shoes and thinking of supper and how he would read by the fire, Lup’s feet in his lap and her fingers weaving a braid into his hair. And how another day just like it would be waiting for him tomorrow.

He knew something was wrong as he stepped into the kitchen. There was no fire in the hearth, it was cold and ashy. There was no light, no heat, no life in the house that hadn’t even lost its heart after Auntie died. Everything was quiet, the silence the ringing sort that filled the space, like the few seconds after being struck with a blow so hard it made everything rock and tip.

Lup was sat at the table, her eyes red and raw, her hands shaking as she folded and unfolded the letter with its stiff official paper and stark black type.

“Lulu?” Taako murmured, voice hollow already, even not knowing. But he could guess.

His sister slid the letter across to him, her chin setting in misery as that small action brought fresh tears. He picked it up and read, an action he struggled with at the best of times but even more so when his heart was hammering sickeningly and the words were ones he didn’t want to read.

The bank had run out of patience. They had a week to come up with the full amount to purchase the house before it became the property of the bank and they were trespassing on the floorboards they’d walked every day for the best years of their lives. The figure still left to pay was so far out of what they currently had, it may as well have been the number of stars in the sky.

“Taako,” Lup’s voice trembled, “What are we going to do?”

He couldn’t answer. He looked for those ways out now, the move he’d need to make to win this game but he couldn’t see it, it was impossible. He’d been doomed to fail from the start, doomed by his hesitance, his recklessness, his selfishness. He and his sister would be right back where they’d started their lives, homeless and without safety, scared and alone and exactly where he’d promised her they would never be again.

And what was he going to do?

Taako let the letter fall, looking at Lup helplessly, seeing the five minutes that made him the oldest stretch to an impossible distance between them, littered with all his broken promises. But not so far he couldn’t see the terror in her eyes.

What he did was what he’d always done when things had become difficult.

Taako turned on his heel and he ran.

#taakitz #taako #kravitz #lup #lup/barry #regency au #aggtd #please comment!#angst #its getting sad guys #taz balance #the adventure zone

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nnightskiess · 5 years ago

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Summary: Y/N's father is forcing her to marry some princess she has never met. The night before the wedding - while Y/N is trying to escape from the palace of Agrabah - she sees a girl doing the exact same thing.

[gif: @mostgirls]

also posted this in my multifandom imagines book on wattpad, click here

Ever since your father had told you he wanted you to marry some princess who lived in the kingdom of Agrabah, life had felt like a whirlwind. Within a week of hearing the news, they were already making wedding plans and left with the Royal Caravan to the kingdom of your soon-to-be wife. Almost half the kingdom travelled along, not wanting to miss the royal wedding or the feasts that would take place the week after.

Servants, cooks, fire-eaters, acrobats, merchants who had carts filled with fresh, exotic fruits, the prettiest carpets and fabrics, the most beautiful jewels - they pulled out all the stops to make it a big celebration. Children hopped onto carts being pulled by horses or donkeys and hid in between the crates filled with goods, wanting to see the celebrations, too. The whole kingdom was ecstatic.

In the first few carriages of the caravan, you were feeling anything but ecstatic. The news had felt like a slap to your face and while most people were counting down the days in a positive way, you were counting the days you had left being a free girl - not that you had always been free to go and do what you wanted since you were a princess, but it would definitely be better than being locked up in a palace for the rest of your life.

"Have the tales of her beauty and kind heart never reached your ears?" Iryna, your best friend and handmaid, asked.

"How can people know what she's like when they haven't seen her in years?" You sighed, "And so what? I don't want to marry a stranger. I don't care how pretty or warmhearted she is, or how wealthy her kingdom is - I don't want to marry."

The two of you let silence do the talking, while the carriage waddled through the desert surrounding Agrabah. Just a few more moments and the caravan would finally enter the gates of your new home, after having travelled for a few days.

Iryna gave you a worried look and grabbed your hands, "Listen, you're a princess and how great that might've been before, with that title also comes a duty. Unfortunately, your duty is to marry someone. Not for your own desire but solely for the safety of your people and the wealth of your country." She squeezed your hands, "You've known this your whole life so where is this coming from?"

You gave it a thought. Iryna was right - you had been told your whole life that someday you would have to marry someone and that someone had to be royal. But you had always been a sensitive girl, a girl who admired people with kind souls, not those with pockets packed with gold coins accompanied and a smug smile on their face. You hated people whose only ambitions in life was to become mighty or rich. Rotten apples, you called them.

However, being a princess meant you were always surrounded by people with power - people who always wanted more of everything they got. You found it mesmerizing that the people that were barely able to feed themselves every day were generally the happiest.

Once, when you were strolling through the marketplace of your kingdom, a woman had invited you to her tiny home to serve you tea and some halva that she bought with the only coins left in her pouch. You accepted the kind offer and had a wonderful afternoon. All the kids in the street had surrounded you, wanting to give you a handshake and the adults showered you with sweet words and gifts. You declined those, however, you made sure to give every household some fresh food and clothes, much to your father's dismay. It was a waste of money in his eyes but you just couldn't see how taking care of your people was a waste.

So, having to marry another one of those princesses was the last thing you were looking forward to. Hearing the news that the people of Agrabah hadn't seen their princess in years was a red flag in your eyes - the girl didn't even care enough about her people to show her face once in a while.

"I just don't want to be restrained or have to pretend for the rest of my life."

"I'll still be here, that won't change. We'll make it work, alright?"

Not knowing how to respond to your friend, you moved the thin, white coloured satin in front of you aside. It hung in the opening of the carriage and blew aside with every little wave of wind.

You saw the first signs of civilization in front of your carriage. Though part of you was relieved to see a change of scenery compared to the dull desert you'd seen for the last days, you also knew that these were the last moments of freedom.

"If the tales are speaking the truth, and she does have a kind heart, she might let you out of the palace once in a while?" Iryna tried to comfort you.

You shrugged, "I doubt it, Iryna, but it's a nice thought to hold onto." You let go of the curtain. "What other tales have you heard about her? I'd like to know them since I've clearly been left in the dust about her."

Iryna bit her lip in thought before grabbing your arm in excitement. "I heard Princess Jasmine has a tiger!"

"A..tiger?" You rose a brow, clearly not convinced. You kept observing your friend's face, half expecting her to burst out in laughter. "Yeah, that's clearly a lie. Makes me wonder if the other tales of her kind heart are lies as well."

"It's what I heard.." Iryna nibbled on her bottom lip before plopping another piece of baklava into her mouth.

"Well if it's true, I don't only have to avoid running into my dearest wife, but I also have to avoid that damned tiger if I don't want to be eaten alive."

The girl next to you snickered, "Seems like it,"

"If he's about to attack, I'll push you in front of me," You teased, "Dying for the greater good, you know?"

Iryna gasped playfully, "You would never, who's going to keep you company and do chores when I'm gone?"

"Fair enough," You beamed but immediately sighed as the caravan approached the gates of Agrabah. The enormous, heavy doors were being opened accompanied by the sound of drums and trumpets. The children that had previously been sat on the carts were passing by the carriage and ran in front of the caravan. Their laughter and cheers were the only things that made you feel a little less terrible.

Here we go..

____________________

You were laying on your bed in one of the guest chambers of the palace, thinking about all that happened the hours after your arrival. The Sultan of Agrabah - who seemed like a genuine man - had welcomed your people into his palace - and your people into his city - and had been kind enough to show all of you around and introduce you to all his people at court.

However, his daughter - Princess Jasmine - had not shown up. Not to the welcoming ceremony, nor to the big feast or the dance afterwards. Every time your father had brought her name up to ask where she was, the Sultan's smile would disappear and he would apologize for her absence.

A girl, who you later learned was one of the princess' maids, had approached you to apologize on her friend's behalf.

"She's not feeling very well and is resting in her chambers,"

She had told you before proceeding to small talk. You knew well enough that that was equivalent to: 'I don't want to be at the feast so I locked myself up in my room,'

You told the maid to send the princess your regards and you wished she'd feel well soon, just out of courtesy. You honestly couldn't care less that the princess hadn't shown her face yet, it seemed to be her thing, after all.

"Oh you, stop this." Iryna gestured at how you looked like a puddle of sadness sitting on the bed. She put the freshly washed linen to the side and grabbed your arms, pulling you up so that both of you could sit against the headboard of the bed.

"You lied."

Iryna squinted her eyes, not knowing what this was about.

"I didn't see a tiger anywhere," You sighed, "And neither does she have a kind heart, or she would've at least shown up. And referring to her beauty - I wouldn't be able to confirm that since-"

"She didn't show up, yes, yes," Iryna finished for you, rolling her eyes. "Stop mocking. Yes, this might not be what you had in mind, but look at today: everyone was dancing, chatting, having fun - try to have some fun, too. Might make things ten times easier."

You looked to the side and met your friend's eyes. Your mouth curved into a smile and your expression softened.

"You still want to throw me in front of that tiger? Because he's real, he exists, I'm telling you,"

You laughed, shaking your head, "Thank you, Iryna."

She gave a quick kiss on your head before hopping off the bed again, "I'm going to get us some sweet bakings left over from the feast and then I'll prepare you a warm bath. Might relax you a bit," She presented you with a half smile before disappearing through the doors.

You sighed and moved your legs to the side of the bed while looking around the big, unfamiliar room. You didn't feel at home here. The people had been nice, yes, but you still longed to go home to your own people - your own familiar surroundings.

Your eyes scanned the room and fell upon the pile of folded linen that Iryna had just placed on the marble bench close to the balcony.

An idea wandered through your mind. The wedding couldn't happen if you weren't there. Maybe if you hid well and stayed away for long enough, the wedding plans would be cancelled and Agrabah's Sultan would find another suitor for his daughter.

Wanting to know how high up the room was located, you quickly walked over to the railing and looked down. It was too high to climb down or jump. One misstep or slip and it would be over. That clearly wasn't an option.

You looked around the room and once again, your eyes fell upon the fabric on the bench. Grabbing one of them, you hoped it would be strong enough to hold your weight for a few minutes. You quickly tied all of the cloths together, well aware that Iryna would probably be back any moment. You tied them around one of the pillars on the balcony at least twice and yanked at it a few times before throwing the rest of it over the railing. Watching it fall down, you noticed it stopped about two meters above the ground. You'd have to jump the last part.

Walking through the chamber, you quickly undressed and unpacked the clothes you always wore to feel more at home among the commoners. Your shiny, colourful, with jewels decorated dresses would just make you feel uncomfortable if you wore them outside of your palace. You wanted the people to see you as just a normal girl - not like a privileged, spoiled, more important person.

You finished the outfit off with a simple, yet beautiful, lilac shawl that was embroidered with white flowers - which you draped over your head. It was a present you once got from a woman after you had given her a few gold coins to take care of her children. She insisted for you to take it, even after you politely said you didn't need anything in return.

Ridding yourself of all jewellery, except your grandmother's ring, you grabbed a small pouch and threw some coins in it.

You nodded to yourself once you realised it was time to leave. The thought of worrying Iryna and your father - and maybe even some of the common people you had become friends with - stopped you for a few seconds before your gaze fell upon the palace grounds where the wedding ceremony would be held tomorrow morning.

They'd obviously find the cloths tied together, revealing how you got away. They'd also probably keep searching for you for a while, which could eventually lead to your downfall. And what about the many guards that were guarding the palace at night?

You shook your head, not wanting to lose the determination you had build up.

After peeking one more time over the railing, you eventually stepped over it.

"Okay, Y/N, breathe, just hold on and don't look down until your feet hit the ground,"

You whispered to yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, tightly holding onto the rope you'd created. You let out a big breath once stepping onto the first knot, letting go of the safety the balcony gave you.

You took your time and slowly but surely reached the last knot when you heard a squeal. Quickly looking up - hoping it wasn't Iryna who had caught you in the act and feared for your life - you noticed it wasn't coming from the room.

A few balconies to the left, a girl was dangling some meters above the ground while holding onto the same kind of rope creation you had made. The girl let go and luckily landed on her feet, still having to balance herself.

You followed the girl's movements and let go only to fall down the moment your feet clumsily touched the ground.

Upon hearing your groan, the other girl turned around - eyes big, like a deer caught in the headlights.

Quickly standing up, dusting off your clothes, you noticed the girl staring at you. You couldn't really make out her face since the girl was hiding it behind her headscarf, clearly not wanting to be caught.

You stared back before carefully approaching. “You’re running away, too?” From this distance, it was visible that the girl had long, flowing, dark hair and big, brown eyes.

"Who are you?" The dark-haired girl asked, not replying to the previously asked question. Her voice was as soft as silk and you - unknowingly - replayed those three words and the way they had sounded coming out of her mouth.

"I'm- um, Aaira..," Saying who you really were was probably not the best move if you wanted to run away and hide. The girl nodded, her eyes taking in every little detail of your face.

"Family of the princess, I assume? Since the balcony you escaped from is where she and her attendants are staying..."

The both of you were now a few steps apart and you caught yourself being mesmerized by the girl. You took in all her features for as long as you could. You noticed the light of the torches reflecting in the girl's eyes, her smooth skin, the tiny mole in the corner of her mouth and the few strands of hair that had escaped during her climb down.

The girl tilted her head to the side when you took too long to reply and rose her eyebrows in anticipation for an answer.

"Uh, yes! Yes, I'm one of her nieces." You blurted out. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dalia, Princess Jasmine's maid."

The sound of four guards laughing and walking your way, interrupted the conversation. The girl pursed her lips and quickly looked at the guards, then at back at you.

"Follow me, I know how to leave the palace unseen." The dark haired girl turned around and started to walk away with you on her tail. The two of you ran down a few steps and were about to take a shortcut through the royal gardens before you were yanked behind a wall. A gasp left your mouth at the sudden movement.

"Sorry," Dalia apologized, "Forgot there are other guards patrolling this side of the gardens." She turned her head to present you an apologetic smile. More of the girl's face revealed itself due to your close proximity. You took in every little detail.

"You seem prepared.." Unlike Dalia, you had just left without any thought out plans.

The dark-eyed girl looked around the corner, seeing the guards turn their backs. "Yes, well... I've done this before," She spoke and meanwhile grabbed your hand to make you follow. "Though, so far, I've always returned."

"But you won't this time?"

"Not for a while, at least," She replied. Dalia stopped once they reached a gate that no one seemed to be guarding and held it open so you could get through. You followed her like a lost puppy as she walked you through a dim lit alley.

"Why are you running away?"

The princess' maid stopped and turned around and frowned for a moment, clearly debating whether to trust you or not. After all, you were as much a stranger to her as she was to you.

"Tired of living inside the palace walls?" You tried when she didn't give an answer. You assumed that - since she was Jasmine's maid, she never left the palace either.

The dark-haired beauty nodded. "Yeah," She adjusted the scarf on her head before locking eyes with you again. "What about yourself? You just got here today, so why would you want to leave and miss the wedding tomorrow?"

"I'm to marry one of Agrabah's noblemen sons." Y/N didn't quite make that up. A lot of her cousins and second cousins had been married off to some of Agrabah's wealthiest families, just to seal off the bond between both kingdoms.

Dalia only nodded.

They reached a hallway where a little boy - probably around nine years old - was sitting in front of the last door. He perked up once they saw you two approach.

"Baba is still at one of the feasts in town, I made sure of it!" He smiled at Dalia, who was standing next to you.

Her mouth curved into a smile and she stroked the boy's cheek. "Thank you, Amir." She crouched down to his level and reached to get something out of her pouch.

"I got you a little something this time," The boy's eyes grew wider at the sight of a tiger carved out of wood. "A thank you for keeping our secret."

"Thank you!" He was too busy inspecting the tiger to notice the loving look in the girl's eyes. Only when she stepped through the door he was guarding, did he look up.

"When will you be back?"

Dalia looked down before locking eyes with Amir.

"Soon!" She reassured the child, though the hesitation in her voice didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I'll be waiting!"

The girl next to you chuckled. "I don't doubt that. You'll be a great guard one day, just like your father."

And with that, they left the safety the palace provided them with and they were standing in the back alleys of the market of Agrabah.

"We're outside," The dark-haired girl turned around, "I hope you'll be alright on your own?" She presented you with a genuine smile and made way to walk off until you grabbed her arm.

"Wait, I actually have no clue where to go or what to do next."

Dalia turned around, seeming somewhat amused.

"You must be really wretched about marrying a rich man when you put yourself through all this trouble." A teasing undertone laced her voice. She started to walk off again, knowing Y/N would follow her.

"I couldn't care less even if he was the richest man in all of Agrabah. I want to marry someone who I adore, who makes my heart beat faster. Not someone I have never seen before. I had to leave my home behind, I'll have to miss my family, all because the man I'll be marrying will make my family rich or will ensure the alliance between kingdoms."

The girl next to you had been listening to every word and snuck some glances your way every now and again.

"What about you? You still haven't told me why you ran away."

Dalia stopped walking, a grin on her face. "You really want to know, huh?"

You could only nod, being so captivated by her beauty and the way she carried herself so gracefully.

"Follow me, I'll tell you all about it once we're further away from the palace walls."

____________________

"So they never let you leave? Not even for a little stroll?"

The girl shook her head.

"Wow, I can't imagine how the princess must be feeling if her maids aren't even allowed to leave. I've always thought she didn't want to go out, not that she wasn't allowed to..."

A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. Dalia had led you to the harbour of Agrabah and had found a nice and quiet place to sit and chat. You had gotten to know the girl better and had grown even more fond of her.

Dalia sighed and looked at the palace, it was such a pretty view from here. She looked at the few lights that were still on in some of the rooms, seeing hers was still on. She wondered if they had already found out she escaped.

"Sounds like we'll both be trapped." You spoke softly upon seeing the girl doze off in some sad haze.

Hearing the news Dalia had just told you, made your whole opinion about the princess change. She probably really did have a big heart, she was just never able to show it to anyone. They kept her in the safety of the palace - not that you could blame the Sultan for wanting to keep her safe and alive, but still.

"I suppose we should go back," The girl's voice interrupted your thoughts. She gave you a weak smile.

"You don't want to walk away anymore?" You were confused.

She shook her head, "I don't think I could ever miss my dad or my friend...or Rajah. And I don't want them to worry about my whereabouts or safety"

"Rajah?"

"My tiger," Dalia smiled but couldn't help but notice the confusion written on your face, followed by recognization.

"Your....tiger?!"

The girl chuckled at your facial expression. "Yes, but don't worry, he doesn't attack anyone if I'm in the room. You'll be able to walk around freely if we are to meet again,"

You nodded absentmindedly, deep in thought. Iryna had told you that Princess Jasmine owned a tiger. How many people in Agrabah have a tiger as a pet?

"Oh..yes...okay,"

The princess of Agrabah laughed,

"I'll see you around...probably,"

#aladdin #aladdin imagine #princess jasmine #princess jasmine imagine #aladdin x reader #princess jasmine x reader #jasmine x reader #naomi scott #mena massoud #disney imagine #jasmine #disney #disney fanfiction #disney x reader #aladdin 2019

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vipers-hat · 5 years ago

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73 Questions

Tagged by: @returnofthepd3 Tagging: All y’all

On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? -10. I’ve got nothing to look forward to in life anymore and that’s finally starting to weigh on me.

Describe yourself in a hashtag? #CorgiMom

If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be? I’ll pass.

If your life was a musical, what would the marquee say? “Come see the Human Afterthought.”

What’s one thing people don’t know about you? I mean I’m lonely af and try to get friendship going with lots of people so I’m entirely open and will talk about anything, so nothing.

What’s your wakeup ritual? Currently roll out of bed at 10am-11am, tune out whatever nonsense my dad is spewing that afternoon, pack more boxes, fruitlessly apply to jobs, and play RDR2.

What’s your favorite time of day? 7PM-1AM. Blessed alone/unbothered time in this house.

Your go to for having a good laugh? Talking to my college friends and The One That Got Away

Dream country to visit? England

What’s the biggest surprise you’ve had? My parents finally caving and letting me get a dog after we lost our first corgi two years prior/they didn’t want to “do all the doghair” again.

Heels or flats/sneakers? Sneakers but not flats. I’m a toe-walker so flats are a nightmare. I have better luck in heels than flats, and I don’t mind heels, but they just feel too formal for me.

Who do you want to write your obituary? The One That Got Away. He’ll do me justice and not get too preachy. He’ll have fun with it.

Style icon? Becca in Pitch Perfect, Carrie Underwood when she/her stylist is pairing stuff with jeans

What are three things you can’t live without? My dog, creativity, art supplies

What’s one ingredient you put in everything? Lemon Pepper

What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for? The One That Got Away, my first senior year roommate, and... my three college best friends. No, I won’t narrow it down to three.

What’s your biggest fear in life? At this point it’s about to come true, so moving away and not being able to find a job/carry on the exact same way I’m going now, so... yeah.

Window or aisle seat? Window

What’s your current TV obsession? I had to axe Hulu for a bit but when I still had it, it was Prodigal Son, Almost Family, Dollface, and Perfect Harmony (yeah the latter is fairly preachy and bad but it’s charming and funny in its own weird way). That reminds me I need to re-up Hulu.

Favorite app? Spotify, Choices: Stories You Play

Secret talent? Interior Design, Giving My All to Some People Who Just Won’t Bother to Do the Same For Me

Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life? Digging in my heels when my parents were trying to deter me from going to a college seven hours away. I’m not adventurous and I hate it.

How would you define yourself in three words? empathetic, creative, A Pleasure to Have in Class

Favourite piece of clothing you own? My college hoodie. It’s mostly black, has my college logo but the neck/pullstrings are modelled after a hockey uniform’s. I’ve only gone without it the last three days during this whole lockdown and I miss it. The print is also crackling so I need to find another close thing to it.

Must have clothing item everyone should have? Slightly too-big hoodie.

Superpower you would want? Mind reading

What’s inspiring you in life right now? Nothing

Best piece of advice you’ve received? “Stop caving to your parents.”

Best advice you’d give your teenage self? Same as the last question, cut out [Toxic Ex Best Friend], be more aggressive pursuing The Guy it Turned Out We Both Had a Crush on, also be more aggressive pursuing The One That Got Away.

A book that everyone should read? Austenland by Shannon Hale if romantic comedies and/or Jane Austen is your thing.

What would you like to be remembered for? Loyalty.

How do you define beauty? Selflessness, put-togetherness

What do you love most about your body? If eyes count, my eyes. If not, lmao I hate my body, nothing.

Best way to take a rest/decompress? Mindlessly browse internet, play videogames.

Favourite place to view art? On here, tbh. Like, I could say the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the city, but... idk everything but the Egyptian Exhbit drains me in that place for some reason. I’m more of a Natural History Museum gal. Gimme the fun taxidermy and that giant whale sculpture in the food court any day.

If your life were a song, what would it be? Falling Apart - Matt Nathanson

My Name is Thunder by Jet and The Bloody Beetroots.

If you could master one instrument, what would it be? Baritone. I used to play it and then got snubbed from band in 7th grade and my skill with it tanked to nothing. Picking it up again would be nice.

If you had a tattoo, where would it be? Well, the plan before the lockdown was to get one in the middle of my inner forearm.

Dolphins or koalas? Dolphins

Best gift you’ve ever received? Our first corgi

Best gift you’ve ever given? When I was in college I made polymer clay ornaments for Christmas for my five housemates. They were all fairly terrible but I had fun and most of them apparently willingly enjoyed getting them/had a good laugh about it. One of them still sends me the photo of his whenever it’s on the tree.

What’s your favourite board game? Stratego but the version from the 1960s, Battleship from the 1980s. Yes the years are important, the modern ones are entirely different games and they’re Weird and I don't like ‘em.

What’s your favourite colour? Peacock blue

Least favourite colour? Yellow

Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds

Drugstore makeup or designer? Drugstore

Blow-dry or air-dry? Air dry. Fuck blow drying, I have too much hair and it puffs out if I blow dry. I call it “Hermione Grangering.”

Pilates or yoga? Neither

Coffee or tea? Both

What’s the weirdest word in the English language? Moist. Why does everybody hate it, idgi. Is it really just a mind in the gutter thing?

Dark chocolate or milk chocolate? Yes.

Stairs or elevator? Stylistically stairs, general preference: elevator.

Summer or winter? WINTER!!!! Summer is evil.

You are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat? Mac and Cheese

A dessert you don’t like? No Dessert.

A skill you’re working on mastering? Digital coloring, figuring out what I want to do with my life without caving to my parents trying to gaslight me because they want me to be something I don’t want to be.

Best thing to happen to you today? lmao nothing. Since it’s been a rough few hours I’m waiting on The One That Got Away to sense my depression and text me because he’s just got that talent.

Best compliment you’ve ever received? My high school bus driver ran into me at the grocery store I worked at and introduced me to his partner as “the girl I told you about, the one that if we ever adopt a kid and they don’t end up exactly like her, I’m gonna be disappointed.” Also, because I need to put this one into writing somewhere, when my classmates and I were out on a college trip, our professor/advisor was with us and was a few drinks in, so she gave us all superlatives. I was “the smartest person in this entire group... .... .... but [ I ] had to come out of the closet ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... of smartness.” Cue everyone, including myself, looking from her, to each other, and then back to me, absolutely not sure how to process that. It was wild and confusing but because of that it still ranks on one of my best moments in college. And it was arguably a compliment.

Favourite smell? Vanilla, or baked goods.

Hugs or kisses? Hugs

If you made a documentary, what would it be about? Documentaries are garbage, I’d do a drama- movie or show.

Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? RDR2 fic, post canon where John meets Albert and tells him A Thing and it killed me.

Lipstick or lip gloss Lipstick

Sweet or savory? Sweet

Girl crush? Alicia Vikander

How you know you’re in love? Undying loyalty to the person, lots of laughs and smiles.

Song you can listen to on repeat? Sinner - Andy Grammer

If you could switch lives with someone for a day who would it be? Anybody other than me lmao

What are you most excited about at this time in your life? Again, I’ve got nothing to look forward to in life anymore. So uuuhhhh... maybe having something to look forward to again? But there’s a minimal chance of that.

#long post #sorry for all the sads like I said it's been a bad last few hours #feeling unwanted and worthless and all that fun stuff

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brujeria-histeria · 5 years ago

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Best Mates

Harry meets up with his Friend who he hasn’t seen in years. Hacy of course.

Packing was all done, now it was time to say goodbye for the long weekend. Maggie double checked his checklist and checked his clothes, Mel suggested the best coffee shops in the area according to her friend in that city and Macy... well sweet Macy baked him a sweet send off treat and gave him a thermos full of his favorite piping hot tea, with a blush. She had learned well from his tea lesson tutelage.

Harry was going to Seattle for the extended weekend to do important whitelighter business. He was only comfortable going making sure each of his charges pinky swore to call him immediately should any problem they could not face alone arised. He was excited himself because he’d be seeing an old friend he hadn’t seen in a couple of decades. Louis Aznavour Jordan, a french born whitelighter who had been his partner in crime for a long time.

Louis’s charges were often connected or close to his charges, up until he was assigned Fiona. They had many adventures together and in whitelighter years Louis was 10 years his senior, although they both died at the age of 37, Louis was born in 1910, whereas Harry was born in 1920. With country pride an all that, some wouldn’t think a Frenchman and an Englishman would get along so splendidly but they did. Louis was a dashing man, of course with an air of old fashioned charm and the handsome face to match, he had wavy slightly lighter brown hair than Harry, but was the same height as him and some would mistake them as cousins.”

After hugging each the girls goodbye, a kiss on the cheek from Maggie and squeezing Macy a little extra tight after he heard her breathe him in, he snapped his fingers and made it to a “checkpoint” in an alleyway and then emerged from it hailing a cab to his hotel. He got all checked in and made his way to the meeting spot in a reserved restaurant and looked around eagerly for Louis.

“GREENWOOD!” He heard that distinct voice yell across a room full of Whitelighters.

“JORDAN!” they shook hands and embraced warmly. “Good to see you old chap.” Harry smiled.

“Likewise Mon Amie. Look at you, Whitelighter to the Charmed ones! I’m proud of you.” he praised him honestly. The pair continued to compliment and catch up on their way to a table where they ordered tea and finger sandwiches.

“So, what’s it like serving the Charmed ones?” Louis leaned in. “I heard they are very cute young ladies.” Harry grew uncomfortable at his words, not because Louis was being offensive, because they were ......cute and Macy in particular made him blush a lot with how......cute... she was.

“Louis please, have some respect.” he blushed.

“What? Word gets around, I heard they’re very talented and smart too. The youngest one wants to be what a psychiatrist, the middle one is almost a professor herself and the oldest one a doctor. Jackpot of charges.” he said sipping his water. “My current charge, bless his heart, is wants to go live in Salem to feel his ancestors before him, yet the boy is too scared to drive.”

“I don’t blame him, people drive worse today than back in our day.” Harry replied. “And yes, I have great girls, they’re Darlings, mischievous and hard headed, but Darlings.”

“Aren’t they all, hard headed and conniving?” Louis laughed.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed sipping his tea “Maggie the youngest one, truly is the definition of a younger sister, if it weren’t for the fact I’m almost 100 years old I’d swear she’s mine, she’s an angel but uses her big doe eyes to get her way when I won’t budge, she’s still compassionate and huge sweetheart and all she wants to do is help, she’s wise in her own ways.”

“Children, always made you a softie.” Louis chuckled,

“She’s 19 but yes in relativity to me, a child.” he scoffed. “Mel is the middle child, she’s hard headed and headstrong but I respect the hell out of that girl and she’s very smart, she takes no mess from anyone, not even me but she’s still so sweet when she doesn’t think anyone notices, she’s gained that aspect of kindness from her mother.”

“Mmm sounds like my old charge Randie, remember her?” Louis asked, not particularly needing an answer.

“Macy is the eldest and she’s...wonderful. She’s insanely smart, her I.Q. is impressively high. She’s a scientist, she went off to college at 16, you know.” Harry praised, and Louis noticed a shift in Harry’s demeanor. “She loves to bake and do nerdy little awkward things like watch corny 90s tv shows. And she’s so strong, she mastered her power in almost no time.”

“Hm,” Louis stared intently at Harry, who had a small smile grace his lips. “You have a crush on her don’t you?”

“What??” Harry whipped his head up. “I, I do not, Louis, don’t be ridiculous.” he scoffed.

“Greenwood I have known you since 1965, and I know how you look when you meet a girl you fancy and I know how you look when you meet a girl you really really fancy. And right now it looks like you really really fancy the eldest.” Louis said biting his sandwich nonchalantly.

“I, well, um, well you know I can’t...” Harry sighed, there was no use in lying to Louis. They’d both known each other through each other’s relationships, even his relationship with Charity “Its not like I can actually date her, Louis, yes she’s gorgeous and smart, but she’s my actual charge and I’m.... like an old man compared to her. I was alive well before she was thought of.” Harry slouched in his seat.

Louis understood Harry’s apprehension of course, Harry never dated a charge, not only was it against the rules but Harry for the most part would date around with mortal non magical women until it was time to move onto the next charge, well until he met Charity.

“Harry, mon amie, if you go through your whole whitelighter lifespan worried about a fully grown adult woman being in diapers in the 80s or afterwards, you’ll never get laid again.” Louis sipped his tea a matter of factly, “My rule is 30 or older. Never younger personally. We feel, things Harry. Unless you want to be celibate you don’t have to be. We need love in our lives too, you know as well as I do our lives can be lonely, when you go home to your bed at night and there’s no wife or husband... no kids interrupting your sleep to climb in bed with you, if you’re lucky the least you could get is a cat or a dog... we’ve had all these things before probably... why should we be loveless servants, we’re more than that, and there are no elders around anymore. We’re free to love who we want.”

“Thank you Louis, but I don’t know if she really wants me in the same way I want her.”

“Take time to feel her out, does she act differently around you, spend time with you outside of magic training and demon hunting?”

“Well... she bakes me special treats, we have tea time and tv show bingeing together, we cook together, we listen to the opera together, sometimes the crystals that are brung into her lab for testing will be very old and the ones she finds as old as 1920 she names them after me, like Harry the 3rd.” Harry mused, a smile forming.

“When did you first get a crush on her?” Louis had never seen his friend so happy.

“Mmm, probably after I first met her, and got to know her, and how she used science to solve problems along with magic. Of course I wasn’t head over heels, I fancied her a bit, but she was into another man at the time which eventually didn’t work out..”

“Well, mon amie, I say go for it. It sounds like she may be sweet on you back. I love to meet your amour and the other Charmed sisters one day.”

“I think when i get back I’m going to ask to spend more time with her. I hope you meet them too, and I hope you fall in love like I have.” Harry sighed.

“I did, but you didn’t like me back.” Louis winked.

“Hush up, you cheeky man.” Harry laughed

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

Louis’s name is based on one of the two french actors/entertainers I know and I like them alot Louis Jordan and Charles Aznavour. I described him to kinda look like Louis Jordan though with Charles’s curly hair. Also I know more German than French and I’m not really good at Deutsche either lol

#hacy

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boogiewrites · 6 years ago

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Choking On Sapphires 62

Title & Song: This Feeling

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 6000+

Summary: Genevieve takes Alfie to meet her infamous uncle, Altar. With heavy subjects on their mind and Altar's wisdom, both find themselves more certain of their feelings for each other than ever before.

Warnings/Tags: Language. FLUFF. Meeting Gen’s true father. Deep thoughts on why they feel the way they do. Altar coming in with some HOT tea. Final build up to the big i love you’s.Yiddish and Hebrew.

**Chapter song is This Feeling by Alabama Shakes.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

In the early afternoon, you and Alfie make your way up to your apartment. The windows were now just cracked, the fireplaces roaring and the smell of bread being baked coming from the tall, light-colored open space. You tell Alfie to get some tea, giving him a kiss to his cheek before patting his bum and sending him into the kitchen before you trotted up the stairs with the purpose to call your uncle.

You perch by the window, the sun warming you as you laid back into a plush chair in a beam of light like a cat.

"Lafitte." you hear a familiar old voice, one of your uncle's closest business mates.

"Bonjour Reuben, it's Genevieve, is Altar available?"

"He's in his last meeting of the day, dear, is it urgent?"

"Oh, no I just needed to ask him a question."

"May I be of assistance?"

"I was curious if he had a free evening? I'm in Paris with a friend and would like to see him."

"Oh, he'll be thrilled. There's nothing in the diary, so no business."

"He has cut back hasn't he?"

"He's trying." he chuckles.

"Will he be long I'd like to speak with him?"

"The men are leaving..." you hear a mumble voices.

"I'll have him on in just a moment."

You hear a scuffle and watch the skyline as your feet tap to nothing in particular as your legs hang off the arm of the chair.

"Is it true? Am I really going to see my lovely princess again so soon?" you hear in his warm, loud voice and you smile.

"If you have the evening free yes."

"For you, yes. You're much preferred to the company I was going to keep." he muses.

"Don't let me keep you from anything, I'll be in Paris for a few more days."

"No, no, come, please child. It was only a forced social call, you're doing me a favor by getting me out of it."

"Happy to help. I have someone I want to bring with me, if that's okay."

"Oh goodness."

"Don't."

"Oh, Lilly..." you hear the teasing in his voice.

"Uncle..." you draw out in a 'please don't' tone.

"I know who you're here with!" he says in a playful way. "Last you were crying over him if I recall. First sad tears then happy. I'm assuming the tears have stopped or at the least remained happy."

"No tears as of late, and if they are they are from happiness yes." you smile. "We're here together, we've been together in an official capacity for a little while now."

"I know. You think I don't keep tabs on you?" he laughs. "You and a fellow Jewish gangster? Of course, I'm going to keep my ear to the ground on that. What could be more interesting?"

"Your own business?" you snark.

"HA!" you can picture his head thrown back in laughter. "I do hope he treasures that wit and humor of yours."

"He does. Which is one reason I'd like you to meet him. I know he'd love to meet you. In a personal and not business capacity this time. Plenty of time to talk business later, but tonight I'd just like my uncle to meet my potential future husband." it rolls off the tongue far more easily than you'd imagined it would.

"Oh my." he pauses. "You are serious, little one?"

"Very much so. We've had time alone here on holiday and it's only led to deeper conversations about our future as a team."

"A team? He must be as clever as I've heard he is to know he should think himself an equal to a woman like you." he says with a content tone.

"If he did not you know I wouldn't have given him the time of day." you laugh.

"You are brilliant as always, Lilly. Would you like to come to my place? I can have dinner for us all. Would be no trouble at all."

"That sounds lovely, which place would you like to meet?"

"I've been staying at my country estate. Perhaps the scenery might be a source of romantic ambiance for you two." he chuckles.

"Perhaps." you sigh. "I'll have Benji bring us over near dusk. Don't embarrass me too much, please. I rather like this one."

"I'd never." he scoffs.

"You can be as stern as you'd like but play nice. Don't put him in a bad mood and ruin my evening." you laugh.

"Only a few stories from your childhood then."

"Don't make me regret this." you giggle. ----------

You see Alfie's hand clutching and regripping on the top of his cane so you know he's in thought and nervous.

"It'll be fine darling," you say, leaning in with a smile and taking his fidgeting arm into your grasp. "He'll love you I'm sure of it."

"Sorry, love. It innit really that I'm worried about," he says with a low brow. "Me brain is tellin' me I'm meetin' a powerful man for business, yeah? But I'm tryin' to tell it I'm not, then I think it's 'bout the equivalent of meetin' your father or somethin' of that nature, and I feel unprepared and me leg starts twitchin'."

"Perhaps all the walking today has your back acting up?" you offer with a chastizing smile he can't see as you rest your cheek on his arm. Even if he wouldn't admit he was nervous, you would've totally understood if he was. It wasn't only him meeting someone he respected, and those people were few and far between, it was him meeting your family. In your faith, these sorts of things weren't taken lightly and with the discussions of marriage earlier in the day you know he had to have it on his mind. Altar was a parent to you in your heart. He'd taken you in when no one else would and helped build and mend the damage George had caused. So Alfie was essentially meeting your family, and you felt far less nervous than you expected.

Parents typically were more involved in unions, as was tradition, but what you two had was far from textbook within the Jewish faith. Still, the involvement of others in your relationship, and one of such significance for you couldn't go overlooked by him. He had visions of discussing terms and conditions, lawyers and Rabbi's huddled over a ketubah and his intimidating, stand-in father-in-law supervising it all. Your sweet words of distraction calmed his worry and his overactive imagination. You cooed and told him how you thought Altar would like him as you took his fidgeting hand into yours and stroked his blemished skin to soothe him. He could take anything another man could throw at him, he figures. And he could take even more than that if it was for you.

You feel the fluttering in your stomach, a happy nervousness you hadn't felt since you were a child as you stood in the foyer of Altar's country estate. Outside the city on a lovely green piece of land, a place you'd been so many times you couldn't count, sat a stone home covered in vines and surrounded by flowers and shrubbery. Alfie could see it's influence on you in the lavender in the garden and the fabulously ornate mezuzah by the door.

Alfie is caught off guard by the informal and affectionate greeting you receive from two elderly house workers. Coos and kisses, squeezing you with closed eyes and smiles on their faces as they call you by your Hebrew name given to you by your mother. This is the first Alfie has heard of this name and is touched by your mother's will to have you named in such a way despite your father's clear refusal of expressing your heritage.

"Chanah?" he whispers as you walk together down the cozy halls of dark wood floors and stucco walls.

"Yes?" you ask, turning your face his way, the happiness from the reunion of childhood caretakers still on your face.

"Which name is this now?" he asks with wandering eyes about the space.

"My middle name my mother gave me. They called me that here as a child when I was alone without my siblings, they never missed an opportunity to remind me of where I came from once they found out I'd learned of my mother's secret."

"These people are lovely," he says with a warm and even tone. "So is the name Chanah, my love." you give him a soft smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek when you were left alone as they checked to make sure Altar was ready to receive you. His sweet little Chanah, he thought, feeling his heart stutter at the thought you having a Hebrew name to call you by. You were shaping up to be the perfect woman, the perfect wife for a man like him. His beloved as strong as her namesake, he muses. He's still looking at the beaming but reserved joy exuding from your face as heavy footsteps meet the other side of large white double doors. He feels you squeeze his hand and his gaze is torn from you from the loud and loving voice of your uncle.

He could tell by the way he held himself that in his youth he must've been a true force to be reckoned with. Alfie figures he must've been near sixty years of age, the grey scattered about his hair starting to overtake the darkness of his youth. Much like Alfie, his presence filled a room and burst it at the seems with charisma and demanding energy. He wore a black kippah, covering greying hair that was otherwise as dark as yours. You had the same dark eyes, deeper set and intense under full brows with skin the same lovely tan, olive tone. He really could have passed for your father. His features were markedly more masculine of course, a strong nose over smiling lips, a thick beard covering a clear squared and strong jaw. He wore clothes very similar to Alfie's although he was in a much more casual form of dress with a simple white shirt and trousers as opposed to Alfie's layers of vests and jacket.

"My perfect bubbeleh (little doll)! Shyane Maidel (pretty maiden, a term of endearment usually used by older family members)! My darling niece, how are you?" he says with a strain to his voice as he holds you tight and groans as he lifts your feet off the floor. Alfie can't help but smile, seeing that contrary to the dim portrait you'd painted of life with your biological father, that you had known love from this man and your mother's family clearly and he found himself wanting to thank Altar for giving you the love you deserved.

"Oh Uncle, you mensch (man, one who represents the finest qualities of humanity), you flatter me." she says, kissing his cheek and holding his face with both hands. "I am splendid." you say, patting his cheek.

"And would you like to introduce me to your zeeskeit (sweetie/honey)?" he grins, eyebrows wiggling as he grins and nods his head in Alfie's direction. He was relieved to hear he seemed to be treating him as a friend and not a fellow criminal.

"This is, of course, my darling, Alfie Solomons of Camden Town." you coo, walking back over and taking his arm as the older man take steps towards him with a large, outstretched hand and Alfie faces him with a mirrored stick straight posture and raised chin. "Alfie this is my incorrigible Uncle, Altar Lafitte." you grin and chuckle.

"Shalom, Mr. Alfie Solomons." Altar says with a warm and friendly lilt that makes you breath out a sigh of relief.

"Aleichem Shalom, Mr. Lafitte. Please, call me Alfie."

"And call me Altar." he says with a grin. "I would say my little Lilly here introduced me to you, but it would be daft of us to pretend we didn't know who the other was, wouldn't it?" he chuckles.

"I'm inclined to agree." he nods and glances over to you. "If it would be alright to speak in an informal sense? I don't mean to show offense to the family of my beloved here."

"Of course, I insist. Damned with formalities, tonight. We aren't businessmen here now are we? We're just two men who happen to love this brilliant woman." he says, leaning forward towards you as you smile sheepishly. "I do have to admit, I was rather surprised to hear she was with someone."

"I was as surprised as anyone else." Alfie jokes with that charming grin you loved to see when he was being social.

Altar laughs and nods your way. "She will keep you guessing and on your toes, won't she?" he chuckles.

"That she does."

"I am elated to hear she has chosen to be with someone in our line of work. And the more I learned about you, the more impressed I was with her decision making. Not that I ever doubted it." he says with a comforting glance. "But you, Alfie, you are a real tzutzik (ambitious person) and mighty clever if the stories I have heard are indeed true."

"I will gladly agree if given the chance." he grins.

"HA!" Altar says, reaching over and patting Alfie's arm. "I see why you like this one," he says in a sneaky tone, leaning your way but his words were clearly not meant to be a secret. "Come! Let's eat and talk and rejoice in this joyous occasion!" he begins, turning to move down the corridor. "It's not every day our precocious Lily brings someone home to us." he begins. "In fact, she has never brought anyone home to us." he chuckles. "So we must break out the good celebratory wine tonight!" he declares loudly to no one in particular.

You squeeze Alfie's arms and wrinkle your nose at him to let him know everything was going swimmingly. He gives you a cock of his head and a shrug and a hopeful glance that things would continue down such a path. ---------------

The damage to your ego from Altar's stories is nominal. He sticks to tales from your childhood and you're grateful. Tellings of your free and naive escapades amuse Alfie more than he could've imagined, the tales giving way to the birth of your nickname, Lily. It was given after Lillith of course, and only in a heartfelt way as your uncle sang the praises of your wildness as a child. Always rough and mischievous, fighting with the boys and never turning down a dare when you stayed with him. He speaks of the almost altar ego of yourself when you were with your father's family, your prim and proper, clean and soft-spoken nature he'd forced you into. It upset Altar to see you forced into a role you didn't naturally come into and he made it a point to never stifle your chaotic energy. Thus, under his guidance after being exiled from your family's home, you embraced your true nature and became a thief, and Lily Lafitte was born.

Alfie spoke of his own gangster birth lightly. He glanced over how the war and its violence changed him, finding his knack for it in the trenches. His formal education served him well, being promoted up to Captain as more and more men fell, leaving a scrubby boy from London with a smart mouth and quick wit fit for such a position despite his lack of upper class raising as was usual for someone in the position. His knowledge of the common man and his struggles made it easy to form a sense of solidarity among the Jews in Camden and with his men in the field, finding the lack of young men in the area after the war a space that needed filling and he took control over his slice of London piece by piece with the cooperation of fellow schoolmates from before the war and the common thread of heritage and religion that bound together his people and community. Altar nodded and listened, fully invested in learning more about his possible future nephew in law. He sees he was smart, successful and had a brutal hand as was needed in their sort of life. He believes him to be suited for you, as he wanted someone to be able to look after you after he was gone. And this Alfie Solomons seemed a man fit to take on the task, he had the money and the power and those two things when used well could take the both of you far together. He could see the glances, the small, polite but meaningful touches and how he said your name when he told stories of your jobs together. Altar could very clearly see you loved each other, despite your attempts at hiding it for the sake of manners. Your nonverbal and ease of communication was clear to him, finishing each other's thoughts and interjecting on stories without so much as an overstepping of the pace of conversation.

"As much as I have enjoyed your company tonight, the night is dragging on and I don't want to keep you two too terribly long...would you be so kind as to give me some time alone with my Lily? I have some things to speak to her about that require discretion." Altar says with a kind nod.

"Oh, no, of course." Alfie says pushing back his chair.

"Have Rada show you the library, darling, you'll adore it." you say with a soft smile his way.

He leans in to kiss your cheek. "Come find me when you need me, eh?" he says with a gentle caress of your upper back. "Altar, may I speak with you again before we depart?"

"Yes! Certainly." he says with a warm smile.

"I will see you shortly then." he says with a slight bow as he leaves the room.

You move to the seat closest to your Uncle and scoot it even closer.

"Oh, my little one..." he says with a broad grin, shaking his head. "Are you sure you have not come to tell me you've secretly married? Or perhaps you are with child?" he suggests with a deep chuckle.

"Neither," you respond back with a bashful smile. "What did you think of him, Uncle?" you ask in a whispered voice, eyelashes batting in anticipation.

"Well he certainly is very in love with you isn't he?" he says in a teasing tone. "I won't pry too much into your personal affairs, but would you grant an old man his wishes of knowing when you knew?"

"Knew what precisely?"

"Don't be silly, my sweet, when he told you he loved you." he chuckles

The flush comes across your face. "Oh." your lashes flutter. "Well we haven't'... exactly don't that." you say with a low brow.

"You are joking." he insists. "There is no way you haven't, surely. A blind man could see with the way you look at each other."

"I'm not joking." you shake your head and purse your lips. "I know I should. I've just been intimidated to do so to be perfectly honest."

"Things that you fear are usually things worth doing and conquering. It's what makes the struggle worth it."

"I believe him to be withheld due to my previous lack of enthusiasm about such things. I do not still hold those beliefs but I think he's only trying to be gentle."

"I won't fault him for handling you with care. But you two do not act like people who haven't shared confessions of love, dearest. You act like two very, very old friends who know each other most intimately."

"We have been through more than most that have been married for longer than we've been alive." you chuckle. "We've only been together some short months, but we've been close for a year now."

"That is not what I meant," he says simply. "I believe you to be old souls. I suspect this isn't your first go-round together."

"This really the time to be taking a piss, Uncle?" you say with a scolding glance.

"I'm serious." he says with high brows.

How was Altar, the man who would tease you when he'd find your nose buried in your bubbies old books, full of recipes with no explanation as to how to they worked, but they always did? He would be sure to reign in only your tendency to be very whimsical, telling you, you were acting like your grandfather, who was known to live in the clouds and not among the rest of men, making poor heartfelt decisions that ultimately lead to his demise. How was he suggesting such a blush-inducing idea as to you having such a connection to Alfie?

He leans in closer, elbow resting on the table as he speaks quietly. "You are in love with the man aren't you?"

You take a deep breath and nod. "Yes."

"Terribly so?"

"Disorientingly so." you chuckle and sigh.

"But you say your fear of expressing such things is in the past? And yet you do not tell him? Despite speaking of marriage?"

"He has taken the fear from me when it comes to such things. It was as if I had no choice," you speak softly and he sees your eyes far away in thought and it warms his heart. "He not only says the sweetest words, but he also follows them with actions that reflect the same."

"And did you leave him with any choice in falling for you?" he grins.

You think about how you'd gotten to this point. How despite his best efforts he couldn't bring himself to live without you. He'd told you he needed you. And a man like Alfie Solomons didn't need anything. He was a singular force that was self-sufficient. But there you were, bringing the titan to his knees and unintentionally so. But perhaps the same could be said for you of him. You loved him and you acted on it so naturally, you didn't even think twice about it. You did it without thinking despite what you'd told yourself for years of being bad at loving people in a romantic way. Your paths crossed by fate, and with extraordinary circumstances, you'd found yourselves forced together. By simply being around each other you had fallen in love. There was no trying to it, it happened and you certainly hadn't meant for it to. Perhaps Altar was right. You try to open your heart to the whimsical notion. Your lives couldn't be whole without the other now, left with no choice but an empty life and broken hearts if you fought against the natural magnetizing you had to each other.

"He told me I did not." you lower your head and look away, a slow realization coming across your face.

"Then what other conclusion is there my sweet child?"

You gulp and look back to him, a veil of tears over your eyes. "I am so dangerously in love with him, Uncle." you rasp out so you don't start crying.

"And you have been given a gift. So few know this." he touches your chest. "So few feel something like this, ever," he whispers back, wiping away a tear that escapes. "And he loves you. I can read men, my dearest and that man is yours as much as he is his own."

You nod and take his hand and kiss it, placing it in your lap. "I'll tell him." You nod and sniffle. "I'll tell him tonight," you say with more conviction. "I don't need to fear something that feels so right. I see that now. I thought for so long it didn't exist I..." you shake your head. "I'd given up."

"And that was when he came into your life, yes?"

You nod and smile.

"And isn't that how it is foretold?"

You nod more enthusiastically and he leans in and kisses your forehead.

"That's my girl," he says patting your cheek. "You tell him tonight." he taps the bulb of your nose. "You tell him and revel in his reciprocation and wake up two souls in love. A rare, rare blessing. One I would venture to guess is a personal gift from God to you both. I've never seen you look so happy, bubbelah."

"I've never been so happy." you wipe your tears and he leans back in his chair. "Hopefully I am capable of learning my lesson and it won't be another year before we get married." you laugh and Altar lets out a comforting rumble of a noise.

"With the I love you's said I doubt you'll be able to wait that long." he pats your knee. "Once you find that someone it is hard to want to wait to have them all to yourself."

"And you do like him? You approve?"

"You have my complete support. I dare say he reminds me of a younger me. Perhaps more violent, but the world today calls for such things for people like us. He doesn't keep his life secret from you as I can see, and with you being just as ruthless I see no reason you couldn't make this work. With your sharp minds and fierce fists, you would make some fearsome children." he chuckles.

"Oh my, they would be hellions." you laugh.

"And you would deserve every bit of the pain and joy that is raising a child for what I put up with, with you." he teases.

"I hate to say that I entirely agree." ---------------------------

Alfie is alone in the library, looking through old religious texts, thoroughly impressed with the collection Altar kept in the room of ceiling-high bookshelves. He places the book back and walks over the large window in the light colored room. The sun has set and left lovely deep tones across the sky. He thinks about you and what it is you two are talking about in the other room. His natural curiosity wants to try to eavesdrop but he won't be disrespectful in the house of a Lafitte. Although he had checked all the drawers in the room and found them to be locked. Old habits die hard.

It dawns on him, the magnitude of the situation he finds himself in. In the house of Altar Lafitte for starters is not something he ever thought he'd say. He wasn't in his office in the city where he conducted business, he was in his country home, unattended in his library. What a strange place to be, he muses. And even stranger beyond that was his reason for being there. Unknowingly to him, he had somehow managed to meet, befriend, seduce and fall for the niece of a crime kingpin. Altar was a big name in the French Mafia, any Jew in the crime world knew the name, he ran the biggest city in France. He realizes with your level of skill and clear knowledgeable training that he should've assumed you had some sort of background such as this. But the blood of a Lafitte in your veins, a name feared and respected through Europe...he hadn't expected that.

He thumbs his nose, eyes unfocused and posture slack as he gets lost in his thoughts. He's mulling over how confusingly perfect you are for him. Neither of you was without your faults, and he didn't have the illusion that you were indeed without any flaws, same as him. But the way your paths aligned, the roads that led you both to the point where they intersected seemed to be rather fateful. He looks up at the moon, his lips in a tight line, wondering if anyone could hear his musing of cosmic interference in his life. He wasn't entirely unimportant, but he was just a man, after all. Why would he be given a blessing like you? A fucking sodomite and murderer given the chance to know love like this. You were the only wholesome and pure thing in his life, and every time he thought about it he felt fearful of losing you. A beautiful flower had no business rooting and blooming in the bog that was his life. His chest aches at the thought of losing you, it throbs with how much love it holds for you. He felt so full it traveled up to his brain and made me feel rather thick at times. As if you'd grown like a fungus and overtaken his common sense. What else would explain his musings of you being his b'sheret?

He lets out a heavy sigh. His sweet Chanah. His crime heiress, self-made woman, gangster queen. He was hopeless, wasn't he? And how could he not be for a woman that felt tailor-made for him. You cracked him open and left him raw in a way he hadn't felt since the war. Before it was the only thing that had scared him, but now a man, certain in himself and his life, he felt fear again and you were the source. Before you he was a singular person, he had only to worry about himself ultimately, but now he was given a whole other human to take into consideration. Someone just as complex as he. He found himself more worried about losing you than losing himself now, and that honestly put a bit of fear into him as it was the first time in his life he'd felt such a strong urge, a pull to rely on another person in such a way. You made him feel like a child, like he wasn't in control of himself or what he did, following your skirt because he loved you and for no other reason. And if there were, no other reasons mattered. He plans to tell you these things, and soon. He notices the stars clear and bright, twinkling with enthusiasm for the full moon in the sky. Perhaps tonight, he thinks, his bottom lip pushed up in consideration under his mustache. He was certain he loved you, and such feelings deserved to be acted upon and shared when they involved someone else. You certainly deserved the honesty from him. If you spoke of weddings and babies with boldness, there was no need to fear saying the words that should've come first the whole time. It was time to finally brush away that last bit of you that held on in fear of love. He wanted to prove to you and himself that there was no reason for you to be afraid if you were both in this together.

He hears the door crack open, your wide blinking eyes meeting his as your head peeps into the room. "He's finished interrogating me." you giggle. "You wanted to speak with him, darling?" you ask with such a warm smile he practically floats to it to simply be in its presence.

"I did." he says with a nod, pulling you into the room by the wrist. "Are you ready to leave? Or would you like to stay?" he asks quietly, hand brushing your hair out of your face.

"I'd love to go back to the apartment and spend the night with my handsome man." you coo with a playful smile.

"Just so happens I would love nothing more than to accommodate that wish." he chuckles, leaning in to give you a brief kiss. "Is he in the dining room still?"

"No, his study, it's two doors past the dining room. He's in there waiting."

"Let's not keep the legend waiting then, eh?" he smiles.

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, thank you love, I wanted to conclude the visit with an invitation for business in the future, you go ready that young pup to take us back, eh?"

"I'll tell him, I'll wait in the parlour." you say sweetly, holding his hand until the distance growing between the two of you separates you as he walks down the hall.

"'Ello." Alfie says, entering the room and clearing his throat.

"Bonjour." Altar says happily. "You did say you wanted to speak again, yes? Or is my mind farther gone than I know?" he chuckles.

"Absolutely not, steel trap that, mate." he grins.

"And what can I help you with Alfie?" he says, hands coming together in front of him in the large chair by the fire.

Alfie sits next to him on a matching chair, angled towards each other and Altar hears him swallow and holds back a smile.

"I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about Genevieve?" he forces the words out.

"Always. Anything for my Lily. Is something the matter?"

"Oh no, no." he shakes his head. "For once, the opposite." he gives a closed mouth smile.

"Lovely then." Altar sits back and waits, giving the man a minute. He wasn't into betting but at that moment he would have on what words would come out of his niece's love's mouth next.

"I wanted to speak with you about...making Genevieve my wife." ----------------------------- You stroll happily to the phone room, having told Benji to ready the car already. You call up your apartment and are met with a cheerful voice.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour, Yoni. It's Genevieve of course, Alfie and I are to be leaving Altar's country estate soon and I had a few requests. Should have time to accommodate them before we get there."

"Yes, madam, how may I help?"

"I'd like you to make a few...romantic adjustments to the apartment please."

"Romantic?" she giggles.

"I figure why let the boys do all the romancing, I want to make a statement tonight." you say with your back straight and a hopeful smile on your face.

---------

You anxiously await Alfie by the front door, your hands clasped and picking at your nails as you stare up into the night sky and fantasize about what you might do or say. Everything felt rather jumbled in your head but, you hoped your heart would help you make sense of it when the time came. You're in the middle of pondering playing him something, as you hadn't before and thought perhaps showing him a bit of yourself he hadn't seen yet might be a good gesture of romance. Then he appears from the hallway, your Uncle surprisingly behind him, a hand on his back.

"Did we play well boys?" you ask with a bright smile.

"Certainly did." Altar answers with a smile that looks similar to yours. "Good man you've chosen here, my sweet bubbeleh."

"I like to think so." you chuckle as he walks towards you and takes your hand and raises it to his lips.

"If it weren't for your influence on her, I wouldn't have such a Aishet Chayil (woman of valor) to call my own."

"Alfie." you say blushing, and wrinkling your nose.

"It is only the truth, my oytser (love of my life)." he coos at you and you feel the heat flush your chest as you let out a small giggle of surprise at the affection in front of your uncle.

You bat your eyes in surprise and look away as his lips press against your knuckles. "Who do I thank for this doting man you've sent back to me, Uncle?" you chuckle.

"Only yourself, Lily." he says as watches the look on your eyes as Alfie leans in to gently kiss your cheek. Altar can not only see the love on your face for this man, but he can feel it as he hears sighs and giggles he's never heard before from you in all your years of life. He felt confident in his discussion with Solomons that the feelings of adoration between the two of you were mutual. He was looking forward to having a firm grip on London after the two of you were married. It would, of course, be his little Lily that brings his personal life such joy now, and bringing together both opening and closing to a chapter in his business life with a new alliance in London with his future nephew-in-law.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi

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razmahdaz-art · 7 years ago

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A Second Chance For More. Chapter 9 - Finale

We Did It! Frick Yeah! Super sweet ending, and it leaves room for any future drabbles and things! But Yes! It’s 4 AM and i am ruined. I’ll probably make a master post with links for all the chapters sometime soon, but for now, i’m tired as hecc.

For the whole week that Hanzo spent in Nepal, he was certain he’d lost a few digits. The snow was at least waist deep and the clothes he packed didn’t seem to be enough, no matter how many layers he had on his being. Even if the week was spent with Genji, Zenyatta, and the many other tutors that lived in the temple, he was glad to be back somewhere that got to be over -20 degrees. Christmas had come and gone, the only thing remaining in the year being New Years itself. Genji, Hanzo, and Zenyatta had not been the first to return from their time off. The Amaris had returned a day or so before them, as did the Lindholms (Along with Reinhardt, of course). The base was slowly starting to fill again, but missions wouldn’t be issued unless it was an emergency, that was a promise Winston was sure to keep.

Hanzo had gotten many reactions from the teammates that had seen him from Ana suggesting that she does something similar, to Brigette even offering to paint his nails since, as she put it, ‘It’d look good with your new style!’. Even with the small jokes and light insults that he knew had no weight behind them, all the feedback was positive. He’d be lying if Hanzo said the compliments didn’t give him a small confidence boost.

The following days went by faster than expected. It seemed as if people were returning everyday. Lena was being worked to the bone, going back and forth between countries and continents whenever anyone said they were ready to come home. But even then she did it with a smile on her face. As each day went by and more and more people returned, Hanzo had noticed that Jesse wasn’t among any of them. He’d even asked Lena if she had heard anything from him. “Sorry, Love. He hasn’t called since he left,” She said in between light yawns. Hanzo hid it, but deep down, he was slightly worried. Genji hadn’t heard anything from Jesse for a few days now, and now since no one has...His mind wandered towards the worst. Jesse was alone, no one went with him, and since no one did, it meant that if he went missing, or if something happened to him, no one would’ve known.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Hanzo. Even if he isn’t responding, I’ve seen he’s at least read my messages,” Genji said, his arms wrapped around a pillow, sitting crossed legged on his siblings bed. Hanzo sat at his desk, trying to hide his emotions from his younger brother. Why was he so worried? He admitted that Jesse was a close friend by this point, and he knew that Jesse would always be safe on his own. After all, he had seen how he fought, it’d take more than an army to bring Jesse down to his knees. Even then… Hanzo dreaded to think what may have happened. “I’m worried as well, but I trust that McCree is fine, Anija. He’s probably in a dead zone, or something. I’m sure we’ll hear from him before New Years,” Genji reassured. Even if Hanzo didn’t have to say it, he knew his brother cared. Genji was even a bit worried on the inside, but he knew if he was panicking, it might make things worse. New Years was only a couple days away, and everyone promised to be back in time for it. Hanzo swallowed before letting out a long held breath. “If you believe he is alright, then i’ll do the same,” He said softly. He still held a look of gloom to his face. His brother got up from the bed and walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder, offering comfort. They shared a small smile before Genji suggested that they go distract themselves, make food, train, something. Just to get there minds out of this cloud of worry.

The two days following went by excruciatingly slow. Everyone was back on the base now, every agent has returned. Everyone besides McCree. It was New Years Eve, and people were preparing. Getting alcohol, the scent of last minute cooking and baking filled the air no matter where one stood, and some occasionally said that ‘Back home It’s already next year.’ Hanzo and Genji sat in the midst of the Chaos, not really having much to offer. Everyone had already made more than enough food, and the alcohol was fully stocked to everyone's tastes. The siblings just sat and watched agents come in and out of the kitchen, plates of delicious smelling food wafting through the air and mixing with other dishes. But even with the smiles and stories that Hanzo occasionally eavesdropped on, Jesse’s well being was still plaguing his mind. He sipped his tea and remained quiet, his brother seemingly in the same place as him. Angela, who was making the best smelling cookies in the history of the world, seemed to notice. She put her bowl of cookie dough to the side (Hana stealing a small ball or two for herself) before she came to join them. She knew exactly what they were thinking, after all, Jesse was her friend as well.

“Winston said if we don’t hear anything by tonight, we’ll send agents out tomorrow to his last location,” she reassured, sitting on the table next to Genji. They both looked up to her, not really realizing that they’d seemed to be sulking the entire time. “I don’t think anything is wrong, maybe he just wanted some personal time. Even then, it’s very unlike him to not respond to anyone. All we can do for the moment is hope,” She said, giving them a smile similar to a mother trying to keep her children happy in times of trouble. It put some nerves at ease, for both the Shimada. “Now, get up. You shouldn’t be sulking. Socialize, talk, tell your own stories! We shouldn’t worry. We should be positive. After all, it’s what Jesse would be doing if this was any of us,” She said, before walking back to the kitchen, returning to a half gone bowl of cookie dough.

“She’s right. As much as I want to dwell on this, we shouldn’t. Everyone else is worried but they’re still smiling,” Genji said, standing up from his seat. Hanzo watched him and was reluctant to do the same. He still seemed anxious, Genji knew how his brother dwelled on things. He got a mischievous look on his face before beginning to walk to the kitchen. Hanzo watched as his brother stood in the doorway and spoke loud enough for him to hear.

“Did i ever tell you guys how Hanzo destroyed the entire Art room back in primary school?” Genji asked, and Hanzo knew what he was doing. Nonetheless, it was enough for him to get up to try and cover Genji’s mouth as he started to tell an elaborate tale of Hanzo going so far to prove a point that he accidently breaks every box of art supplies in the storage closet. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, but Hanzo got his revenge, of course, telling the story of how Genji came home so drunk one night that he attempted (and subsequently lost) a fight with a potted tree.

While everyone was busy, they filled the air of happy and quite embarrassing tales from their shared childhood, and even some recent stories from Blackwatch and the few peculiar events that had occurred in Hanzo’s life while he was wondering. All entertaining and all making the siblings forget that they were even worrying in the first place. This was how it was well into the evening, sharing stories, memories, winter break stories, showing photos and reminiscing on the past year. All would admit that it was less than a good year, far from it, but they could all agree that it was great to be together again after so long of being apart.

By the later hours, everyone was in the large rec room, drinking alcohol, talking among themselves and watching a bunch of news stations (all on mute) counting down the hours till the New Year was upon them. Hanzo was conversing about his own teammates, even going as far as promising Hana to paint his nails before the night was over. Satya caught people's attention when she made shapes and projections with her hard light, placing small statues on tables or little trinkets on the ceiling to hang. It was a warm and inviting party, everyone feeling like they belonged somewhere, double goes for the eldest Shimada. Soft music, gentle talking, and sipping from his new Sake bottle. But still, even as distracted as he was, the nagging feeling of where Jesse was, was always there, at the back of his mind.

No one noticed when Lena came in an hour till midnight, a tall Ginger girl holding her hand as they walked in. In Hanzo’s case, he didn’t realize she was gone. “Sorry i was a little late, Loves. Last trip out i promise,” she said, completely drained from her busy week. The ginger woman kissed her forehead, with a gentle smile. “She’d better get a longer break for all the flying she’s had to do. I barely got a weekend with her,” She said. They took there seat, a bit farther back on an empty sofa, and Hanzo thought he saw Lena completely fall asleep on the others lap. She definitely earned it.

“Sorry I’m late, too. Time just got away from me,” a familiar, low, voice with that annoying country drawl on it’s tone let out. A tall figure with that red serape around him couldn’t belong to anyone else. Hanzo watched Genji jump over a couch, probably Ana aswell, to give McCree a hug. Fareeha joined him, swaddling the man in a tight grip. Jesse just laughed and hugged the pair back, eventually being let go. Not after answering questions, of course. “Where were you and why weren’t you messaging any of us!?” Fareeha softly shouted, her arm wrapping around Jesse’s neck to bring him in a light choke hold. Genji took his hat, as if holding it as ransom.

“Sorry! I really am! I got caught up in private work over break that couldn’t wait till later, so...I had to go off the grid for a few,” He confessed, his hands wrapping around Fareeha’s arm that held him in place. “Didn’t really have time to talk. Was kinda busy not getting strung up in the middle of a desert and left to starve,” he said. Fareeha let him go and he stood straight, eventually leaving him be. Genji still held his hat captive, playing keep away with it whenever Jesse reached for it. While McCree’s back was turned, Hanzo had got up to finally say ‘Welcome Back’ but he was caught off guard quickly. “Hanzo! Catch!” His brother said as he tossed the cowboy hat over McCree’s head. Hanzo caught it with ease, and Jesse finally turned to face him.

He was surprised by what he was looking at. Hanzo, the most traditional man he knew was standing before him, with an undercut, piercings, and the most genuine smile he’d ever seen on the man’s face. He was speechless. Genji moved next to him, leaning against him like he was a stone column in the middle of the room. He was frozen in place, just taking it all in. He didn’t realize he was being talked too.

“Jesse? You Okay?” Genji asked, jabbing him in the side to get his attention. “You’re being spoken too, don’t be rude.” Jesse blinked a few times, before finally speaking. “Sorry...You were saying?” He asked, not sure who was speaking to him. “I said, i trust you are well and safe?” Hanzo repeated with a small laugh. McCree’s hat was still in his hands, and he offered it to the other, to which he took it and placed it back on his head. “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, thank you,” he said, his words trailing into the next sentence. “Lord, you changed. It’s…” He attempted to find the words, but it was incredibly difficult. “Weird?” Genji answered. “Disastrous?” Hanzo said, taking a jab at himself with a light laugh.

“No, No! Not at all, It’s...Good. It looks really good,” Jesse complimented, running his eyes up and down Hanzo’s figure. “It’s just a change. But Lord does it look good on you.” Hanzo just smiled that same damn smile, even a hint of blush on his cheeks. “Thank you, Jesse,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a bit bashful, obviously not used to the compliments. Before they could speak another word or catch up about anything, Hana was pulling on Hanzo’s arm, attempting to drag him back to their small circle on the floor.

“Come On! You promised that i could paint your nails, and I'm dead set on doing it!” She said in a determined tone. His brother and Jesse looked at him with a slightly confused gaze, before they let him go. He went back to his place on the floor, sitting crossed legged as apparently, Brigette was painting Lucio’s. “You owe me for letting you do this,” He stated as his right hand was jerked from him, being handled by the small girls.

Jesse and Genji stood at the back, in silence and just watching the scene. Genji was looking over everyone, bouncing back between small groups and catching conversations half way through, but Jesse’s eyes were still stuck on Hanzo. Watching him as his hand was mercilessly grabbed and Hana started swatching colours on his short nails before deciding on a colour. Jesse was staring again, toning everything out just to focus on him. That was until a strong jerk almost pulled his arm out of his socket as he was swiftly drug out of the rec room and into the hallway by the Cyborg who stood next to him. Only then was he snapped out of his trance.

“You motherfucker,” Genji started, the biggest shit eating grin on his face. “I’ve seen this look before, only a few times, but I've seen it. Jesse McCree, you are in love with my older brother!” He accused, and Jesse’s cheeks just turned tomato red. He fumbled over his words a bit, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I...I wouldn’t exactly go as far as to say ‘Love’ but…,” He started, a look of defeat on his face. “He’s grown on me, alright. And his look, well...It just about makes things worse,” He finally admitted, still blushing like mad. Genji crossed his arms as he spoke in a mocking tone. “I didn’t know you were into punk, edgy men with piercings,” Genji said with the most mocking tone in his voice. Jesse just rolled his eyes, them not quite meeting the others.

“It’s not that, even though it’s charming to high hell. No, it’s just...that smile on his face. The pure, genuine happiness of a man that has found his place in life and goddammit Genji, it made my heart sing when i saw it.” Jesse looked as if he’s remembering every time Hanzo has ever smiled around him, and he held every memory close. “It started out slow, just someone to drink and bitch too...But then he told me about his legs, and soon, stories got more personal. I’ve never felt so...Comfortable with someone before, not as much as i do with him.” Jesse confessed everything, like he’s confessing it all to himself alongside Genji. He’d sometime during all that slumped up against the wall, his head resting back against the cold metal. “I’ve got it bad, Genji. Worst part is, I don’t even know if Hanzo...Ya know,” he suggested a bit, and Genji caught on. “Jesse, trust me, he is. I was the first person he told. So you don’t have to worry about that,” He said, joining the other up against the wall.

“As his brother, I give you my full blessing, Jesse. You just need to know..,” Genji started, his hand resting on his friends shoulder. “Hanzo hasn’t gotten close to anyone like...This before. Of course, consorts and paid off escorts, but he’s never had anything relative to a relationship. If you are going to go for it, you’ll have to be patient, and you’ll have to be slow. Don’t kiss on the first date or do anything to crazy for it either. Be gentle, be considerate, and give him space,” Genji instructed, looking at Jesse. He nodded, tipping his hat back a bit and taking a deep breath that his lungs were begging for. They stood up from their slouching position, sharing a few quiet glances at each other. “And i swear to whatever god is above this great earth, you hurt him in anyway, i will kill you and make it look like an accident,” Genji threatened in a cold tone. Not that McCree would ever think of doing it, he was now certain to not to. He’d seen what Genji could do, and that threat was not empty.

They sat out in the hallway, Genji partially giving advice for first date ideas, and what his brother enjoyed, Jesse just smiling and taking mental notes. It had been a good few minutes since they had left the rec room, the hum of people still audible from where they were.

The only thing that made them shut up, was Hanzo himself stepping out of the party. He smiled a bit, but just passed them by, going...Somewhere. “Where you going, Anija?” Genji asked as his brother walked down the hall. “Just stepping out for a moment. I’ll return shortly,” he answered before returning on his way. Genji gave Jesse a small nudge and a look of ‘go get ‘em!’. Jesse just rolled his eyes and watched Hanzo leave the area before walking after him. “Remember! Slow,” Genji said in a strange mixture of a whispering shout. He just tipped his hat before finding his way through the halls and eventually catching up with Hanzo.

This spot, to which McCree has dubbed ‘Their Spot’ was all too familiar by this point. So many drinks shared, along with stories. He stood a feet behind a sitting Hanzo, who was actually perched in Jesse’s usual spot, sitting on one of legs and looking out to the ocean. His jacket was tight around him, but it didn’t seem to be quite enough since he seemed to be shivering. McCree was a bit confused, wondering why he was out here in the first place.

“Han? You alright?” He asked, still remaining a few feet behind him. Hanzo turned his head, and thankfully, he just seemed to be content. Though, he could be wrong, since he had a way of hiding his emotions quite well. “I’m fine, Jesse. I just needed some air. It was getting a bit...crowded in there, i just needed a moment,” Hanzo answered, fixing his jacket a bit. “Oh, ah...I’ll leave ya be then,” McCree started, knowing that he’s done this many times before and being alone was usually best. But Hanzo stopped him. “No! I mean...You don’t have to. I quite enjoy your company. After all, we haven’t gotten to talk other than that ‘Hello’ from earlier.”

Jesse smiled a bit and joined him, leaning against the same boxes as the other was, but he stood. Hanzo took up the only seat, and he didn’t want to intrude on the other. Even if he had just stepped out there, Jesse also started to shiver. He’d just gotten back from two weeks of constant 80 degree weather and sunny blue skies, snow and overcast were a bit strange to see again. It was quiet, a moment of calm that they shared. Jesse’s gave went from the coast, to Hanzo, and back again, repeating for the remaining moments before Hanzo broke the silence.

“How was your time? Aside from getting caught up in ‘work’ as you put it,” He asked, looking up at the much taller male. “It was nice. Warm sun, open desert. Went back to visit some family, so that was kinda nice,” Jesse told him, not elaborating to much. When he mentioned family, his face dropped a bit. Anyone else would have asked who his family was and where they were, but Hanzo caught it, and knew not to push on it to hard. “What about yourself? You look like you had a Hayday while i was gone,” He said afterwards, his flesh hand lighting patting Hanzo’s hair. It made Hanzo giggle a bit. “It was nice. Replaced my prosthetics, got a haircut, and spent the rest of the time with Genji in Nepal. Overall, it was nice. Even if you made me worry,” He admitted, his hands burying into his jacket pockets. “Aw, shucks! Worried about little ol’ me, were ya?” Jesse cooed, jokingly emphasizing his accent to an annoying level. The pair shared a small laugh, and god McCree’s knees went weak. “Yes, i was worried, until i remembered how you spoke,” Hanzo joked. They sat in that same silence from before, comfortable and warm.

‘Slow...c’mon Jesse, just ask him dammit. Now might be the only time,’ McCree thought to himself. He took in a breath and let it out, psyching himself up. He bit his lip as he spoke slow and gently. “Hey...Hanzo?” he asked, getting his attention, his eyes meeting the others, that smile still on his lips. “I was...Wondering...If we could get a drink? Not like, what we do already, i mean like...Coffee?” he fumbled over his words, his brain cursing him out over the million ways that could have sounded smoother. Hanzo took more than a moment to answer, and it seemed like the longest moment in the universe, waiting to be rejected by the other. “I mean, you don’t have too, i know it’s probably not your thing but-”

“Alright.” Jesse was cut off by the simple word. “That sounds wonderful, McCree. I’d love to get coffee with you,” Hanzo said fully, and Jesse just about passed out from all his nerves relaxing at once. He smiled a wide, toothy smile and nodded a bit, just excited about this. He reclaimed his composer, standing still for a moment to speak again. “Alright...That’s great! How about...Tomorrow morning? Know this great little place in town, quiet and small. Think you’ll like it,” Jesse suggested. Hanzo stood and smiled, fixing his hair a bit as he did, Jesse catching a glimpse of his painted nails. Black. Fitting. “That sounds wonderful. Be ready around...10?” Hanzo asked, still looking up at the other. “Perfect,” Jesse answered, still not believing that this is actually happening. For all he knew, it was a dream. A very real, very incredible dream that he knew he’d dreamt of before.

“It sounds like a wonderful way to start off the new year,” Hanzo said, fixing his jacket as he left the small space they shared. “It is late. We should return to celebrate with the others. Shall we?” Hanzo asked smiling at McCree. “After you,” He coos again, his arm gesturing towards the doorway. They walked back together, just barley back in time to catch the clock strike midnight. People cheered, hugged, sang songs and enjoyed the moment, Hanzo and McCree towards the back and just being in each others much wanted company.

It was mid July, the morning sun peering in through half closed shades and casting themselves onto the inhabitant of the small bed. The morning sun was just peering above the curve of the earth, blue, darkness, and stars still faintly hanging in the sky. The room was silent, not a single noise being heard. Hanzo’s eyes flutter open, not wanting to move from the comfortable position he lay in, looking onto the room as he was just on the edge of the bed, laying on his side, his hair disheveled and in his face. He yawned a bit, before his eyes closed once more. Something beside him shifted, a firm and warm mass pressing against his bare back and the faintest weight just about to rest on his side.

“Jesse McCree, you put that arm anywhere near me, i will cut it off,” Hanzo murmured into his pillow, a smirk creeping across his lips. He didn’t even have to look back to know that he was smiling. “Good morning to you to, sunshine,” McCree hummed, his lips just pressing against the back of Hanzo’s neck as gently as possible, his beard tickling a bit. Hanzo turned over, able to face his partner, sleep still in his own eyes. They shared a light kiss before Hanzo forced himself into the others chest, still not wanting to get up quite yet. McCree didn’t complain and just wrapped his arms around Hanzo, careful to not touch his skin with his metal arm. He’d gotten back so exhausted, he didn’t really want to do much else besides strip and hop into bed with Hanzo for the night, let alone take off his arm. He’d been gone for a week, and he was just happy to be home. Hanzo was just barley slipping back to sleep as Jesse grabbed his phone from the nightstand to check the time. It was early, 6:34 to be exact. The date was what gave Jesse a small moment of interest.

“Shit, darlin,” He said, lightly waking Hanzo, just a bit curious about what he was talking about. “It’s the one year anniversary, to the day, from when i punched you square in that pretty face of yours,” Jesse let out with a low, gentle laugh. Hanzo couldn’t help but smile against the others skin, his hands roaming around Jesse to hug him tight. “I have no idea how i gave you a second chance,” Hanzo said, looking at Jesse finally for the first time this morning. McCree just pressed their lips together in a gentle, sweet kiss.

“I’ve got no idea. But I got a second chance, and so much more,” Jesse hummed, before kissing the other one more time. They probably wouldn’t be leaving bed for a good few hours.

#mchanzo #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #fanfiction #A Second Chance For More #god damn that was long #super long chapter to end things off #also the ending was perfect #a twisted meaning #I LOVE IT #MY BOYS #HAPPY BOYS #my writings #now to sleep

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nevillelongsbottom · 7 years ago

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neville discovers conspiracies and the meaning of life (a journey in two seasons) pairing: neville longbottom x newt scamander x credence barebone wc: 5195 for: @hptriadsnet holiday challenge playlists: getting lost with newt scamander, a float on the canal

Neville’s never been fond of trains, but taking one on his own is somehow even worse: he can’t find his seat, forgets that he has to pay money for food, compulsively checks his phone to make sure that they definitely aren’t about to approach his stop even though he knows he’s not due to arrive for another four hours or so, and drops his suitcase on his foot as he’s trying to heft it out with far too much desperation considering it’s another twenty minutes before the train even pulls into the station. He really wishes his Gran didn’t think he was this mature; sometimes he thinks he’s going to hit his twenties and have bills to pay and somehow forget them all, because it sure is in his nature.

He embarks with a gulp, hefting his slightly too small suitcase behind him, bulging awkwardly at the seams. He can see the town in the distance, and he double-checks his printed-out map, complete with written directions and arrows following the winding labyrinth of roads that make up Pinetree. It seems nice, he thinks: the sun is beating down on him, the beginning of summer showing its happy face, and he can even see the river that runs through the town. It’s like something from a quaint British TV show, he thinks, and with the onset determination that he’s sure he can’t get lost because he has everything written down, he sets off.

(He gets lost.)

It’s not intentional, but Neville’s directionless, and he doesn’t know how many feet he’s meant to walk before he turns, and the street signs are too high on the French balconies for him to read feasibly, so he doesn’t even know if he has made it to Birch Street and simply failed to recognise it from the glimpses he’s seen on the Internet, and his arm is starting to hurt from dragging his suitcase, and the seams are starting to look precariously taut. Even the seams on his jeans suddenly seem tight.

“I’m sorry, are you lost?”

Neville wonders if he’s accidentally gotten off in the wrong country, and he turns to the owner of the beautifully British accent: it’s a teenage boy, about the same age as him (Neville’s seventeen), all gangly with too-long limbs and radiating that air of just waiting for the day where suddenly he’ll burst and become some kind of well-proportioned man. He’s wearing a denim button-down and flecked black trousers with dark brown boots, with a slightly wild mop of hair that falls in a sort-of fringe in his face, and there’s a gentle curiosity to his face that soothes Neville’s terrified heart: he doesn’t look like he’s about to pull some kind of practical joke on Neville or beat him up, and so Neville nods.

“Yeah, I’m - uh - meant to be moving in at Birch Street, but I’m not really sure where I am,” he says shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a map, but it’s not really helping…”

“I’ll take you to Birch Street,” the boy says with a smile, gesturing with his head before setting off, walking with a peculiarly rambling jaunt. “This place takes a little bit of getting used to, but it’s okay after that. You must be the new boy. I heard about you in school; people have been talking about you.”

“What kind of things have they been saying?” Neville asks nervously, shifting the strap of his backpack.

“Just trying to predict what you’re going to be like. Fred and George have ten-to-one odds that you’re going to be a thug, but I for one am rather glad to see that they’re wrong,” the boy grins, pausing to jut out a hand, which Neville shakes with some surprise; he’s never really had anyone shake his hand before - nobody ever seems to have deemed him important enough. “I’m Newt. British, as I’m sure you can hear. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Neville.”

“Birch Street is just here. You really weren’t that far - and there’s a nice coffee shop a little further up that does good donuts, if you’re interested. We could always go together. I could introduce you to my friend, Credence. I think you’ll like him.” Newt pauses just outside the apartment that Neville does recognise from the potato quality pictures, running a hand through his hair and setting some of it on end.

“Credence?” Neville frowns.

“It’s Puritan,” Newt shrugs. “At least it’s not Praise-God. Or If-Christ-had-not-died-for-thee-thou-hadst-been-damned.” He then proceeds to pull off a strange smile that seems to Neville to be a repository of trouble, but trouble in the kind of trouble that stealing a cat from an abusive household trouble is trouble, and though Neville doesn’t enjoy getting into any sorts of trouble, he has a feeling that he could easily fall down a rabbit hole with Newt.

He tries to hope that he won’t, but it’s slightly difficult.

Neville had his head flushed down the toilet multiple times in his last school, and so immediately deems that this one is better as his head remains firmly away from the lavatories. He doesn’t find Newt until lunch-time, but people aren’t necessarily mean to him and actually bother to inquire into his previous life instead of firing balls of scrunched-up paper at him; he makes a friend in a girl with a bob called Tina who’s steadfastly determined to get good grades and writes slightly too many pages of notes in class as a result.

And, of course, it turns out that she’s Newt’s friend. Newt has more friends than he let on to Neville, if he let on at all: his group of friends take up an entire table in the cafeteria, and it’s comprised of himself, the Puritan, Tina, her slightly younger sister who is wearing the best outfit Neville has ever been graced to see, a round boy called Jacob who seems to be a dispenser of baked goods, a gum-chewing punk with eyebrows noticeable from across the room, and a neurotic-looking boy who’s wearing a tie and looks as if his own existence stresses him out. Neville is welcomed easily, taking a place in between Newt and Neuroticism. (It sounds slightly to him like a Jane Austen novel, and Neville stifles a laugh at his own joke.)

The banter across the table comes easy, and Neville joins it effortlessly: nobody stops to stare at him as if to question his presence at the table, and he even earns a few laughs now and then, managing to capture half the table’s attention as he retells the story of how he got detention for trying to replicate a scene from Matilda.

Bizarrely, Neville feels like he belongs. It’s something he’s so unused to that it almost startles him, and as Newt and Credence walk him back to Birch Street (they prompt him for directions every now and then, and he fails every time; he doesn’t mind, though), he thinks he might cry.

“So,” Newt says at Neville’s door, pinging his navy blue suspender. “Would you like to go for coffee and donuts this weekend?”

Newt’s right: the donuts are good, sugary and filling. They also give Neville what feels like an immediate food baby, and for a few moments he makes a mental apology to every woman who has ever been pregnant, because the stretch of his stomach to accommodate the volume of donuts he has just consumed isn’t particularly comfortable, and he can’t imagine it going on for nine months; when he vocalises this to Newt, he bursts into that half-reserved English laughter and jostles Credence’s shoulder, who stifles his own laugh, a thing that Neville’s never even heard yet. Credence is quiet, painfully so, but there’s something about his smile and the sound that escapes of his laugh that’s addictive.

“You were talking about Matilda on Monday,” Newt says as he sips his tea (Earl Grey; he’s so typically British that Neville wonders if he’s wandered out of the television). “Have you read the book?”

“Oh, yeah. It was my favourite book, and it kind of still is, if that’s not stupid,” Neville replies, flushing - he doesn’t see anything stupid about it, because he loves Roald Dahl, but his Gran and everyone else seem to expect him to have moved up, to have a higher order level of favourites, but Neville just likes to take it easy, to twist his tongue over a Dr Seuss or explore the world of the fantastical with Roald Dahl. There’s time for classics, sure, but his choice will always be what’s fun.

“There’s nothing stupid about it,” Newt shrugs, and there’s something in the nonchalance of his tone that suggests to Neville that he’s not just trying to be polite: Newt really doesn’t think there’s anything stupid about Neville being seventeen and still leafing his way through Matilda with childlike glee - in fact, it almost sounds like Newt would probably join him, or at least watch the film with him and play Send Me On My Way on Pancake Day. “Have you seen Stranger Things?” Neville nods, and is about to start gushing when Newt continues. “Okay, but - don’t you think that Matilda and Eleven are some of the most incredible female characters ever?” Neville nods emphatically. “And that their powers are cool?” There’s something very wrong with the sound of Newt’s accent reaching around the word cool, but Neville ignores it and continues to nod like a bobblehead figure. “Well, what if I told you that Credence and I both have powers?”

Neville stops.

Newt has just punched him in the gut. (Metaphorically.)

How could he have thought that people weren’t going to make fun of him? How could he have ever made the mistake of trusting people, of thinking that people liked him? God, he’s an idiot. Newt was just too smart, playing the long con that nobody at Neville’s previous school ever bothered to, because kicking him in the shin just worked so well, too.

Neville shakes his head, and reaches for the armrest of his chair when Credence leans forward suddenly, a sharp movement in contrast to his usual self: Credence is reserved, like he’s been compressed or something, all his sharp edges blurred. “He’s not lying,” Credence says loudly, which for him is a tone just above a whisper, but it’s enough for Neville to pause from his path outward and downwards into a spiral of tears and glance back up. “Look.” Credence sits back for a moment, his back slumping as he looks to his cup of hot chocolate on the table: and, just like that, and as if it’s a moment plucked straight from between the pages of a Roald Dahl novel, the cup starts to move, sliding across the table until it lands in his hand. Credence giggles, softly, as if his own powers still surprise him with their novelty. Neville’s heart feels like it’s being tugged, because Credence is cute, warm; how could he be deceiving him? And yet Neville’s seen so much deception.

“No,” says Neville. “That could be - magic. Like, sleight of hand.” He turns to Newt. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“We just want to be honest with you, Neville.” Newt sighs, exasperated, and rubs the back of his neck, watching as Credence sips his hot chocolate. “And my powers aren’t like his. I wouldn’t like to use them on you.”

“Show me,” Neville says, stubbornly, because if Newt’s trying to feign honesty, then Neville won’t be happy until he’s got concrete proof that he’s not about to be stabbed in the back, humiliated, have his pants pulled down in front of an audience of everyone in school. (It’s not happened, but it’s such a common recurring dream that he’s almost not sure that it didn’t happen.)

Newt leans forwards, and for the briefest of moments uncharacteristically locks eyes with Neville before shyly glancing away. “Your middle name is Frank, after your father. Your parents both died in a car crash when you were little and your Gran has been forcing you to live in their legacy ever since. You feel as if you’ll never be as good as they were, and you’ve been the target of frequent and almost neverending bullying. You moved away after you tried to stand up to a bully and were beaten up badly; your Gran is having to take a job here because you’ve used up all your parents’ money moving here and away, but you were desperate and couldn’t stay. You think that Credence and I are trying to make fun of you, and you feel incredibly betrayed by this because you thought I was cute, even though you also decided that you had no chance with me because I have too many friends and they’re all too nice and that I must, of course, be in love with either Tina or Queenie.”

Neville doesn’t think he can stay anymore, and holes himself up in his room for the rest of the day, drowning out the world with the Happy Mondays: he hears Newt trying to speak to his Gran, but she’s fierce. It’s one of the things he loves about her.

He watches Newt and Credence tumble along the street together, and feels lost.

Because Newt wasn’t wrong.

Neville is prepared for something happening, but what he’s not prepared for is opening the door at eight in the morning to Credence, who is wearing a ratty almost-suit and holding out a leaflet that proclaims ‘burn the witches’.

Neville stares slowly at the leaflet, attempting to decipher if it has any deeper meaning beyond renouncing all witches and calling for their incineration, but he finds nothing, and as he looks back up at Credence, he’s surprised to find the other boy giggling softly, a noise that sets Neville’s stomach into a whirling overdrive, because Credence is just so pretty when he laughs, his face lit up with all the colours of a summer road trip.

Neville feels a strange want to kiss him, which is in definite opposition to the voice in Neville’s head demanding that Credence be turned out on his ear. Neville tells the voice to fuck off.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, taking the leaflet and starting as it crumples itself in the warmth of his hand, folding and crushing into a tiny ball. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” Credence says in that small voice of his, like a particularly amiable mouse. “We’re a little bit out there.”

Neville wonders if Newt will be able to tell that he’s thought this, that he feels this; does Newt know that Neville’s head is just a storm like this, or does he see clearly through to the eye? Maybe he’s wearing his windproofs - either way, Neville worries, and with the kind of reckless abandon that Pinetree seems to have instilled in his slightly overworked heart, he looks up and boldly asks Ozymandias, the question of questions:

“Can I kiss you?”

“Mm-hm.”

The response is mildly underwhelming; Neville was expecting fireworks or some kind of amateur dramatics, but Credence just smiles easily at him, and lets Neville hook his fingers at the back of Credence’s neck and kiss him in the kind of strange way that people who almost know how to kiss do, where they’re just about ready to let loose and kiss - but not quite, and Neville thinks he’s pretty fine with that. And with Credence; in fact, he’s more than fine with Credence, and more than fine with this town.

He thinks he actually might like this place; and he thinks he might really love the donuts, from the three he shares with Credence on his doorstep in the warmth of a Lionel Richie Sunday morning.

Neville actually starts to learn the layout of the town to the level that, when Newt invites him out to the canal after band practise (Neville has been welcomed with celebration as the school’s only double bass player, and, almost ritualistically, it had taken him three days to clean the layers of dust off), Neville finds his way there with relative ease, beaming with raw delight as he disembarks his bike (a moving present from his Gran, who decided he needed a way to get around besides his own two feet). Newt and Credence are already there; Newt is sitting on a small wooden platform floating on the water, trailing patterns with his bare feet and watching the water ripple where he moves, whilst Credence is sitting on Newt’s splayed checkerboard jacket, eyes red as he feebly sticks plasters to his raw hands.

“Neville!” Newt calls, waving cheerily. “Come over here. The water’s nice.”

Neville sheds his backpack by Credence, pausing only for a moment to ask if Credence is coming; the other boy just shakes his head and says he’ll be over later, so Neville settles onto the float with Newt, dipping his toes into the water with extreme caution only to find that Newt’s right and that the water is, surprisingly, an acceptable temperature; the float is a suntrap, and Newt is sprawled right in the heat of it, his freckled skin aglow.

“We didn’t get this kind of sun in England,” he says, sounding amused, as if there’s something hilarious about the weather; Neville’s sure that’s some kind of Britishism, so just nods like he knows. “It’s nice, if not a bit toasty.” Newt reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of large blue Aviator sunglasses that don’t suit him in the slightest, and Neville stifles a giggle, as does Newt as he leans back on the wood of the float, watching the clouds as they float by, lazy.

They sit like that for a long and comfortable moment before Newt half-turns his head to look at Neville. “You’re thinking very loudly right now, you know.”

“Am I?” Neville flushes. “What - what can you hear?”

“I’m trying not to listen. I don’t want to invade, you see, but it��s a little tricky not to hear you; it’s almost the equivalent of shouting. I can hear that you’re worried about Credence.” Newt sits up in a mildly terrifying gesture that dips the float, causing Neville a very small heart attack as his mind decides that he is about to drown. “He doesn’t have a very good home life. But he’s going to be okay. We’re working on it. My contribution is mostly just days out and donuts, but I’m trying.” Newt smiles, placing a hand over Neville’s; his hand is a little sweaty, and a part of Neville is repulsed at the same time another part is thrilled. “Am I that exciting?”

“Can you not read my mind?” Neville asks softly; it’s not so much that he feels invaded, because he knows he’s already having his privacy invaded daily by whomever it is that tracks every keystroke and Google search and stares through his mobile phone camera - it’s that he thinks that his emotions are stupid and uncontrollable and he just doesn’t want to see the mess and tangle of thoughts that lie behind his forehead.

“Not really,” Newt says, apologetically, even with a gentle furrowing of his brows. “I usually have to make effort to hear, but… not with you. You’re turned up to eleven.”

“You probably understand me more than I do,” Neville laughs, leaning in slightly to Newt’s shoulder.

“Only a little,” Newt shrugs. “Enough to know that I think we feel the same way.”

And with that, he seems to decide that he’s said to much or hit his extrovert bandwidth limit and leans back again; still, Neville joins him, swallowing his terror as the platform shudders, dipping as he shifts (it takes him a moment to convince himself that there’s not something under the water deliberately trying to push him and the float upwards). Everything about town feels new and shiny and different, but it’s comfortable, easy - and Newt is so easy it feels like they’ve known each other for years, grinning as Credence arrives, flourishing Newt’s coat over his eyes.

Neville takes to the canal - not only does it quickly become his framework for figuring where things are, a welcome replacement from ‘the ugly statue’, but it’s one of the town’s centrepieces: it’s home to countless boats that serve as offices or cafés or pop-up stalls, all of which Neville visits in a touristy circuit, particularly taken by a pop-up art gallery characterised half by Liechtenstein-esque prints and half by Polaroids hung on a piece of string, a record player spinning This Is The Story in the background. Newt is fond of the floating music shop, selling guitars and ukuleles and banjos and mandolins; he tells Neville that his brother Theseus used to play in a band in high school, and Newt’s no shabby guitarist either, demonstrating his talent with a riff from Scott Pilgrim on a dark blue Fender (“Theseus taught me,” he says modestly, “I’m no good, really”).

Newt’s also an enthusiast of all places food-related, and they stop often to have a coffee and a cake, his treat. Neville wonders how he stays so thin, considering his deep affection for sweet treats; perhaps it’s all the walking and cycling - Newt seems to get around town, that’s for sure. Credence eats a little less, mostly just drinking hot chocolates despite the sweltering weather outside. Every now and then when they wander along the canal, one of their other friends joins them: Tina, for a trip to a board games café; Abernathy, on the hunt for a secondhand copy of The Catcher In The Rye; Theseus, back for the weekend from college with a wad of money from taking place in an experiment on campus. They go after school one Wednesday, and Jacob gives them a whole star-patterned bag of cookies to eat, crowded together on their little float: Newt, Neville, Credence, elbow to elbow, knee to knee.

Neville has never felt more comfortable in his skin, or more comfortable with two other people in his life; in another life, the life before he moved here, he’d be embarrassed at the idea of being caught dead with a boy with a bowl cut and a boy loudly and badly humming You Can Call Me Al, but this is a life where he joins in, a life where he finds his hand drawn to the shaved hair at the back of Credence’s head and one where he thinks it’s okay to kiss boys when he wants to.

Not that he’s kissed Credence any more than that one time, mind you, but he’s pretty sure he could go for another one and it’d be fine.

“I heard that,” Newt laughs. Neville flushes, looking over as Newt tilts his head. “What about me? Would you - want to kiss me, too?”

It’s the first flash of insecurity that Neville has been privy to: Newt seems to be so secure in his ambling walk and dazed smile that Neville’s never even stopped to think that there might be any insecurity there, any thought that wasn’t part of a happy daze. He’s not sure he likes it, this slightly fractured part of Newt beneath the surface; if he could, he would just put everybody back together, fix them with superglue or a hot glue gun, but he’s also found that he can’t quite do that - the only thing he can fix with extreme glue is his shoe.

But he knows there’s something he can do now, and that something is leaning over and kissing Newt.

Credence reaches a hand over to pull Neville away, and smiles so brightly it’s like staring into the sun as their lips touch. “I like these afternoons,” he says - and most things he likes, he likes because they give him the chance to be away from his Ma and all those old thoughts; but this, this is something that blossoms with feeling in his chest, something that he thinks is more important than everything else, a hobby for the sake of enjoyment rather than just killing time.

Not that Neville and Newt are hobbies, he thinks. They’re full time jobs that make him love to go to work.

The rest of the summer passes in canal-walking bliss, and the fall in a snapshot of schoolwork and activities; the winter, then, is a time for change and new things: the town is different in the freezing cold with its residents packed like sardines under their layers of puffy jackets and thermals, the boat shops closing for the season as the canal freezes over, just a twinkle in the corner of Neville’s eye as he walks to school, all thoughts of his bicycle nearly stored away until it becomes a feasible mode of transport again.

He hears the occasional whisper of news and local paper article about disturbances on the canal - people seeing something moving below the wad of ice - but Neville grew up in a conspiracy county, and he writes them off. “It’s silly,” he says round the table, tucking into the cafeteria’s idea of a ‘Christmas menu’ (some sliced turkey in bad gravy with roast potatoes, and a Yule log with cream for dessert). “People are just seeing things. There’s definitely no Nessie here.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be, since we don’t have a Loch Ness,” Percival snorts, with raised eyebrow.

Neville flinches. “I just meant that - there’s no mythical creature, or dinosaur, or anything in the canal.”

Credence shifts, exchanging a short glance with Abernathy before gently pushing his bowl forward. “Here, Neville, you can have my dessert,” he says, as firmly as his timid demeanour will allow. “I got extra cream.” Neville tries to object, but Credence simply pushes the bowl further until Neville accepts it: he does love Yule log, after all.

“Thank you,” he says eventually; Credence smiles softly back at him.

“It’s Christmas,” he says.

Neville doesn’t spend a lot of time alone with Credence - Newt’s his boyfriend, too, after all - and it’s strangely refreshing when they agree to go Christmas shopping for Newt together. They have a lazy lunch at a fast food chain before embarking on what can only be described as an odyssey: they don’t want to buy just anything for Newt, who is by no means just anyone, and haunt record shops and independent art stores and even stop off at a small pet store in their quest before deciding on buying him a pair of gecko cufflinks and a pendant with a tiny version of the Hunky Dory album cover on it. Neville even buys some cute gift bags for them at the arts and craft store, on Jacob’s recommendation.

“Do you think he’ll like them?” Neville asks, zipping them away into the security of his backpack.

“I think so,” Credence says with a slightly hearty nod, setting off again: they’re following the canal, walking beside it, and he watches the frozen-over surface with piqued interest. “We thought a lot about it.” He looks up to the sky, dark and twinkling: shopfronts are beginning to darken as the night falls, a curtain over the day. The moon yawns down at him, and Credence smiles slowly to himself as the ice over the canal begins to crack.

Neville stops, turning to watch as lines shatter their way across the surface before wrenching apart into a Moses ocean: and, to his starting shock, from the chasm of clear water bursts a lizard-like head of a creature blue as bruises that shrieks wildly as it shakes, its mane of Medusa tendrils trembling with its movement. He falls back, landing hard on his butt and staring wide-eyed: fuck, he thinks, because from supernatural powers to screeching beasts he’s beginning to think that the conspiracy theorists weren’t so wrong after all, and guilt swallows in his stomach at the thought of his dismissal.

A gleeful whoop emanates from in the distance. “Here he is! What a beauty!”

“Isn’t he?”

“I think we should stop admiring him and get on with it!”

“Yeah, that’s what you think, ’mione - but c’mon, let the old animal loonies admire the thing! They’ve been waiting half a bloody year for this.”

Credence helps Neville to his feet just as the voices arrive in his eyeline: Newt is at their beady-eyed head, clad in a thick blue coat and scarf and holding tightly to a beaten old suitcase. “I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you, Neville,” he says, beaming, “but you wouldn’t believe us. I just thought that it was a sight worth seeing.”

“What is it?” Neville asks, grabbing Newt’s arm as he stares; he wonders if his lunch has something in it, since the kitchens didn’t look that reputable.

“I’m not sure, but I think it might be related to the occamy. We’re going to capture it and study it. We’re part of an organisation.” Newt gestures to his companions - Neville recognises Ron Weasley, whom he’s met before, and Abernathy is standing holding several monitors, consulting them with the help of a girl with bushy hair and an intensely thoughtful stare. “And, well, if you’re going to be with us, then - Credence and I want to welcome you to our lives, fantastical beasts and all.”

Neville’s not sure what he thinks of this town, or his new life: but it’s new, it’s an experience, and it’s amazing.

And he nods.

“Righty-ho, then,” Newt says, and turns around. “Into the suitcase.”

Neville raises his eyebrows. He thinks he might be asleep, or dead, or on drugs, or all three at once if such a thing is possible.

“The - suitcase?”

Newt smiles. “Nothing’s impossible, Neville.”

Neville is only convinced that the entire incident wasn’t a dream or hallucination when him and Credence pop over to Newt’s house to exchange presents and the creature - or at least, its miniature - is nestled on a pillow at the bottom of the bed, squeaking curiously at them.

Life is strange, but he thinks he rather likes it.

“Is this place better or worse than conspiracy county?” Newt asks softly, giggling. They sit in a circle, on bean bags and pillows like they’re playing preteen truth or dare, but instead they pass round gifts: Newt’s jewelry, The Perks of Being a Wallflower and a new scarf for Credence (fiction beyond the Bible and his assigned reading is disallowed in his house, but Neville and Newt help him smuggle books in anyway; Credence is keen), a book on conspiracy theories for Neville as well as a small cactus to add to his growing collection of plants, big and small.

He leans forward to kiss Newt first, and as their lips touch, he realised that - strange as it may be, Newt and Credence and the canal and their powers and the creature that can’t stay one size - he loves it. All of it.

And he loves the people, most of all. If there were two people in the world he’d most want to go crazy with, it’s Newt and Credence.

So he will: he’ll follow that star, because this life is new, and it’s the life he thinks he loves most of all.

#i write shit #hp #triad ship #fbawtft #neville longbottom #newt scamander #credence barebone #neville x newt x credence

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pickyperkypenguin · 7 years ago

Text

of mushrooms and recklessness

I ate a mushroom today.

You see, I’m from a mycophilic kind of country, so it’s a pretty normal thing, ingrained deeply in our cuisine, especially when it’s season for them and I like mushrooms. They taste great and they make a very good ingredient.

We have lots of kinds of mushrooms here, and lots of names for them. I always feel so emptyhanded, when I have to reiterate to Latin, when there is no equivalent common name for a particular mushroom in English. Oh, those mycophobes (please, imagine this said with Bobby Farell’s voice, the same way he speaks at the end of ‘Rasputin’)

But, back to the mushrooms eating – they’re a food not worth sparing a thought when they’re champignons. Grown (hah, and I’m already missing a word covering ‘the place where champignons are grown by people in a controlled environment’, pieczarkarnia) on a mushroom farm, they are as safe as they’re bland. I can eat them and not even think of Caesar or shamans of Syberia.

But then I’m sometimes offered handpicked mushrooms, and I usually stop to think. Do I know if the person who picked them knew their skill? Do I trust them and my fate today? Do I trust fate at all, because even the most experienced (and another word missing, grzybiarz, plural: grzybiarze) people who pick mushrooms are sometimes wrong, and sometimes it’s just bad luck, or the mimicry and similitude especially intense that day? You never know. And so you sometimes trust, like me, or don’t trust at all, like my mother (funny thing that it’s the only thing we’re completely reversed in the putting trust matter).

Sometimes, though, it’s not really your friend or family who offer you this autumnal gift – sometimes it’s just you who saw giant caps of parasol mushroom (kania, a homophone of milvus milvus or milvus migrans, apparently called red kite and black kite. Funny it’s also a homophone in English too) in your favourite greengrocer, and, unfortunately, forgot to ask where did they come from.

Were they picked in the forest? Were they grown on a mushroom farm? Do you even grow a parasol mushroom on a farm?

A note on a margin – how nice that parasol mushroom does have a name here. Also, the answer to the question above is: no, there are only two kinds of farms, for champignons and pleurotus, or boczniak as we call it. Boczniaki are super tasty and I love them especially.

Yesterday I was so full of energy that I made a soup, a batch of ginger ale, and baked a pie – all in a span of one afternoon, right after coming from my internship hours full of sending emails, running to the post and doing an exhibition inventory in a dark basement, and after that eating some brief meal at home and grocery shopping. So, after that, things couldn’t go to waste, ‘cause some vegetables are just not made for laying around too long, also I would like to eat sometimes, so cooking it was. I was a bit tired after all that, and I didn’t really spare much thought on how I did not ask the lady at the greengrocer where the hell those mushrooms came from.

So, that day went around without me caring about a single mushroom (also because it came out I didn’t have yeast nor sourdough starter, so I had to cease my plans that involved making some savoury pastries with champignons, onion and meat inside them, on top of all the cooking I done that day). The next day, though, which is today, to be precise, my eyes spotted two big caps of parasol mushrooms that were laying on the kitchen counter since yesterday, and I was immediately enlightened with a vision of them fried like cutlets. It’s a traditional way of preparing kanie here. Well, here as regional here, I’m pretty sure Czechs and Slovaks would prepare them the same way.

I did as I thought, and I took a first couple of bites of my deliciously looking mushroom posing as a cutlet – and I felt it tasted bitter.

Now, after all that, I read somewhere that it can happen after frying, particularly if it was an older mushroom – but then I was aware of two things: that either I prepared it wrong (which isn’t exactly correct, but I was indeed not aware that the preparation can make it bitter and that the cap I tasted was probably older, so, this assumption is much more correct) and that the lore passed by XIX century polish villagers states that bitter mushrooms are poisonous.

Now hold on a second, while I will explain: there are two kinds of my reactions to basically everything, one when I have sufficient knowledge or information, and the one when I don’t. It was the second version this time, I have never handpicked a mushroom in my life except for some puffballs growing in my backyard when I was a kid. My practical knowledge of mushrooms is exceptionally scarce. I have no idea if I would be able to identify correctly a fungus in the wild, or in the less–wild of my kitchen. I had also been blissfully submerged in thoughts and daydreams when I was preparing my parasols for cooking and my observation of their appearance was perfunctory at best.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a pretty good photographic memory, and I can usually recall a pretty detailed visual image of things I’ve seen, even if not focused on remembering them. But when you’re trying to identify anything by its looks, it’s pretty important to catch every detail. Especially when it’s so easy to mistake between species and end up eating the very wrong one.

Why had I panicked so fast? Well, as I said, I had no experience nor sufficient data to extrapolate and reach any valid conclusion on whether or not the thing I was eating was any good, and all I had in my head were scraps of oral tradition. And as reliable and rich with experience of generations as it is, it has its moments of rapid clashing with modern knowledge. And medicine.

Of course, I immediately googled what kania can visually resemble and what can it be mistaken with, and I was just about punched in the face, because it can be – by some – mistaken with not only amanita pantherina (panther cap), chlorophyllum rhacodes/macroleptiota rhacodes (shaggy parasol), but also lepiota especially helveola and chlorophyllum molybdites (green spored parasol), and if you’re unobservant enough, with amanita phalloides (death cap).

The only one among them that is mostly just diarrhoea inducing is the shaggy parasol, and even this one is not entirely safe. The rest...? Let’s say, there was a reason why a dish made of amanita caesarea with some addition of its less friendly cousins sneaked in was a good way for ancient Romans to, ahem, get rid of their chosen fellows that hindered their businesses. And why Henry Winter was so bent on having a mushroom stew for dinner with Bunny Corcoran.

Seriously, I went from happily chewing on a mushroom cutlet to panicking about possible poisoning in about three and a quarter seconds.

After I looked and compared carefully the mental image of not yet coated in egg and breadcrumbs cap of my supposed parasol mushroom with the ominous images from the Internet, I came to a conclusion, that it is, most likely, a goddamn honest and innocent kania.

But I was not about to eat any more of it. I was too scared, that perhaps I’m wrong. As much as I hate, literally hate, to throw out any food (again, a culture thing and an uprising thing, I guess. When I compare how much more some western nations are throwing out food, I feel like I’m getting hives, cold and a rash all at once just from looking at it. One does not throw out food, unless it’s spoiled. Then you can. And better don’t let it spoil, do something with it before. Sorry, rant over) I just had to throw out on a compost pile my perfectly fine two fried parasol mushrooms. I couldn’t let my father eat it, just in case, my mother wouldn’t anyway, so, safe from that angle, and I went through too much nerves over those stupid caps. At least they weren’t overly pricey.

I have also preventively made some steps to be sure I won’t get a poisoning from all this, and let me just say, it really wasn’t pleasant. I vomit very rarely, even after excessive drinking – there were literally three of those occasions in my life and I remember every single one in a painful detail – so it’s not the favourite way for my body of getting rid of toxins, and as it comes out, despite having an upchuck reflex, it is not so easy for me to provoke actual results. Also, I tend to feel like I already died after.

But I did what I had to, and went on with my day, promising myself to stick to black tea till tomorrow. Well, maybe I will eat something for supper, I’ll see.

Why am I even talking about this?

Well, except for the want of sharing a NEar dEAth EXPERIENcE!!!11! and talking about mushrooms, which I wanted to talk about for some time, it was one of the situations when I remembered again, that I kind of want to live.

Sometimes I’m in such a floaty thinking places, where all borders and world itself doesn’t even seem real, everything is fluid and kind of bad, and kind of boring, kind of not worth anything and especially not suffering, and I can’t really remember what I was even doing here, on this earth? Was I having fun? Was I enjoying something? Was I living, really? What were my interests? Did I had any goals? Was I just drifting through space? Am I an entity with a meaning or am I a speckle that nobody would notice, if not for obvious consequences of my existing?

I don’t think of suicide. Never did, never want to. I was just thinking of not existing, and not as a thing that I would want to actually happen to me. Those are very abstract thoughts for me, those of nonexistence, more of concepts, and they occur only when I’m not sure if I am, well, whatever I am, and when I’m letting my thoughts loose and free to roam. They’re more academical in nature.

What is more personal in them, is this – I never wanted to live a ‘meaningful’ life. I can fully accept, that life might not have have any meaning (or it can, I don’t particularly care). Or that it might be incomprehensible for me. Or that everybody makes the meaning of their life, and that meaning belongs to us, the entirety of us, our identities with all our bindings and horizons that allow us constructing our visions – and that this is the way we can give the meaning to our life.

All those concepts I find sound and valid. All possible, and more of them. I just don’t really have the universal or objective truth as a valid concept in my world view. So I don’t have to believe in any of them, and I don’t have to choose. They’re all tales we spin for ourselves, or that are spun for us. Co–spinning would be a more correct term for this, I think.

The older I’m getting, the more choices I’m having – or the more responsible for them I become – I’m starting to get, not intellectually, but in my heart, the fact, that I can literally do anything I want in and with my life. With some limitations and consequences, of course, but you get the gist.

I wasn’t so sure of that before. Theoretically, I knew, but having less responsibility for myself (It was a different kind of burden, when I was trying more to appeal or appease someone who held my responsibility for me than to actually bear that responsibility) I had less choices to make. That’s the correlation, that’s the thing I’m discovering now.

So, I felt like that, even before, that I wasn’t sure if I was living. I didn’t really had a lot of situations to feel it, living the privileged and, let’s not be afraid of that word, sheltered life I did, that was reinforced with my tendency to take as little risk as it is always possible. I just didn’t, and still I don’t, make rash choices. I think all things through and through. I plan, I analyse, I extrapolate. I beware all potential dangers, I hate surprises.

I’m not spontaneous. The last spontaneous thing I did was buying a bunch of radishes on sale, even though I didn’t plan to. What a wild life.

When I had my mandatory field practices back in the first and second year of my studies, I was putting myself in a different mode – open to everything, not planning much, simply because I wasn’t able to, mostly. It was not depending on me. It was all dictated by my surroundings, opportunities and situations. I had to deal with it, there was no other way around.

And I managed. Quite well, I’d say.

I remember one of those field practices: it was an abhorrently hot July, with weather enhanced additionally by the proximity of power station, notabene influencing the whole ecosystem it was built into. The asphalt was a pan, and I was walking on it, thinking if it was possible for the soles of my shoes to be melted by the contact with the almost liquid black.

I was marching on the side of the road to the next village – there were no other methods of transportation, unless one had a bike or a car. I had neither. I was in this out–of–touch state, when my mind bored to the bone with the long walk and uneventful landscape was doing whatever it wanted, and my emotional state back then was leaving much to desire, too. I was thinking of not existing again, of all its possible outcomes and consequences, in a remote, abstract way – when I suddenly noticed I was walking a viaduct without any sort of pavement, not really even a footpath. I think I missed the road sign of ‘no pedestrians allowed’, because I was so disengaged and distracted.

There were a lot of cars. Thankfully no police, though.

Then, after the string of quite fast moving cars came a string of about three or four trucks.

You don’t really think about how big a truck is in your daily life, or just how monstrous is the idea of a puny human piloting a beast made of metal and capable of killing you by accident.

I think life was on my side that day, and I was not even honked at, but I was awfully close to more–than–five ton trucks and the sheer wind, the movement of air induced by them that sort of, well, not pushed, but encouraged my body to get closer to the railing, was enough to make me vividly aware how fragile my life is, and how easily would it be not exist by pure chance.

In that same moment, I’ve had another thought.

I wanted to live, definitely. I wanted to keep my existence on this earth, as I was most certainly not done.

I didn’t really know what I wasn’t done with, or when I would supposed to be accomplished and if after that it would be acceptable to go – I just knew I needed more time to do stuff here.

Right now I’m on the path, hopefully, of figuring out what is that I actually want to do. Maybe it will somehow happen. I don’t know, I’m just so happy to know that I want to accomplish something. That I want to do something. I wasn’t really sure before, and I’m sometimes not sure now, but most of the time I feel like it would actually change me somehow – which is actually what this whole thing is about, a proof that I exist.

I hope, too, that I will find the will, the power, the willpower for it, for finding and pursuing and carrying on, and for the results – or a graceful acceptance of re-evaluation of my goals during the way, if I find it necessary.

I got yelled at by my friend at Monday, and I think he wanted to tell me about some of those things too. That it’s not about some kind of worthiness, that you can just do things. And that they have an outcome and an impact. That it can be felt.

Speaking of feeling, I felt very cared for, by the way, thanks to that yelling, because that’s how my friend shows he cares – if he finds a person worth being annoyed with, it is because he wants the person to not fucking suck and self-sabotage, as he sees their inherent value as much more. Aggressive caring sometimes really works on me, here mostly because his yelling was very constructive and I could draw useful conclusions from it.

So, concluding all that I said here: if my hitherto way of careful living did not bring me much, perhaps a change would be good, even though it won’t be easy at all, and pretty sure it’ll be painful in some ways, and that I will have to overcome a lot of my habits and maybe even things that lay deep in my personality. Basically, that some recklessness, spontaneity and adrenaline high tasks would be healthy for me, probably. Oh dear.

Maybe if I find the courage for the openness, for not being ashamed of who I am as a person, and instead I will hold my ground and make my own mistakes, decide on some things, I will feel better. This way, I will be able to own those things, and make myself –– an author.

#whatever life #mycophobia #mention of vomit #long post

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