#if nothing else i appreciate how earnest their music was around then.... god listening now and i still know All The Lyrics lmfao

[phagodyke]

i will ALWAYS be salty abt the ed-sheeranification of one ok rock (one of my fave personality-building anecdotes i explain at parties to ppl getting to know me) but the fact is that takas voice is soooo hot he could sing the words on the back of a milk carton to the tune of a t*ylor sw*ft song + id probably still listen to him. sorry

[tootiredmotel]

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

“harry’s stylist, right?” part II

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this gif bc i couldn’t fine the fit i wanted to showcase, but that night him and y/n get closer than they had gotten before :))

and we’re back :) - this is the last part of this i may do some little blurbs and stuff about these two if people want it (maybe) i hope you all enjoy this part, it’s not proofread so sorry about that lol. Feedback and reblogs are so very very appreciated, also feel free to message me about you’re feelings about this

Word Count: just over 10k | Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, implication of smut, i think that’s it

part 1

-

After the call with Jeff, which wasn’t really a conversation at all, moreso a berating from him, she was in the worst mood. She shrugged off the Bode jacket and hung it up in her entryway closet. She wasn’t planning on wearing it ever again. Without the jacket on, her shirt that seemed to be exactly on the nose with it’s “we’re in the shit” graphic was clear and she untucked it from her light mint pants. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead of picking her phone up again, she decided she could do without communication for a while. Her feet padded to her bedroom, after removing her nikes and socks. In her bedroom she opened up her record player, wanting music, but not wanting to be bothered with her laptop since it had a connection to the internet. 

She grabbed her Electric Warrior by T. Rex and slipped out the first record from its sheath. As she set up the music, she couldn’t remember where she’d even gotten the record but for some reason it had called to. She skipped over Mambo Sun, the first track, though, and had it play Cosmic Dancer first. It was calming to her, she swayed a bit to the soothing beat and then climbed into her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about when her life had gotten so complicated. The rhythm in the music and the exhausting thought material lulled her to sleep as the afternoon sun washed her room a perfect golden from behind her shade.

When she woke up again, it was midnight and she was starving. The record had stopped spinning hours ago, she hadn’t even gotten through side A. It was forgotten as she made her way to her kitchen, groggily.

After settling on cereal and an alcoholic seltzer for dinner, she was really in the mood to treat herself, she made her way back to her living space. On the couch, she tucked her legs beneath herself and spooned the sugary food into her mouth. She had only soy milk in the place because she didn’t like cow’s milk and it didn’t keep when she was gone for extended periods of time. Then as she sipped from the black cherry White Claw, she dug her hand into the cushion next to her. Her hand reemerged with her discarded phone from earlier. She decided it was reasonable to go on it now.

More messages from various people in her life and hundreds of social media notifications. She was going to ignore social media for as long as she possibly could. Four missed calls. 2 voicemails. Styles Harry. Why she kept contacts backwards in her phone was unimportant, it’s just what she did.  

She sighed and took a bigger sip of the barely alcoholic drink. Then clicked the voicemail notifications and pressed the first one on speaker as she began to read his texts as well. Then the next voicemail. She checked the time in California, it was still a reasonable part of the day there so instead of texting back she rang him.

“Hello?”

“Har- H. Hi.”

“Y/N! Are you alright?” The concern apparent in his tone. She was taken aback. He hadn’t necessarily sounded angry in his texts or voicemails, but she just assumed he was being courteous since it was a live conversation.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I just had my ass handed to me by Jeff earlier.” She slightly mumbled and shrugged, still upset with how she had been spoken to by Jeff.

“Oh gosh, I told him not to be harsh. It’s honestly not a big deal. I thought it was fine, you texted me too!”

“Yeah, well apparently wearing your clothes means we’re dating and that’s not cool in the world’s eyes,” you scoff.

“I know how much you like that coat...I thought you looked great in it, too.” He finishes in a slight whisper, not wanting to be overheard.

“Harry…” you can’t keep the smile off your face. It was a cute compliment even if the situation wasn’t ideal. “Why do your fans have to be so smart and know there’s only two of those coats in the world and I don’t own the other one.”

He laughs, blushing at how you said his name. This time not using his nickname didn’t bother him, it felt even more intimate somehow.

He rubs a hand through his hair, “I know, pesky little devils, gotta love’em, though”

She hums, not sure if she can agree about loving them right now since they’re probably eating her alive all over social media.

“So you’re alright, darling?” He asks again.

“Mhmm,” she pauses at the pet name, it was soothing right now. All she wanted was to curl into his chest, but he was half a world away, quite literally. His words would have to do in his absence. “I’m really glad you’re not mad at me, H. That would’ve made this a hundred times worse.”

He huffs, wishing he could be with her to comfort her. He hated this part of his life. A friend couldn’t borrow a piece of his clothing without everyone assuming that they were seeing each other. It was disgusting and it made him dislike tabloids and social media even more than he already did.

“Trust me. I’d never be mad at you, pet. And I’d definitely never be mad at you for looking good as fuck in my clothes.”

“Shut up!” She squeals, his tone turning from earnest to teasing in one breath. He cackles on the other end of the line because despite her mean words, he could hear the smile on her lips.

“When are you flying back to London?” Her voice grows quiet again after she takes another sip of her drink.

“Thursday,” he almost whispers back, having contained his mirth again.

“We have some work to do on your Graham Norton and Jingle Bell Ball outfits. The listening party ones are all picked up -”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off, “It’s late for you, go to bed. Try not to stress out too much, we’ll talk when I’m back about work. For now, take a few days off to not think about my clothes.”

She sighs, “Thanks, H. You’re right. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Goodnight, m’love.”

She ends the phone call and chalks the almost ‘my’ sounding syllable that she heard before love was just her tired mind and Harry’s mumbling voice. It most certainly wasn’t.

-

After a restful few days of doing absolutely nothing, something rare for Y/N, she was extremely well rested. So much so that she was peacefully asleep when Harry let himself into her flat since they had agreed to meet at her place when he got back to London. As much as he wanted her to take time off and not over work herself, his schedule was a busy one and now that he was back, they had work to do.

Inside her flat, he was greeted with silence. He made his way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. He’d been here a handful of times. She always told him she preferred to spread out when she worked and Harry’s was the place for that. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and he pushed it open slowly with his ring clad hand. His black nails are freshly painted and shiny, no chips. Still in her bed, Y/N shifted around softly. He smiled to himself, taking in how the room smelled over lavender and how she had pink floral sheets. He walked to the window and raised the shade, hoping to have her wake up without and coaxing from him.

“H,” her voice mumbles into her pillow and he thinks she’s woken up. His face turns to look at her, but her eyes are still closed and she looks completely asleep. He wonders if she’s trying to trick him, but then she mumbles again.

“Mhhh, tha’ tickles,” and she giggles. He kind of grimaces, feeling like he shouldn’t be hearing this. He hadn’t known she spoke in her sleep, it was sweet, but with the context right now, he thought him having this knowledge might not sit well with her.

“Y/N,” he says loudly, before clearing his throat. Her eyes shoot wide and she sits up, dropping the sheet she had been snuggling.

“Harry! Oh my god!”

“Meeting, remember?”

“Oh my god,” she glances around her surroundings, Harry still standing at her window. “What time is it?”

“1 pm. We said 1 right?”

“We did, I just...I don’t know what happened. Sorry, give me a second. I’m out of it.”

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready for the day, Harry had brewed a pot of coffee with her machine that she really only had for guests.

“Sorry again,” she sits at her countertop, searching for her notebook in her bag.

“No worries,” then he leans across the countertop, “Seemed like you were in the middle of a nice dream.”

His brows are raised as she avoids his gaze. She flushes easily, “I- it was...just one of those usual dreams.”

“You have dreams about me often?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“I heard you say ‘H’.”

She rolls her eyes, “That proves nothing.”

They both stare at each other for a minute, not talking or moving. Harry is simply grinning at her as she twitches her hand with her pen in it now. Her eyes are trying to figure out what Harry’s getting at, searching his expression for how he feels about knowing she dreams of him. She certainly wasn’t going to get into it with him, even if he did continue prodding.

“Alright,” she begins when he doesn’t seem to want to press it further. “Oh!” She jumps up, dropping her pen and forgetting about whatever else she was going to say. “Your jacket! And shirt! I cleaned the shirt and the jacket…” She runs out of the room to go to her front closet where she had hung up both the jacket and the shirt.

Returning, she holds them out to Harry and he rounds the countertop to look at them.

“Perfect shape,” he admires the spotless shirt and his beloved jacket. He puts them on the back of the chair that was next to them. “Won’t forget my jacket again.”

She smiles sheepishly, thinking back to Jeff’s conversation with her. Harry notices her change in demeanor and takes one of her hands. Her eyes flash up to his face and her body tenses, he feels it even in her hand.

“Have you gone on any social media since you’ve been home?” His eyes are wide as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

She softens slightly, “Oh yeah, after the first day I decided to check. Most were funny and sweet, their nasty comments didn't get to me.”

Her eyes are big on her face and Harry watches as her worries and concerns all wash through the swirling colors in them. He wants to take all of that pain away and just stare into her abyss forever.

“What did Jeff say exactly?” He knows that’s what she’s alluding to. Harry loved his manager, but when he had called him about the jacket incident he had been pretty short with Harry and hadn’t given much information on his chat with Y/N. The way she looked right now bothered him because ultimately Harry was in charge of Y/N in his employment of her and if Jeff had acted like her superior in a way that was harmful he’d be downright upset.

Her eyes grow glassy immediately and Harry’s anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. She tries to blink anything away, but fails.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it wasn’t terrible. It’s just, all my life, I’ve had to work to be taken seriously because of who I am and I hate when I get talked down to by a man. Especially over a stupid fucking publicity thing for you. Like I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a public figure where I have to worry about every goddamn thing I do messing up your image.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, realizing she’d gotten really worked up as she spoke. The tears running down her face more in anger than sadness. Harry watches on, letting her work through her thought process. “He was just so mean… for what?” She whispers finally.

“Oh god…darling,” Harry grips her hand more firmly. He wants to take her in his arms, but he’s not sure if that’s what’s best for her right now, so he just keeps holding her hand. She stares up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes now tinted a light red.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way. That isn’t his job at all, I’ll definitely talk to him since I didn’t have the full story before. He gets very worried about the media perception thing, especially right now with the album.”  

She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking up at Harry. “I know your image is important, too, otherwise why the fuck would I be here? Right? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal I borrowed the jacket.”

“In a perfect world my image wouldn’t matter at all,” Harry sighed, “Fame is a stupid, fickle thing musicians like me get stuck with.”

“Please, you love the attention,” she teases, poking at his chest. The sweatshirt he wore wrinkling under her touch.

“‘M serious,” he insists, “I’m saying it shouldn’t matter that you borrowed my jacket, but sadly it comes across to the rest of the world like I’m dating you.” He pokes her sternum in return.

“And that would be the end of the world?” she smiles, her tone still teasing, but that worry is back and swimming in her eyes again.

This time, though, Harry must not see it because he laughs and lets go of her hand. “For a lot of people, I think it might be.”

She bites at her lip and tries to contain the laugh that bubbles in her. He was right and as he wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, she shook her head trying to rid herself of those pesky feelings that had been hoping for a different answer.

-

The next few weeks go off without a hitch. Harry’s outfits look incredible for the listening parties. Then for the Graham Norton Show, the Jingle Bell Ball, and the One Night Only at the Forum. Every single outfit is received with praise and everything seems to be coming up Harry Styles. Y/N has been traveling to most of his appearances, making sure everything is in order before he goes out. She’s always by his side before he walks out into the public eye. Taking his picture and saving it in the lookbook that keeps growing, smoothing over his lapels, either unbuttoning or buttoning a middle button when she thought he had too many or not enough undone for the look. Whatever it was, she was there for him.

Then, after his appearances, they would debrief. Debriefs really were just time that Harry carved out in his schedule to just be alone with Y/N. Sure, they talked about clothes, that’s how they had first connected, but it always turned to other ideas. They’d talk about his songs and she’d ask about the meanings that he wouldn’t share with the rest of the world. He’d happily tell her about it and they enjoyed that time together. There were stolen glances and lingering touches, but at the end of the day they were professionals who were friends. It wasn’t maybe what either of them wanted, but they weren’t unhappy.

Harry just got back from Los Angeles after filming for his Ellen show appearance and he was set to play the Bowery Ballroom tomorrow in London. After this there was going to be a lot of downtime on Harry’s schedule because of the holidays. He had marked out almost a whole month of time off, at least from appearances. They still had to start planning tour outfits and finalize the outfits for the events after the break. Right now, all she was focused on was getting Harry into the beautiful yellow Gucci suit that was a twin of the Watermelon Sugar suit he had worn on Saturday Night Live. Harry said he wanted to check the suit before tomorrow for some reason, so Y/N had made her way over.

She finished buttoning the sleeves of the jacket and stepped back to admire Harry once again. No matter what he wore he always looked marvelous in her eyes. She’d argue anyone could say that about Harry though. He could pull anything off and make it his own with barely any effort.

Today, his hair was disheveled and mused from his plane ride back into London. The flight from California to England was a rough one, even when you traveled in the type of luxury Harry did. Despite his tired body and eyes, the suit looked stunning on him. He wore it without shoes and she giggled when she saw his feet. His feet tattoos never failed to make her laugh and she had no explanation for why.

While Harry looked good in everything, there actually was something a little off with the suit right now. Normally, it hugged him just right to make him look perfectly muscled and defined, but it seemed to be hanging a little looser in some areas.

She tapped a finger to her lip, looking him over, unsure of what was off.

“Did you lose weight, H?”

“Huh?” He looks down at himself and somewhat notices the looser fit, but wasn’t quite sure if he had lost weight. “Don’t think so.”

She hums and steps closer to him, dropping her hands to tug at various parts of the suit, trying to figure out whether she should take anything in or leave it be.

“It’s probably all the travel I’ve been doin’. Can be draining me more than I realize.” He ponders as she continues to work silently over the suit.

Her hands travel beneath the suit and encircle his waist, almost as if she’s hugging him, but not really. His stomach flexes at the contact, her chest pressed softly against his. She grips a bit of the shirt from the back and then unfolds herself from him to look at the mirror. The shirt is now taut against his sternum and pectorals under the coat. She tilts her head, silently asking him his opinion.

“I think it’s fine the way it is, honestly.”

“Okay,” she nods and releases her hold on the shirt, hand slithering out from beneath his coat. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Make sure you eat properly tonight.” She says before beginning to pack up her things, done for the day. Harry begins to undress himself.

She turns back to face him as he hands her the jacket and shirt, her eyes run over the length of his torso, both for the sake of checking on his health and for other purely selfish reasons. All the tattoos still remained where they always were when she saw him like this. It never got old, his beautiful body. He didn’t even need clothes to look good. She blinks back to reality when the fabric comes in contact with her hand.

“Make sure you treat yourself this holiday season, you deserve it, H. And it seems like any weight you ever gain is muscle anyways, so you don’t exactly have to worry around the sweets table.”

Harry laughs heartily as he slips on his long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Then he starts on the pants as she turns away again to hang up the top parts of the suit.

Finally, she adds when he hands her the suit pants, “Just don’t want you overworking yourself, seriously, H.”

He looks at her as he buttons up his baggy blue jeans. The outfit he wore was just the first clean things he had grabbed when he had gotten home. His green eyes turn serious after the mirthfilled last few moments.

He crosses to her side as she puts away the clothes in the garment bag. His hand lands softly on her shoulder and she turns to him at his touch. “I know. You’re so good to me, darling. Always making sure I’m taking care of myself…”

It’s quiet. The soft breeze in the London air outside barely whispers around the house. Harry’s voice was laced with love, even if it wasn’t his intention. His ‘thank you’ was piercing into her heart and his touch wasn’t helping her stay focused. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Harry take a step closer to her, his head ducking slightly down to her level. Then, right on the edge of her left temple and her hairline, his soft lips pressed against her skin. They brushed against her for just a moment, lingering for the respectful amount of time. But all she wanted was anything but respectful. She wanted his lips pressed against hers, she wanted his hands in her hair, yanking her deeply into him. She wanted to scream when he pulled away, but she didn’t. She smiled warmly up at Harry and her eyelashes fluttered on their own accord like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

“What would you do without me?” She pushes at him playfully, shaking off her giddiness. Then she turns back to her work, scooping up all the items of hers on the table.

“Probably have to walk around naked, huh?”

“Oh my god!” She laughs and starts for the door, Harry follows behind to walk to her out to her car. “Maybe I should quit! People would love it.” She continues laughing as she hangs the garment in the passenger's seat side.

“No thank you, please,” Harry hurriedly says.

She turns to him as she closes the door and leans against the car. This was their routine right before she left, a final chat against the car before she drove off for the night.

“Tomorrow’s going to be amazing, H. It’s gonna be electric!” She scrunches her nose slightly at the pun about the venue as she smiles up at him.

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, holding back a laugh. His eyes narrow at her, slyly. “Very funny.”

She only winks at him before pushing herself off of her car and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

He waves as she begins to pull out of the driveway and she flashes him a peace sign and a mouthed ‘Bye’ when she turns onto the street.

-

After the Bowery Ballroom show, Y/N barely sees Harry at the after party. She doesn’t worry about it too much. His management was going to have a holiday party next week before the little break began for the team. So, she knew she’d see him before she flew back to see her family for the holidays. She was going home for two weeks and then would be back for New Year’s and then would get back to work after that.

She saw Harry exactly twice after the show. First, she saw Harry right after the show and he was all sweaty and exhilarated. He tackled her in a bear hug with such strength she would have fallen back if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. When he pulled away, he placed two extremely slobbery kisses on her cheeks and she laughed, tipping her head back in pure bliss. Then he was pulled away by Jeff to change and get ready for the after party.

Jeff had apologized over text about the tone he had taken over the whole jacket thing, but only Harry had told him to. It was fine with Y/N, she told him that too, but she just never felt like being around him for very long if she could help it after that. That’s why she liked that most of her job entailed dealing with Harry directly. If she had to go through Jeff for everything she’d likely pull her hair out. He was still short with her at whole team meetings and not necessarily courteous when they were around each other casually. Like she said, it was fine, she just didn’t make it her business to be around Jeff.

The second time she saw Harry was around half past one am. She was pretty sure it was time for her to uber home and she wanted to say goodbye to Harry. Her well-liquored body stumbled around the big room. Deciding to take shots with the band had gotten her to where she was now and she wasn’t complaining she was happy. She was in a celebratory mood and wanted to see Harry right now. Tell him how much fun she had and how proud she was of him. How much she loved him… Hopefully she kept that part to herself.

“Harry!” She finally exclaims, coming upon a group of people surrounding the star himself. She ignored the rest of the people, likely stars too, but she really couldn’t care less. One of them tried to straighten up as if he was going to block her from Harry, feeling like she maybe wasn’t someone Harry wanted to see since they didn’t know her. No one seemed to ever recognize Y/N as Harry’s stylist when it mattered. Harry waved them off, a little drunk as well, but obviously recognizing Y/N.

“Darling!” He exclaims and raises his arms out to her. She grips onto him quickly and snuggles into him happily. With her still in his arms, he turns them from the prying eyes of the group he had been with.

She raises her head from his warm chest so that her lips are near his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.”

“Thanks, baby,” he purrs into her ear, his voice coarse and low, carrying over the music. She giggles at the nickname, her entire plan going out the metaphorical window.

Her fingers smooth up over the fabric on his chest, a nice short sleeve silk button down that was tucked into dark high waisted trousers - they’d picked it out last week. One of her fingers begins to trace around his collarbone after she reaches the opening of the shirt. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. They were so needy for each other. Each touch would coarse heat through them every time.

“I’m going…” She says after a moment of silence between them. The party was raging around them, most not paying any mind to the two of them off in their own world.

“Don’t go,” Harry practically begs. A hand flies up to pet over the top of her hair and she smiles even wider.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” she makes a face in response to Harry’s pout, “You have lots of people to entertain, Mr. Styles.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip as she stares at him intently.

He groans and pulls her closer. This time his lips brush right against her ear and she wants to shiver, but he keeps her in place. “If you keep calling me that, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

Her eyes widen but her hazy mind isn’t processing all of what is going on. She barely takes inventory of ‘baby’, for him to say she’s turning him on without actually saying it. Tomorrow Y/N would have to deal with that one.

She pulls back from him, creating space between their chests, but he still holds her waist close to him. She leans up and places a kiss on the corner of his lips. It’s technically supposed to be a kiss on the cheek but if she had moved her lips a millimeter to the right they would have been on Harry’s. This gesture has his grip tightening on her, but she pulls away.

“Goodnight!” She sings as she bounces out of sight, wiggling her fingers in a wave before completely being gone.

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, kind of in shock of the last five minutes. He had liked it. He just hadn’t expected it. When he turns his attention back to the group that was behind him, it’s not the same as it was before. Jeff looks at him with narrowed eyes and Harry’s eyes go wide and his grin widens as well.

-

Tonight is the management holiday party for Harry’s team. Y/N and Harry had seen each other two days after the Electric Ballroom to debrief, but mostly to get brunch. They didn’t talk about the little teases they shared at the after party. Both of them just assumed that the other probably didn’t remember and didn’t want to go through the trouble and embarrassment of recounting it. Alcohol has that effect of making you a little bolder than you actually are.

Brunch with Harry solidified Y/N’s thoughts on fame. Celebrity could be so strange, because there was the one day when she got photographed with just Harry’s jacket on and there was speculation of dating, but then she could go out to brunch with him and not be bothered at all. It made absolutely no sense.

Anyway, tonight there were no gifts, but Y/N had gotten Harry something even though he said he never needs anything. She hoped she’d be able to give it to him after they were walking back to their transportation since she wanted it to be a surprise and not have everyone know she gave him a gift. It wasn’t a big deal - or maybe it was - it was just an item she knew Harry had been fawning over. It was so him and she knew he’d probably end up buying it for himself eventually, but it felt nice to be able to give him something for once. Price didn’t matter. Still, she was a little nervous and tucked and re-tucked it several times in the back seat of her car before heading inside.

It was a restaurant his management had rented out for their party. She gave her name and headed inside. The lighting was overly dimmed and it smelled like expensive alcohol and delicious food. It was everything an A-list singer deserved as a celebration. She never could fully grasp that the Harry she had gotten to know as her friend was also the same Harry that the entire world was infatuated with, for good reason. He was charming in the best way, terribly sincere, insanely talented, and all around a good human being. She knew that, it just surprised her that everyone else knew it too. There was just that disconnect for her that she shared him with the rest of the world.

Her high heeled heels brought her to the backroom of the restaurant. They managed to shimmer even in the dim light. She had gone for winter chic with a sequin and mesh white dress, that looked like fresh snow with a cream and blue swirling design on the under layer so that her undergarments weren’t showing through. It was like a modern ice princess look that was finished with her heels that had sparkles on the entire back of them. Her hair was down and her makeup a little more done up than usual. She used a light blue eyeshadow to imitate ice and added some rhinestones on the inner parts of her eyes. She may have watched a Euphoria-inspired makeup look tutorial on youtube and she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

The scene she came upon was what she expected. Lots of men in suits and a good amount of women in power suits too. The people in any interesting clothes were Harry and his band. Some of the business people’s partners were dressed up more but it all wasn’t too exciting. Plus, Harry’s famous friends group hadn’t shown up yet. Y/N hid her disappointment easily, not surprised about the lack of flavor she saw in the style. She just repeated the mantra her mother had always told her: “You can never be overdressed, only underdressed.” It stuck with her always and made her go for those bolder styles when she needed to.

Harry was there, sipping on a glass of water. She figured he might not want to get started on drinking so early in the evening. Tonight didn’t feel like a drinking night for her either. After the last big party, she had woken up with a massive hangover and a few memories that she wished she hadn’t made. She wasn’t planning on repeating that series of events.

As she goes to grab a glass of water on the large table, she gets a tap on her shoulder. She spins.

“Happy Holidays, darling!”

Her eyes widen and her smile immediately grows. Harry grins back at her, his mouth open in the perfect winning smile of his and his eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Happy Holidays to you too, Mr.-” She stops herself, remembering back to the last party, “H.” She finishes firmly after clearing her throat. Harry’s grin turns to a wicked knowing smirk.

“I’m happy you came! I know you’re not super connected to all of the groups here, Harry Lambert is around somewhere though and I know he’s been wanting to talk with you about clothes.”

Harry watches as her eyes shine even brighter when he mentions the other stylist. It was true, Y/N didn’t really mesh with any of the groups that worked around Harry. The stylist kind of stood alone in regards to where she fit into his life, not the business part, not the band part, not the crew, and not the other celebrities. Harry Lambert and other fashion people didn’t always come to these events so it was seldom that Y/N had her own people to talk to. Not that mingling was hard for her, he just knew she didn’t like to do that as much so whenever another stylist or designer was there he always made sure to introduce them - if they weren’t already acquainted.

“That’s amazing! I haven’t seen him in ages… I’ll have to get his opinion on how I’ve been doing.”

Harry licks his lips as he laughs a little at her comment. She looked beautiful tonight and he wanted to tell her.

“Harry. What the hell are you wearing?” Her eyes flash as she takes in his appearance.

He looks down at himself and then back at her confused. They hadn’t picked the outfit out, but he thought it looked nice.

“Obviously not the suit! On your head?”

“Oh. It’s a gift from Mitch and Sarah.” He pauses to reach up to play with the headband sat on top of his curls. “It’s mistletoe and it seems like you’re standing beneath it. You know what that means,” he toys with it as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs sarcastically, looking to the side for a means of escape, “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s tradition!” He steps forward playfully and she places a hand on his chest.

“You can kiss my cheek.” She says finally and Harry looks at her disapprovingly.

He wags a finger at her with his free hand, “You’re the one under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.”

“Okay that’s definitely not how this works! Now you don’t get any kiss at all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re the one with coal in your stocking.”

“Haha.” Her eyes once again roll to the side as she pushes him back and he steps back like she actually had a strong push. Then they both actually laugh and she gives him a quick side hug with a whispered, “there”. Harry smiles down at her, but it falters slightly when she’s already pulling away. He wanted her at his side the entire night, but sadly that wasn’t reality.

She drags him around the restaurant in search of Harry Lambert since the party had started to grow and she needed his height to get her where she wanted to go. Maybe. Or maybe she just liked the way he held her hand to lead her through the crowd that was most definitely not dense enough for her to have to hold on to him to stay with him at all.

She sees more of Harry at this party. They have some good conversations about plans for the holidays and snickering about who was already too drunk even though it wasn’t even midnight. She can’t believe he keeps on the stupid headband all night, giving and receiving various types of kisses from every person he talks to. Some are kisses on the cheek, others are friendly smooches on the mouth. Thankfully all of them are those cute little pecks that friends always tend to share, otherwise Y/N might have had to excuse herself and leave early. Jealous little thing.

As the night dragged on, she began to question herself on that front. Why was she growing jealous when friends would kiss Harry. She could've kissed Harry. She practically did the other week. But now, after refusing him a mistletoe kiss and seeing everyone else do what she didn’t have the courage to do, she felt childish. Well, childish or not, she knew why she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing Harry wouldn’t be just a friend thing for her. It would mean a lot more and if it was just a friend thing for him she wouldn’t be sure if she could handle going on with their working relationship after. Her job was the most important thing in her life. Being a stylist, loving clothes, and working on personal designs for the future was her life. Giving up this prestigious of a job was out of the question. Maybe the idea of being with Harry had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know how it could ever be realistic. If they got together could she keep her job? Would she have to quit? And find a new one? There were too many unknowns for her to ever actually entertain it. That’s why they went to the edge so often, she always would back away and she was sure that if she didn’t, Harry would for her.

He knew her. He knew her passion, he watches it firsthand everyday they work together. Even when they’re not working he can see her mind forming different ideas just based off of the things she sees people wear on the streets. He watches her fingers fiddle over her phone, typing out notes for design ideas and screenshotting inspiration. So every time they went to the edge of changing their relationship, he knew he couldn’t push it because he never wanted to hurt her or her dreams in some way. She was too important to him to simply mess that up.  Even if it hurt him.

So when Harry slides in the back of her car that night at 2 am because Y/N says she has something important to show him, he’s fully ready to stop their flirting from going any further. And when she tells him she needs to show him something, she has the most pure intentions when she pulls out the nicely wrapped box, its wrapping paper a swirling lavender pattern that’s really not festive at all, but she prefers it.

He looks between her and the box that she’s now placed in his lap. His green eyes flickering even in the darkness of the car, the city lights illuminating the backseat enough for them.

“You know I don’t need anything…” He fiddles with the skinny mesh ribbon neatly tied around the box.

She makes a little gesture, pushing him to open the present, “I know, but I also know you’ve been wanting this and you deserve it.”

He unwraps the paper to reveal a Gucci box and he rolls his eyes at her, but smiles genuinely as he lifts the top of the box off. It reveals a 1955 Horsebit Shoulder Bag in beautiful shiny black leather. It’s gorgeous.

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say,” Harry’s eyes are huge as his delicate hands ghost over the bag's details. He had been wanting it and he hadn’t gotten the courage to buy it yet. He liked purses, but sometimes he even had his doubts about what he could pull off.

His eyes go back to her and she smiles widely at him, all her teeth on display because she’s just that happy. “This is a really expensive bag, Y/N.”

“If it makes you feel better I can charge it as a wardrobe expense, but then it’s not really a gift from me,” She sighs at his unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you.” He touches at the bag again and then does a dance in his spot. “And don’t worry, I will always remember this as a gift from you. I love it.”

She smiles and leans over the box to look at the bag, admiring the beauty of it as well. “It’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums and she raises her eyes, seeing his trained on her face. “You’re under the mistletoe again, darling,” he smirks.

Her breath stops once again, how could he do that to her so easily? Their eyes stay locked under the city lights. The fake mistletoe bobs above them still connected to the silly headband. It’s colorful leaves and fun stripes mock her when she flicks her gaze up to it for a moment. Then back to Harry. Harry who’s holding the gift she just gave him. Harry who looks beautiful tonight. Harry who is her favorite person in the world to spend time with.

Now. Now is when she pulls back from the ledge. This is when she takes a step back and stops herself. When Harry laughs it off. When she pushes him away. When they go about the rest of their day like that electricity hadn’t gone up either of their spines.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, she nods in agreement and then crashes her lips against Harry’s. It’s not like those friend kisses that had happened with him all night under that same mistletoe. It’s hard and hot and fast. Her lips are pressed to his for one searing moment and then she’s biting his lip, desperate to taste more of him. She had been longing for this for so long and now that she had it, she couldn’t let it go.

Harry’s hands fly to her cheeks as he pulls her closer, more into his lap. He pushes the box into the front area of the car blindly. The gift was completely forgotten. This was a far more important matter. Her lips were wet and plush and they tasted like the single Manhattan she had halfway through the night and vanilla lip gloss. When she bites his lip, he can’t hold back the moan inside his throat and she presses her tongue into his mouth quickly. He was her oasis and she had been traveling for months. He responds with similar vigor, enjoying the way her body presses to his in the backseat of this little car.

They kiss for as long as they can. Licking, sucking, and biting each other’s lips to taste as much as they can. But it’s just kissing. Neither of them work to travel anywhere else. Their lips are seemingly enough. Each press of their lips communicates what they had been longing for. It’s euphoric.

When the windows start to fog and her eyes open for a random moment, she realizes they need to cool whatever this is.

“H-Harry,”  She gulps for a breath of air and she tries to get his attention. “I gotta get home.”

“Come back to my place,” he mumbles into her collarbone, happily licking over his love bite.

She laughs and swallows slowly, “That is definitely out of the question, I have a flight tomorrow.”

He removes his mouth from her and straightens up. His lips are even brighter pink than usual and perfectly puffy. His hair disheveled from her hands. She blushes at the thought.

“Right, forgot about that,” he opens the car door and they both slide out. They stand at her car, just like they usually did outside his house. However this time is quite different from most.

They sigh heavily, in unison. The winter air is cold in London. She shivers slightly and knows she can’t stay in his presence much longer.

“Merry Christmas, H.”

He leans down and places one last sweet kiss to her lips. She wrinkles her nose and smiles  unabashedly.

“Merry Christmas, Darling.”

-

Harry and her don’t talk as much while she’s back home for the holidays. There’s no work to be discussed and while they parted on not necessarily bad terms, there was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between the two. Neither seemed to want to have that conversation over the phone, or worse, text. So for the next week and a half, Harry and Y/N exchanged texts of funny memes that reminded them of each other and odd anecdotes from family members that had made them laugh. Nothing really substantial, just small, I was thinking of you messages.

When she walked out of the luggage carousel at London Heathrow Airport, she expected to be getting in the queue for an uber. Instead, before she could cross the street to get to the queue even, a tall man stopped her. A tall, scruffy, extremely buff, extremely handsome, and extremely kissable man. Harry. It would be terribly strange if it was anyone else.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need a lift back to your flat?” His dark sunglasses cover his face and a big coat, scarf, and hat make him hardly recognizable. The curls sticking out from beneath the cute knit scarf are thankfully a dead give away for her. As well as his perfect drawling voice.

She shivered in the cold, her matching grey sweatpants and Treat People With Kindness sweatshirt had been warm enough on the flight, but proved inadequate for almost January in London. Yet, Harry’s presence brings a smile to her face.

“It’s good to see you, H.”

He laughs, his cover obviously blown. His arms encircle her body and she instantly melts into his embrace. His large coat easily fell around her and warmed her. His own natural body heat adds to her new found warmth as well.

“You too,” he murmured. His head buries into the crook of her neck, warming her cold skin.

He pulls back after a rather long embrace, realizing they’re still out on the sidewalk. He takes one step back and she visibly deflates at his absence, the cold once again surrounding her.

“Let’s get you home,” he grabs at the handle of her suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other. The warmth returns and she grins, placated by his touch.

“So are you coming to my party tonight?” He inquires once he settles into the driver’s seat after putting her suitcase in the back.

She shifts in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still cold without any warmth from Harry or the car. “Don’t you suppose there was a reason why I chose to come home today?”

Harry’s ears perk at the use of home, never assuming Y/N viewed London as her home, still it made him smile.

As the car purrs to life, heat immediately seeping out of the seats and vents, Harry’s phone connects as well. NFWMB by Hozier begins to play softly and she glances at Harry again. The song was so sultry and soft, like expensive dark chocolate melting on your tongue. The mood in the car seemed to shift. Their eyes met, Harry’s green ones narrowing at her, trying to decipher the look she was giving to him.

Then he drove off, softly singing along to the words through the sleepy streets. It was surprisingly quiet out for the holidays, people choosing to lay low during the day so they could celebrate the changing of decades in full force tonight.

After the song ends, his eyes travel over to her again and she’s already looking at him. She had missed his face. Sure, he’d sent some silly selfies while she was gone. Mostly on Christmas Eve with his family when he had gotten drunk on mulled wine and eggnog and brandy. Still, in person, he was even more beautiful. The high cheek bones that glistened with a shine most makeup could only hope to produce. Full raspberry lips with stubble growing to frame above and below. The crinkles growing on his forehead and by his eyes that showed him aging with grace. The precious few moles that had gotten lucky enough to live on his face forever. His big green eyes that were consistently bright with interest and intellect, but deep and knowing despite his loving demeanor. She loved those big green eyes, they were just so big and she didn’t understand how no one took the same interest in them as her. All of it, just sitting there beside her. Don’t even get her started on the soul that inhabited the beautiful man beside her. She never would stop spiraling then.

“What?” He asks softly, the sounds of Paul McCartney during some era fading in.

She blinks, hazily in admirance, “Nothing,” she replies.

“What?” He insists, laughing slightly, the lips she loves so much widening in excitement.

“Just missed you.”

Her voice is quiet but strong, serious. A blush creeps up his neck, taking hold of his features.

“Missed you too,” his left hand reaches across the console to take hold of her hand that resided on her thigh. He squeezes her hand softly and they both smile at each other again.

“Don’t worry, I can get my stuff upstairs. I don’t want you being out in the cold any longer than you have to. I’ll see you tonight, H!” She pushes her body across the console and places a kiss on his cheek before jumping out of the car. Harry makes a half smile, knowing he can’t change her mind. He waves to her behind the window as she travels into her building.

“See you.” He says to himself before driving back to his home to finish up preparing for tonight’s festivities. The party was going to be more intimate than the Christmas party at the restaurant. Tonight was just Harry’s family and closest friend - the band, Jeff and his family, Y/N, and a few others.

-

The whole night Harry and Y/N are within a foot of each other, if not on top of each other. He never leaves her side nor does she his. They are tethered to one another. The longest they’re apart is when Harry gets them refills of Champagne and Y/N journeys to the restroom. They laugh and catch up.

As the night goes on, Harry begins to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and she giggles and places her hand on his chest flirtily. Their interaction is a dance, bedroom eyes and low voices, lingering touches and suggestive lip bites.

When the countdown begins to grow closer, everyone refills their drinks and gathers in the center of Harry’s living room. They cheer and countdown to 2020. And of course, Y/N’s by Harry’s side as he begins the count. And when they get to ‘one’ and everyone’s saying “Happy New Year”, Harry and her are sharing a chaste peck to the lips that electrifies everything they had been saying to each other all night. She sighs into his mouth, but pulls away quickly, aware of their surroundings. No one particularly questions the kiss, either not paying attention or caring. Harry beams down at her and they enjoy the rest of the evening.

At around 1 am, the last of the guests stumble out of Harry’s homes and into waiting ubers and safe rides. Y/N lingers back, beginning to clean the discarded glassware and paper plates. Her and Harry are definitely tipsy, but they enjoy the cleaning work, making terrible jokes about New Year’s and commenting on what people wore tonight. When it’s relatively cleaned in the kitchen, Y/N wanders out to the living room and finds Harry reclined back on the couch.

“H,” She sticks out her foot and nudges him with her boot.

“C’mere,” he reaches out his hand to her, his coat discarded, leaving his arms bare with only a white tank top on.

She takes his hand hesitantly and is yanked on top of Harry in an instant. With a loud huff, she settles above him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Shush,” his pointer finger goes over her lips, her eyes narrow at him, “Can you believe we’re seeing 2020?”

“Oh my god! I hate you!” She rolls her eyes at his pun and shakes herself from his hand around her waist. She stands up to walk away but he easily grasps her wrist and stops her, easily sitting himself up on the couch.

He looks at her and her annoyance, that wasn’t all too strong in the first place, dissipates. She sighs, “I should probably be heading home.”

“You should stay, it’s so late,” his hand rubbing over the skin on her wrist.

She bites her lip, contemplating the offer, he was right. “I’m really tired and we haven’t really talked, H.”

“But we-”

“Not about us. We’ve been skirting around it, flirting with each other all night, but we haven’t talked about what’s going on. I can’t stay if you expect something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. That’s not why I want you to say,” Harry says earnestly, realizing quickly  what she’s saying. “I’ve never expected anything from you. An offer to stay is just an offer to stay.”

“Okay,” she finally smiles and sits down beside Harry.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. If that makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh...I don’t know if we have to take it that far. Plus, you’re like a personal heater and I get cold at night.”

Harry perks up, he had been feeling resigned that maybe she wasn't on the same page as him. He wanted to be with her all the time but also didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She just made him so happy.

“Great! Let’s get to bed then.” He pops up from the couch and brings her into his arms, “You know where all my clothes are, so you can just borrow whatever you want, and then I’m sure I have extra toothbrushes…”

She giggles into his side as she watches him ramble animatedly. Sometimes he was oh so bright, so joyful and carefree. A stark contrast from the quiet confidence he often exhibited for the public.

-

She woke up in the warm embrace of Harry. His whole bed smelled like him, vanilla mixed with spices of tobacco and sandalwood. It was delicious and she snuggled in deeper to the soft chest she laid against, breathing in his scent deeply.

They rested there for a long time. Harry makes his awakening known with a lingering kiss to her forehead. They both sigh in contentment, radiant in each other’s arms.

“What’s the plan today?” She ponders as Harry’s fingers trace patterns over her skin. He hums in thought.

“Wanna be with you…”

She laughs and looks up at him, “Me too, but we can’t lay around all day.”

“Well, we could.” Harry insists.

She laughs again and twists in his arms, settling so she’s facing him. She bites her lip as she thinks about something, scanning his face over and over.

“I’m gonna go home and get ready for the day. Let’s just explore the city and do some 2020 shopping. Who knows, maybe fashion’s changed since the last decade,” she grins.

Harry chuckles a little and pets at her hair, “I like the sound of that. And we can talk - about us.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tilts his head forward and meets her lips once again, savoring her taste. Each kiss makes him want more. She was good.

-

Harry lugs in the four heavy shopping bags into her flat, as she carries the single small bag from the chocolatier he had dragged them into. He presses her to the counter when he sets down the bags and begins to kiss her face all over. She giggles and places her hands on his shoulders, giving him a kiss to the lips before pulling away.

They had talked about what they wanted, what they saw in each other and how that fit into their work relationship and the rest of their lives. Harry would have to talk to Jeff, but more so as a by the way this is what I’m doing with my life, not an ask for permission. Y/N would continue as his stylist until the end of the tour cycle, but afterwards she’d go back to freelancing. They wanted to try to date and be as normal as possible. She told him how she didn’t love the fame or the celebrities. Sure she dealt with those things for work, but when they were off duty, she wanted to be regular. She wanted to go out on dates and make dinner on weekend nights. Harry had agreed, he wanted those things too and he understood her wish to keep work and their relationship separate. However, he’d made her concede to allowing kisses during work hours. She had laughed and said it was an easy term to agree to.

It was going to be a good thing. They were both giddy with excitement, the new year, and all the new things they had bought on their relationship high.

“Oh!” She pushed Harry further away from her and hurried into her room. He laughed and looked confusedly after her. “Wait there!” She called. Harry leaned against the back of her upholstered chair.

“Close your eyes!” She says before coming back into the room. Harry’s hands go over his eyes easily as he grins blindly in her direction.

“‘M waiting…”

“Open.”

Harry’s hands slip away and his green eyes blink open. In front of him stands Y/N holding up a hand knit brown sweater vest with horizontal red, cream and blue thin stripes along with the thicker brown stripes. Harry beams, reaching his hands out to take hold of it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for later, but I found it at this vintage place while I was home and I couldn’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

“Darling, this is gorgeous. I love it! But you shouldn’t have...”

“I thought you could wear it for Lizzo’s concert. I know you said you liked the other sweater vest, but this one is so-”

“You spoil me, seriously.” He cuts her off and laughs before pulling her back into him. Their lips collide in a searing kiss, Harry’s excitement over the new garment making him eager to show her how much he really loved it.

A small sigh escapes her lips as Harry presses into her. His tongue pushing into her mouth in a way that turns the sigh into a moan.

“Let me show you just how much I love it,” He murmurs against her lips, casting the garment onto the back of the chair he had previously been leaning on.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open and meeting his with adoration swelling in their depths. Then she allows him to back their intertwined bodies into her room.

-

Some apartment in New York a few months later:

“I knew it!” 

“Huh?” Aidy lifts her head from the skit she was working on to look at her friend and coworker. 

“That stylist...for Harry Styles,” Heidi shifts, sitting up and turning her phone to face Aidy, “She was seen out with him, getting lunch in London and then making out on a street corner. I bet they were dating back in November when he was on the show!” 

Aidy laughs, thinking back to her conversation with the stylist that night of Harry’s show. The girl had been so in love that night and Harry had been smitten all week, describing her in the best way, praising her every decision, yearning for her even. And now they were actually together...she was happy for them. 

“I don’t know about that...but they were head over Gucci heels for each other that’s for sure.” 

Heidi and her scroll through the pictures on social media of the singer and his girlfriend. 

“They probably are the best dressed couple I have ever seen,” Heidi grumbles. 

“Now that is definitely accurate.”

--

taglist: @meredithhuntt​ @sovereigndeadlyperfect @marauderswhisperer​ @toribentleyva​ @girlboss99​ @harryssunflxwer​ @loverofaccents​ @stephaniemalvie​ @mk15x @beanholland​ @stfxlou​ @loliismutt​ @pinkisawesome101​ @stilljosiegrossie​ @kikisparadise18​ @clementimee​

[taetaespeaches]

“Do you remember my promise?”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 2.6K

a/n: Oh my goodness we’ve reached the last Jimin upload for a bit! So wild. In this one, Dear is feeling some anxiety after Jimin goes on tour for the first time since their brief break up and Jimin helps assure her. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

Oh and it features a bit of Tae, Guk, and Jinnie. 

YOUR eyes stayed glued to the text conversation as your chest tightened by the second. The anxiety seemingly came out of nowhere, though you realized it must had been building up over the past few weeks Jimin had been away.

When the three dots appeared, alerting you to your boyfriend’s pending response, you held your breath.

Chim: Grab your laptop, I’m calling you.

Dropping the phone to the comforter, you reached to your bedside table, pulling the laptop off. Opening it, you quickly clicked on the video chatting app as you sat up straight, crossing your legs. Lightly chewing on your finger nails, you eagerly answered the call when Jimin’s ID showed up on the screen.

“Hi Dear,” he greeted before his face came into view, the sound of his voice allowing you to release the breath you’d been holding. When his video loaded onto your display, you could have cried at the image of him, sitting in his hotel room, looking at you with a face full of concern.

“Hi,” you exhaled, wishing for nothing more than to reach out and hug him. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to blink them away.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, you sighing as you shrugged. “Talk to me,” Jimin told you gently. As he awaited your answer, he thoughtlessly ran his hand through his hair.  

“I don’t know, I just feel on edge,” you admitted. Your boyfriend watched you carefully, scanning your face as he tried to gage your emotions and figure out what was burdening your mind. “I just needed to see your face,” you admitted, Jimin giving you a sad smile. “Hear your voice.”

“I’m here, Dear,” he assured you. Smiling weakly back at him, Jimin stared at you thoughtfully, fully aware of your downhearted spirit. “Be honest, ok?” He started, you nodding in agreement to answer his impending question truthfully. “With me being away, are you feeling uncertain?”

Exhaling shakily, you nodded, watching as Jimin licked his lips, his eyes planted on you. “I just-” you started before pausing as you directed your eyes to the side of the room in thought. “I feel anxious,” you told him, resting your chin on your hand. “I know we’re fine, but my chest is still so tight and I don’t know why,” you said, almost ashamed of what you saw as unwarranted feelings.

“You know that’s understandable, right?” He asked, you shrugging as you stared at your bedroom door, still unable to bring yourself to look at the man. “It is. It’s the first tour since-”

“I know, but that’s in the past, that’s not us,” you told him, looking at him through the screen. “I shouldn’t feel this way when you’ve been so amazing and we’ve been doing so well,” you spoke out of frustration of your anxieties.

“Exactly though,” he told you, his eyes widened with a hint of excitement gleaming from the pretty orbs. “The feelings make sense, but we are doing really well, Dear. So those worries that are pestering your mind are just leftover fears from a shitty experience. We have to replace the last tour with this one,” he explained to you, you watching him thoughtfully as you took in his words.

Observing him as he pushed back his hair again, the soft strands flowing back into place, you smiled weakly. “So what you’re saying is we just have to right the wrongs from the last tour?” Jimin’s lips spreading into a pretty smile. “Create new good memories to push the bad ones aside?”

“Exactly,” he whispered with a nod. His smile slowly morphed into a smirk, causing you to pull your eyebrows together scrutinizingly. “Hey, do you have your ring on?”

Looking at your right-hand ring finger, observing the small inscribed PJM, you toyed with the metal band. He gave it to you the morning he left for tour, promising that he would always love and appreciate you, no matter how much distance is between you. “Of course,” you told him with a nod.

“Do you remember my promise?” He asked, you flashing him a small smile, accompanied by a light giggle; the first genuine one of the night. Nodding, he let out a giddy laugh, his grin widening into a stunning beam as he tossed his head to the side, leaning against the side of his chair. “Tell me,” he nodded at you, you letting out a light scoff with a smile.

“You will love me with your whole being, no matter where you are in the world,” you paraphrased his promise, watching as his smile grew even bigger, his eyes turning to crescents.

Nodding, his expression slowly became more serious as he looked down at his own ring, running his fingertip over the small engraving of your initials. Glancing back up to you, he stared at you with an expression of sincerity. “I’m coming home to you at the end of this thing,” he assured you.

“I know you are,” you told him. “But I want you to have fun while you’re away,” you added, wanting him to know you always supported him. Even if you did miss him unbearably so in that moment.

“I know that, Dear,” he told you genuinely, licking his lips. “You don’t have to pick one or the other, you can support me and my career and miss me and want me home at the same time,” he informed you gently. “I love being on tour, I love seeing the fans, but of course I also want to be home with you. I miss you like crazy every single minute of every day.”

With a sigh, you nodded, tears gathering once again along your bottom lash line. “I know the feeling,” you said simply, Jimin giving you a tight, close-mouthed smile.

“I just want to hold you right now,” Jimin confessed, you letting out a light laugh as a tear slid down your cheek, you quickly wiping it away. “Oh, Dear,” he cooed at you with pouted lips.

Shaking your head, you brushed off your emotions with a bashful smile. “I’m ok, Chim,” you told him. “Just missing you a little more today.”

Nodding in understanding, he watched you through the webcam as you scrunched your nose at him. Giggling at the action, Jimin sat up in his chair as you moved the laptop from your thighs to the bed, lying down as you stared back at Jimin.

“I’m glad you texted me,” he suddenly spoke, your eyes widening slightly at the comment. “Thank you for telling me you weren’t feeling ok, instead of going through it alone,” he expressed his gratitude for your admission of your less than favorable feelings.

“I don’t know,” you pouted, “I still feel bad putting this shit on you while you’re away.”

“That’s silly, Dear,” he insisted with a shake of his head. “I always want to take care of you and when I can’t be there, I have to rely on you to let me know how things are going. Really going, not some fabricated image of how you want to be seen.” The words were spoken with such earnest sincerity, it brought forth your tears again. “Thank you for being honest and letting me be here for you,” he thanked you once more.  

“God, you’re seriously too kind,” you smiled through your tears, wiping them away. “Thank you for being here for me,” you appreciated, Jimin giggling as you continued watching him, almost in disbelief of how amazing your boyfriend was.

Eyes widening in excitement, he held up a hand to you, telling you, “hang on.”

Observing him curiously as he unlocked his phone and started typing and scrolling, your eyebrows pulled together in question. “What are you doing?” You asked him with a sniffle, observing the way Jimin’s lips curved upward into a teasing smirk. “Chim,” you whined, dragging the word out.

“Patience,” he told you, you groaning.

“I have none,” you replied, Jimin scoffing through his big grin.

“That’s for sure,” he teased you, you lightly laughing in response. Setting the phone down, he shot you a close-mouthed smile, and there was a slight delay before the all too familiar song started playing from his device through the computer speakers.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, lifting your head from the mattress, a massive grin forming on your face. “Jimin,” you cooed, your eyes glistening as Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “You’re so cheesy, stop making me cry,” you whined.

As Beyonce’s ‘All Night’ filled your bedroom, the dreamy song soothing your remaining anxieties, Jimin swayed from side to side, wearing that pretty smile you adored so much.

“Aw, Dear,” Jimin giggled adoringly as his own eyes became glassy. “I want to wipe your tears away,” he pouted, you laughing as you dabbed under your eyes.

Lying flat on your back, you waved your arms back and forth gracefully to the smooth beat of the song, Jimin dramatically singing the chorus to you, throwing his head back as he sang in his angelic voice, which sounded amazing even when he was just joking around.

Just as he looked back to the screen, appearing as though he was going to say something, a knock sounded on his hotel room door, followed by three more knocks, all on different areas of the door.

Sighing, you giggled, Jimin shaking his head. “If I don’t let them in-”

“They won’t stop,” you laughed with a nod. “Let them in, Darling. I don’t mind.”

Shaking his head, he stood up, calling out, “I’m sorry,” as he moved further from the laptop to let his members inside the room.

“Wait, any bets on who it is?” You yelled out to him, Jimin popping back into view of the camera with wide eyes. “I bet you dinner it’s the nimrods and Jin,” you teased, feeling confident that it would be Taehyung, Jungkook, and the eldest member.  

“Isn’t it too obvious,” he whined, “who else would it be?” He continued to complain as he headed back toward the hotel room door, the knocks only increasing in both frequency and volume. You listened as the door opened, Jimin immediately groaning.

“It had to be you three?” He grumbled, you giggling on your end of the video call.

“Jiminssi” Jungkook’s loud voice echoed overtop the music, Taehyung and Jin’s voices combining as they all got closer to the computer.

“Looks like I get to pay for dinner when you get home,” you called out to your boyfriend, the man complaining in the background.

“Oh?” Taehyung’s voice sounded suddenly. “Is that my girl?” He asked, peering at the computer screen, his head humorously appearing in the corner of the shot, you silently giggling at how cute he was. “It is,” he said excitedly with an accompanying smile, stepping fully into the camera’s sight, you waving cutely.  

“Hi, Tae,” you greeted sweetly before scolding him. “Stop sending me photos of everything you eat, it’s actual torture,” you complained, Taehyung smiling at your complaint.

“I always eat enough for you, don’t worry,” he told you cutely, you laughing at the comment.

You grinned just as Jimin returned in front of the laptop, taking a seat once again as he turned down the volume on his phone so the song was just humming in the background.

“Ah, it’s Deary,” Jin cheered excitedly as he stepped in front of the camera, Jungkook in tow as he waved at you happily, you giggling as you waved back.

“Hey guys, how are you?”  

“We’re all good, I think,” Taehyung answered for them all, you smiling at how happy they looked to be touring.

“I would ask you how you are but lover boy here literally never stops talking about you so I already know,” Jungkook teased your boyfriend, Jimin taking in a deep breath as he looked up at the younger man, shaking his head before letting the air out in a huff. “Ah, Dear’s eating ramen for lunch, doesn’t that sound so good?” He mimicked your boyfriend, Jimin covering his mouth with his hand as he laughed before using his opposite hand to slap Jungkook’s arm out of embarrassment. “I miss my girlfriend so much,” Jungkook continued, raising the pitch of his voice to further the teasing, “she sent me a selfie today, she looked so pretty.”

“That’s true, he talks about you constantly,” Jin confirmed as Jimin hid behind his hands, “I spoke to him this morning and asked how he slept and you know what he said?” He asked Jungkook and Taehyung, the two men grinning, highly entertained as Jimin silently laughed. “I sleep better at home, I just wanna cuddle my girlfriend.”

You laughed at their playful mocking, directing your gaze to Jimin to see him running his hand through his hair again as he smiled shyly. Shifting his eyes from the boys to you, you scrunched your nose at him, Jimin giggling at your happy expression.

“You know, that’s so weird,” you interjected, all four of the men looking to you. “He never mentions any of you,” you told them with a smirk, Jin’s jaw dropping as he pointed at Jimin accusatorily.

“Hey,” Jungkook complained.

“What the hell, man?” Taehyung joined in, Jimin simply shrugging as he smiled at you.

Jin looked toward the nimrods, cocking his head to the side. “Well, I don’t talk to my girlfriend about you guys either,” Jin joked, the two youngest members complaining.

“Well if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t talk to her about you either,” Jungkook sassed back, Jin feigning insult as they began bickering.

“What is wrong with you guys? I talk to Peaches about you all the time,” Taehyung looked at them in confusion and offense, everyone looking to him for a moment.

“Are you admitting she’s your girlfriend?” Jungkook asked with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“What?” Taehyung asked, a shy smile gracing his features as he became embarrassed.  “No.” You all laughed at the man, all of you fully aware it was only a matter of time before your best friend and Taehyung got together.

As the conversation continued behind Jimin, the guys’ voices all blending and yelling overtop each other’s, you and Jimin checked out of their joking and bickering, choosing to instead lock eyes with yours through the laptop screen.  

Jimin cutely scrunched his nose at you, you holding back a smile at the adorable action. He mouthed, “you ok?” you nodding sincerely. You were ok, knowing that this tour wasn’t a repeat of the last one. You and Jimin had grown as both individuals and as a couple. You’d never been so sure of anything before than you were of Jimin and your relationship.

“I love you,” you mouthed to him, Jimin dramatically placing his hand to his chest, you giggling at his dorkiness.

“I love you too,” he mouthed back with a stunning smile.

Even with all the chaos of the three men in the background of the video call, all you could see was Jimin, sitting there with a loving expression. He gave you more love than you could have ever asked for. Of course you still missed him immensely, but you were at peace knowing he was doing what he loves all while loving you with his entire being.

And at the end of it all, Jimin would come home to you. He’d barge through your front door and scoop you up into a massive hug and he wouldn’t let go for as long as you’d allow him to hold you. He would come home to you, because you were his home. And he was yours.

[bastardtetsu]

{day 13} falling slowly | semi x reader

pairing: semi eita x gn!musician!reader

genre: angst, mutual pining or unrequited love depending on how you look at it

wc: 1.8k

warnings: a little swearing, reader who plays piano/sings, mention of a previous relationship, unresolved feelings, just a lot of pain

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .��❅*⋆⍋

falling slowly eyes that know me and i can’t go back

—falling slowly; once (music & lyrics by glen hansard & marketa irglova, book by enda walsh)

“that song you just played— did you write that?”

you stood there, wide-eyed, staring him down as he turned to walk away from the spot where he had just been busking on the sidewalk. semi wanted to ignore you, but your resolute gaze already had a vice grip on him.

“yeah,” he grunted reluctantly.

“it’s very good.”

“thanks.”

despite his gruffness, you were still staring at him like your life depended on it. it was kinda unnerving.

“why’d you leave your guitar?” you questioned him with a sense of urgency, gesturing to the guitar semi had left in its case on the sidewalk. his expression hardened.

“i don’t want it anymore,” he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

“you should take it. those things are expensive, you know.”

“fine,” he grumbled, shooting you a glare as he stooped to grab the case by the handle, “i’ll sell it if it makes you feel better.”

“i know a shop!” you blurted out, “a music shop. where you can sell your guitar. i was just on my way there, actually!”

“…seriously?”

“it must be fate!”

those words made him cringe back then.

as the two of you entered the store, a cozy place packed with various instruments, you wasted no time making a beeline for the back of the store, dragging a confused semi along with you.

“where are we going? i thought we were here to sell my guitar,” he questioned.

“just follow me,” you insist. the determination in your voice told him there was no point in resisting.

you continued leading him through the shop, all the way to an old upright piano that sat towards the back. “the owner lets me play this whenever i come in,” you explained, your merciless gaze now fixed on the instrument, “it’s a beautiful piano. if i ever win the lottery, this is the first thing i’m buying.”

semi just watched you quietly as you stood there, marveling at it. he was able to appreciate the intensity of your stare more now that he wasn’t the subject of it - the way your eyes glimmered was actually kind of entrancing.

“so what would you like to hear?” you questioned, suddenly turning your gaze back on him as you sat yourself on the bench, “bach? mozart? something of my own?”

“oh, uh— whatever you want,” he muttered. there was clearly no use stopping you at this point, so he might as well comply.

you positioned yourself and began playing. it was a somber melody, gentle but distinctly melancholic. your concentration remained unbroken as your fingers danced gracefully across the keys, until the final mournful note echoed through the empty store.

“did you write that?” semi asked, a bit awestruck by your talent.

“no. felix mendelssohn did.”

“ah.”

“now you play me one,” you demand, eyes aglow.

“wh—no,” semi faltered.

“please,” you begged.

“no,” he stated firmly, his expression hardening again, “i just came here to get rid of my guitar.”

“what do you mean?” you protested, “your music is good, why are you giving up on it?” semi cringed at the sting of your question.

“there’s no point anymore,” he snapped, “it’s gotten me nowhere.”

“what, so you’re quitting ‘cause you’re not famous?”

“i’m not—“ he scoffed defensively, “you wanna play your songs for people who want to listen.”

“well i’m people,” you stated, your gaze on him more unyielding than ever, “and i want to listen. now play me a song.”

the rigidity of your stare was almost enough to convince him.

“no.”

however, just as semi turned to leave, as if by some sort of drama-induced miracle, a sheet of folded paper fell from his coat pocket, which you wasted no time snatching up before he could even grab at it.

“hey—“ he protested, “give it back, come on.”

“music is dead to you, right?” you taunted, “so isn’t this trash?”

“you know what,” he huffed, his patience at its limit, “fuck it—yeah, keep it. it was nice meeting you.”

“hey!” you barked right as he was turning to leave. his head spun around to find your eyes staring him down with the most intensity and desperation he’d seen from you all day. “you won’t die if you play this song with me,” you spoke to him sincerely, “please.”

he didn’t answer, but remained frozen where he stood, unwilling to break from your acute gaze as you lowered yourself onto the bench and placed your fingers on the keys.

you perused the slightly crumpled page while semi waited with nervous anticipation, reminding himself to breathe as you began to play the notes he had scrawled onto the staff.

as your fingers began to recreate the familiar motif with impressive precision, he gingerly picked up his guitar from its case by the piano, looping the strap over his head as he started to sing,

“i don’t know you but i want you all the more for that”

he sang tentatively at first, the words and notes like scratches upon an unhealed scab, until your voiced chimed in with a harmony,

“and words fall through me and always fool me and i can’t react”

semi began to strum at his guitar, more self-assured as the gentle tune continued, your voices and instruments moulding together as the music swelled into chorus after chorus. his reluctant voice became more and more powerful with each changing chord, each strum of his guitar more intentional as the sounds intermingled with yours, creating new discoveries within a painfully familiar refrain.

as the tempo slowed to a quiet halt, your eyes met with his again until you played the final chord in unison. you both stood there in silence for a moment, as if you were waiting for the final sound waves to finish reverberating, dissolving into the air.

“so where is she?” your question broke the silence.

“where’s who?”

“the girl in the song,” you clarified, “is she dead??”

“what—no, jesus,” semi sputtered, caught off guard for what must be the 75th time today.

“so where is she?” your gaze is on him again, adamant as ever.

“she left,” he uttered, his dejection covered by his brusque tone, “about six months ago. there was nothing else for her here, so—”

“so you still love her?”

semi’s face twitched, feeling his chest tighten at the question.

“no. we’re finished,” he stated shortly.

“no one who writes a song like that is finished,” you enunciated firmly, causing his breath to catch. “if you sing this to her, i bet she’ll take you back.”

“huh?” the ash blond’s face twisted into a confused scowl.

“i’m serious.” the gleam in your eye only affirmed your statement.

“no way,” he replied, “i’m not running after some woman who’s doing fine without me just so i can sing her some stupid—“

“it’s not stupid!” you nearly yelled at him before softening a bit, maintaining your resolute stare. “your songs are good,” you stated emphatically. semi felt his breath catch again, this time accompanied by a rush of warmth to his face. “do you have more??”

-

your heart nearly stops when you see it, breath catching in your throat as the sting of tears begins to prick your eyes.

the old upright piano you had spotted one day in a music store now sits in your living room, a large, bright red ribbon adorning its shiny wooden surface. there is no note, but you need no indication to know who it’s from.

he must be long gone now. he got a call from his ex practically begging him to come back, so of course he went. it doesn’t matter how many longing glances you caught as you helped him rehearse, or how much electricity you felt surge through your body every time you so much as brushed his hand while reaching for some sheet music.

he has unfinished business. you’ve both always known that, it’s why you tried so hard to keep your distance, even as you helped him produce a studio album, relentlessly encouraging him not only to keep pursuing music, but to keep pursuing her. it’s what he deserves. it’s not your place.

it doesn’t matter how much your heart wanted to leap out of your chest when his stern grey eyes stared into yours, uncharacteristically earnest, as he squeezed your hands in his and thanked you for changing his life. he was talking about the music. you’ve only ever talked about the music.

it doesn’t matter that no matter how hard you tried to maintain your distance - god, you really tried - his songs always pulled you back in. those songs aren’t about you. he wrote those for someone else, someone who he is destined to go back to.

it doesn’t matter that every time he played one he felt a shift, like discovering a new harmony, each lyric twisting into a different meaning. that somewhere along the way, he started singing them about you — you can’t think about that. it can’t be about that.

it doesn’t even matter that he said you were a part of his new life, starry-eyed and nearly breathless, imploring you with to run away with him and start a band together, make an album, just the two of you and all your beautiful music. it was just a silly fantasy. one can only entertain such a delusion for so long before you have to move on with your real life again.

as you lower yourself onto the piano bench, you imagine yourself back in the shop on that day, the ash-blonde musician you had just met scowling dubiously as you began to play the opening of one of his songs. you can almost hear the delicate strains of his guitar as he plucked the accompaniment on the strings, his voice growing stronger as he sang.

“and games that never amount to more than they’re meant will play themselves out”

you recall sitting with him at the top of a hill just outside of town one night, looking down at the warm lights of the city twinkling in the distant. he told you about the first time he ever felt scared. you told him you only saw him as a friend. could he tell you were lying?

“take this sinking boat and point it home we’ve still got time“

tears begin to well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you play. but you don’t even need to see the keys, because you know this song too well. it’s engraved in your muscle memory. no matter how hard you try, your body will remember.

“raise your hopeful voice you have a choice you’ve made it now”

“call your girl tonight,” you reminded him as you left the recording studio for the last time. he asked you to come over to his place later, but you’re not going. you know better than that.

“falling slowly sing your melody i’ll sing it loud”

the tears are falling freely now, wetting your hands and the keys, but you continue playing as if semi were right there singing along with you, creating sweet harmonies and stirring chords together, losing yourselves in the music.

you allow the song to engulf you, the melody washing over you like a wave of pure feeling as you bid goodbye to the man you fell unwillingly, irreparably in love with.

a/n: i’m not normally an angst person, or a huge semi simp really, but i still ended up hurting my own feelings with this lmao. i’d probably let semi ruin my life as much as he wants too, let’s be real. the songs linked at the top are definitely required listening for this one (the first link is them together in the music shop, the second one is the reprise at the end) and if you really wanna experience pain, find a bootleg of the show & watch the whole thing bc i truly struggled trying not to shove the entire musical into this one fic (once again if u need help finding it i may or may not have a link if u dm me)

taglist: @izagraceee​ @musicgetsmeoutofbed​ @azo-musxas​ @tsumurai @ghostlydiamond135 @animeboysimppp @starshaped-raindrops

[irkimatsu]

Okay, after way too much delay - it's my Eurovision 2021 Final Ranking! This took me a while for a lot of factors - took extra hours at work to make sure I could get time off this week, some recent family events... and most relevantly, the fact that this year is so damn good that no matter what, I knew someone was going to get ripped off by ending up somewhere in the bottom half. Just know that being toward the bottom of the list doesn't necessarily mean I dislike it, especially this year - it just means I like other things more. This year is going to be an absolute bloodbath. I am both excited and terrified.

Try not to take my ranking too seriously, by the way - I'm an American who unironically listens to stuff like Scooch and Dolly Style. I'm not exactly a seasoned music critic. I just know what sort of music makes the happiness center of my brain light up, what the hell is music theory

Ranking made with the sorter at http://esc.gerbear.com/sorter2021.htm, then slightly adjusted when it put some songs concerningly low on the list. Okay, so I cheated a little

Firstly, in the interest in completion - if Belarus didn't get disqualified, they'd be in the big fat 40 rank, with a big bold "Hate" right above. Fuck that song. I've only listened to it once and am so glad I have no obligation to acknowledge it any further. Those fucking lyrics. Mother of Christ. Fuck you guys.

I also offer my condolences to Armenia for their having to bow out this year. I'm sure whatever you guys sent, it couldn't have possibly been worse than "Chains On You".

Now, for the songs that actually matter:

Indifferent:

39 – Spain - “Voy a quedarme” by Blas Cantó: Welp, already I’m gonna get shot. I can’t remember how this song sounds at all. I know it’s tender and genuine and sweet and everything… I just… kinda don’t care. Nothing to say. I liked his entry last year even more, and even that was pretty damn dull. Just not destined to be a Blas Cantó fan, I guess!

38 - North Macedonia – “Here I Stand” by Vasil: I’m with most other rankings I’ve seen; what the hell is this? I at least kinda remember it, which is more than I can say for poor Spain, but oh my god it’s so boring. I really liked “You” last year! What the hell happened, Vasil?

37 – Albania - “Karma” by Anxhela Peristeri: Another “oops” from me, huh. It’s another one I immediately forget about the instant it ends. I at least don’t remember it boring the crap out of me, hence it placing higher than Spain and Macedonia, but I still can’t say anything nice about it – or anything at all, really – so I’ll leave it this low. I acknowledge that I’m in the minority, I won’t protest if it qualifies, but personally, it’s not my pick.

36 – Georgia – “You” by Tornike Kipiani: Give him points for passion, I suppose! At least I’m not laughing at him like I was last year. On the other hand, less ridiculous also means more boring. Points for earnestness, but this is just another song that goes right over my head.

35 – Portugal – “Love Is On My Side” by The Black Mamba: An English song from Portugal? That’s new. Too bad it hasn’t rescued the song from the darkest depths of Boring. I will confess that I spice it up a little by associating it with Homura from Osomatsu-san, thus rescuing it from the deepest pits of my ranking list… but it’s still stuck down here. Portugal and I have never gotten along well Eurovision-wise. I’ve come to accept that.

34 – Slovenia – “Amen” by Ana Soklič: I’m gonna call this a song that I respect more than I like. She’s got a great voice, I can’t deny that… but when I’m ranking this purely based on what I’d go out of my way to listen to, this one falls flat. I warned you at the beginning that I have no taste! I’m not normally into straightforward ballads, the religious connotations are lost on me… this isn’t the song for me.

33 – Austria – “Amen” by Vincent Bueno: Back to back “Amen”s! Tip for getting me to like your Eurovision entry, apparently, is “don’t call your song Amen”. It’s a ballad, earnest and trying but overall not my type of music. I’m running out of ways to say that. Breakup song, a tad bitter, we’ve all heard this sort of song so many times before. It doesn’t stand out, and I think it’d be a waste of a spot in the final.

At least, I thought this was a breakup song when I first wrote this, but apparently it’s about the death of a loved one…? I would say that makes me hate the bitterness, but… given how I’m handling a death in my own family right now… god, I don’t know. I just can’t handle this song, not at any time but especially not now. It doesn’t even provide catharsis like a song later on in the list. It stays this low regardless of its meaning, I just don’t like it, I’m sorry, moving on.

…” 'Cause it all feels like you didn't even try to save us, all this time wasted on a lie”… ugh, my personal problems…

32 – Switzerland – “Tout l'Univers” by Gjon’s Tears: Another one I respect more than I like, and another opinion I’m gonna get my ass beaten for, I’m sure. I respect the artistry, but this is so far removed from anything I’d ever listen to on purpose. It might have landed even lower if I wasn’t afraid of pissing people off. I’ll understand if it wins, but I’ll also be hoping for most anything else.

31 – Russia – “Russian Woman” by Manizha: I don’t get it. Sometimes it’s pleasant enough to listen to, but overall I don’t get it. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! I understand why it won its national final, and why so many people enjoy it! But for me, it doesn’t quite cross that line between “interesting” and “enjoyable”. I'm not Russian - this isn't for me, and it wasn't supposed to be. Though I will confess that there may be some bias at play here. God, I miss Little Big…

Okay:

30 – Estonia – “The Lucky One” by Uku Suviste: The voice is okay, the music is okay, I like how the bitterness is handled here more than in Austria’s… but this is still as high as I can go on this one. It’s serviceable, but this year has so much better to offer.

29 – Sweden – “Voices” by Tusse: Sweden really does like sending the same song over and over again, huh? I don’t hate it, but it does strike me as a lesser “Too Late For Love”, sound wise. Sweden almost never takes risks, and it’s causing me to look over them more and more with every year. I respect it too much to put it in the “Indifferent” category, but given how the rest of my ranking played out, this the best I can do for it. (But again, do not trust the opinions of someone who teethed on cheesy Europop and fondly remembers when Sweden was flooded with the stuff…)

28 – Belgium – “The Wrong Place” by Hooverphonic: Once again, Hooverphonic help Belgium fill the role of Eurovision’s “Most Likely To Appear In A Bond Movie” song. It’s fine. It’s a song! I don’t know what else to say about it! It does its job well enough, it’s just not really a job I care for that much.

27 – Ireland – “Maps” by Lesley Roy: It’s cute enough! A cute little radio tune. It’s no “Story Of My Life”, though. If “22” couldn’t qualify then this probably won’t, either, and I can’t say I’ll miss it all that much. Still pleasant enough when it comes up on the shuffle.

26 – Bulgaria – “Growing Up Is Getting Old” by Victoria: I admit it, this ranks as high as it does because of anime and that’s basically it. If I was still doing plain category sortings this would have landed straight in “Biased”. My favorite anime is about a bunch of 20-somethings learning that growing up sucks and trying as hard as possible to avoid it, and I first heard this song around the same time that I watched that show’s relatively melancholy season finale, so it ended up sticking with me on that note. Don’t have much to say about it musically, just that it makes me picture sextuplets crying and that’s one of my hobbies, so I’ll grant it an “Okay”. (It may also worth noting that if I heard this song before 2019, in the state my life was in before then it would have probably left me too inconsolable to listen to it more than once. Growing up is growing old indeed!

…it’s also worth noting that after I wrote this blurb, a major event happened that really enforced that growing up is getting old, so I listened to this quite a bit for a few days, among some other non-Eurovision songs. I’m probably gonna have an emotional breakdown on Thursday when this one starts. So, um, look out for that, guess. Between this one and Austria’s, I swear to god…)

25 – Italy – “Zitti e buoni” by Måneskin: I’ve been trying to get this one to rank higher, I really have, but its inability to crack the top 20 just says a lot about how damn good this year is. It sounds great, it’s very well done, and I wouldn’t hate to see it win! It’s earned its popularity. Everything holding it back in my own personal ranking is just that, personal – I do lose something when I can’t sing along or understand the lyrics, and there’s another rock song this year that I like way better. Still wishing you guys the best!

24 – Netherlands – “Birth Of A New Age” by Jeangu Macrooy: This song has a great style that I respect a lot. The message, the vibe – even if it’s not a culture I’m a part of, I feel and appreciate the hell out of it, and I really hope it does well. I don’t understand why so many people seem to think it’s not interesting! It may not be the sort of thing I’d go out of my way to listen to, but I’m glad it’s here. Catch me singing out “Yu no man broko mi” on Saturday! It’s been a while since I’ve given a shit about a host country’s entry, so I’m really glad for this one.

23 – Romania - “Amnesia” by Roxen: I’ll admit something else unpopular – I hated “Alcohol You” last year. Didn’t see what the big deal was at all. It sounded okay, I guess, but the lyrics were so pretentious and awful, and I’ve never liked the topic of “I love you even though you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever and you make me feel like shit”. But it seems like in that year, Roxen has discovered that self-love is important, actually, and it’s not worth it spending your time on some shitbag who consistently disappoints you. I appreciate it for that alone. Character growth! Plus, I feel the whole thing of “forgetting how to love yourself because everyone around you sucks”. It’s not the perfect song, not by a long shot, but it has a nice melody, and Roxen has a nice voice. It’s good to hear her using that voice on something I don’t find obnoxious.

22 – Norway – “Fallen Angel” by TIX: Okay, I’ll admit it, this is one where I watched the live video the first time I heard the song, and I was too busy laughing at his outfit to take the song seriously. Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell. Well, that’s Eurovision for you, and the more I listened to it, the more I admitted to myself that I’m a sucker for “I love you but letting you go for your own good, not sure what I ever offered you in the first place” type songs. Knowing the song is inspired by his own disability and self-loathing really twists that knife, to the point where I feel bad that I almost threw this at an anime character. I know I’m usually cold on songs that try to evoke emotions about the singer’s personal problems – Germany 2018, and this year’s Austrian entry – but this one really works for me. Only reason it’s in “Okay” tier is because of its competition – it’d rank way higher in a weaker year.

21 – France – “Voila” by Barbara Pravi: I like a good waltz, I guess! It’s a unique number, and the French language sounds nice, especially with the music. It’s yet another example of how this year is filled with so many interesting entries that I appreciate the hell out of. God bless this diverse year! (Or maybe everything just sounds so good to me because last year’s cancellation left me in withdrawal.) I expect a really nice performance for this one – this song isn’t one you can perform while just standing there, especially not during that speedup toward the end.

20 – Australia – “Technicolour” by Montaigne: That song that sounds like it’s about stripping if you don’t know that she’s saying cloaks. (Guilty as charged.) It’s catchy and fun, and I really love it when it first starts… but unfortunately, it does wear out its welcome toward the end of things. It’s a good party song, just a little repetitive. I still like it just fine, and wouldn’t mind seeing her in the final this year! Hope the performance is colorful and sparkly, it’d suit the song well

Like:

19 – Germany – “I Don’t Feel Hate” by Jendrik: I know stereotyping is bad but I was not remotely surprised to find out that Jendrik is gay. This song is pure gay sass, and god, I love every minute of it. I fully expect it to fall on its ass – this wouldn’t make it to the final if it wasn’t an automatic qualifier – but I’ll have a grand old time watching it! The sarcastic lyrics, the cheerful little ukulele, the middle finger costume… this song is a delight. Only thing that I think really brings it down is that weird spoken bit that interrupts the song. That’s so annoying, brings me right out of it. And I did purposely rank it below songs that aren’t complete shitposts. But thank you for your existence, Jendrik, your contribution to Eurovision is much appreciated.

18 – Israel – “Set Me Free” by Eden Alene: I said it this year and I’ll say it again this year, Eden Alene is a goddess of a woman. Absolutely gorgeous. Appreciation for pretty women aside, it’s a fun party song in a sea of fun party songs! I really do like it, I like her voice, but there’s so much else this year that drowns it out – not much stands out here compared to later entries on the list. Still a good song, though.

…and I do not expect for an instant that this is going to make it to the final. …my personal ranking is based on how the song sounds, okay? Just the song. Just the song. Nothing else. Just the song. Anyway…

17 – United Kingdom – “Embers” by James Newman: What’s this? A UK entry I don’t find bland as off-white paint? That doesn’t happen often! I didn’t like his entry last year, romantic ballad bla bla bla whee, but I’m always down for a good party song. It’s a little generic and radio friendly, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun as hell to sing along with!

16 – Greece – “Last Dance” by Stefania: I really liked last year’s “Supergirl”, but figured it didn’t have too much of a chance because it struck me as being a little too teen poppy to be taken entirely seriously. It seems like Greece thought so, too, because they’ve ramped it up with this year’s entry. They’re not playing around anymore, sending a grand, powerful song that, like “Embers”, is fun as hell to belt. This is another one I’m really looking forward to the live performance for – the music video is gorgeous, and I hope they capture that same majesty on stage!

15 – Moldova – “Sugar” by Natalia Gordienko: Oh, Moldova, I’m so glad you guys decided to be completely batshit again this year. I’ve missed your nonsense so much. Dancing ice cream cones. Cake men. This video is glorious. And the song goes well with the insanity! A catchy dance tune that can only be improved with downright insane staging. Please let the dancing ice cream cones be on stage, I’m begging you

14 – Latvia – “The Moon Is Rising” by Samanta Tina: A unique electronica number backed with a powerful as hell voice. I can see where all the wubbing would get on people’s nerves, but personally, I love it! I love the voice, I love the attitude, Samanta just oozes confidence, and if she doesn’t make it to the final it’s not gonna be because she didn’t give it her goddamn all.

13 – Poland – “The Ride” by RAFAL: Why is this one so unpopular? You people don’t know how to have fun. Yeah, yeah, last year’s “Empires” was a powerful song… but I like my club nonsense much more, so I’m favoring this one. Yet another song that gets me pumped – this whole Contest is gonna leave me with a smile on my face, there’s so much good party music

12 – Azerbaijan – “Mata Hari” by Efendi: Yeah, they’re basically just sending “Cleopatra” again, but “Cleopatra” was so goddamn good that I can’t even blame them for it. This song needed a chance to compete, and I’m glad it’s getting it again this year. I like it so much that I can even forgive the line about being a “godless”. Oh, Europop, don’t you ever change.

11 – Cyprus – “El Diablo” by Elena Tsagrinou: Huh, I didn’t know Cyprus had perfected their Lady Gaga cloning technology. Neat. More seriously, the early 2010’s club vibe of this song is exactly my jam, enough that I can forgive the “I’m in love with a horrible person” theme. (I think I forgive that theme a lot more from catchy party songs than heartfelt ballads I’m actually supposed to feel for.) Hell, I even like the creepy chanting! Sure, it’s a little cheesy, but cheese is always a good ingredient when used in moderation.

(How many songs are we going to get this year, not just in Eurovision, about wanting to fuck devils? I mean, not that I don’t get it… mmm, Akuma Ichimatsu… um. Anyway.)

10 – Czech Republic – “Omaga” by Benny Cristo: And here we enter the top ten of a strong year, where I’d love to see any of them win! Benny, what is with that title. Why. Ah well, like I said earlier, I do like moderate amounts of cheese, and this song is more than fun enough to have earned itself a ridiculous lyric or two. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! The song is just so bouncy and fun that I manage to ignore how pushy the singer is. Another one I expect big things from the staging for.

9 – Lithuania – “Discoteque” by The Roop: Ignoring the current events that surely inspired the song, I do love the more generic “party song for introverts” read on it – if only you knew how many one-person dance parties I’d had in my own house. This song speaks to me deeply. I can’t even begin to call it a joke song; I think it’s doing exactly what it set out to do, and it’s doing it oh so well. God, those synths. Totally okay with dancing alone!

8 – Iceland – “10 Years” by Daði og Gagnamagnið: I want Daði Freyr to adopt me. I don’t even care that he’s younger than me. He’s just such an earnest, fun guy, and I love his 8-bit aesthetic! And come on, he submitted a song about how much he loves his wife! If I ever stop loving this song it’s because my heart shriveled and died. Love isn’t dead, it’s just in chiptune now. I will throw things if this doesn’t make it into the final, do you all have no souls, this is too damn cute

7 – Serbia – “Loco Loco” by Hurricane: Another group I am so excited to see return, because I adored “Hasta La Vista”. I don’t know if I like this one quite as much, but it’s still catchy as hell! I love trying to sing along with it despite not knowing a word of Serbian.

6 – Croatia – “Tick-Tock” by Albina: Another catchy-ass club song! What more can I say? I love how much of this stuff we got this year. I will absolutely be screaming “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Oh god that was cheesy… I’ve been working on this ranking for too long. Don’t know what else to say about this one, just that I adore it. Just barely missed the top 5.

Love:

5 – Malta – “Je Me Casse” by Destiny: This girl’s got pipes– not surprised to hear she won the Junior contest before! I get major “Toy” vibes from this song, and you all know just how much I adored that one. Aaa, those horns! Expecting big things from you, Destiny! We may have our winner!

4 – San Marino – “Adrenalina” by Senhit – As much of a soft spot I had for last year’s “Freaky”, I don’t think it was gonna make it into the final, unless Senhit had the blessing of the same angels who were looking out for Serhat in 2019. This one, though? San Marino tasted the final two years ago and they are never giving it up again! This song goes hard! Love the song, love the video’s aesthetic, I even kinda like Flo Rida’s rap, even though I’m still baffled by the idea that I have been regularly listening to a song featuring Flo Rida on purpose. I don’t know what he’s doing here but I’m glad he is. Please, please make it to the final, San Marino! You clearly want the hell out of it this year! Favorite club song in a year of amazing club songs.

3 – Finland – “Dark Side” by Blind Channel: After spending about five seconds disappointed that Finland wouldn’t be sending Pandora this year, I gave this song a shot, and was not expecting what it gave me. I feel like an angsty middle schooler again, and it is bliss. This is everything Hatari wanted to be, but unlike Hatari who just confused me, I absolutely love the hell out of this song. …some of those lyrics, though. “27 Club, headshot, we don’t wanna grow up”? Yikes. But as dark and questionable as it might be, I can’t help but get pumped when I hear it. Definitely my favorite rock song of the year – sorry, Italy!

2 – Denmark – “Øve os på hinanden” by Fyr & Flamme: I love you, 1983. I don’t care how dated it is when my entire soul consists of a disco ball. The song’s so damn cute! This is the one member of my top 5 that I’m most terrified of losing – I know it’s not popular, with everyone calling it dated, but my top 5 always has that dated song that I love the hell out of becauseit sounds so classic. The translated lyrics are adorable, too. Even if you guys flame out in the semi, you’ll live on in the disco in my heart.

Favorite:

1 – Ukraine – “Shum” by Go_A: Holy fucking shit. There’s something about the blending of traditional and electronic that gets me hyped – see KEiiNO – and this one does not disappoint. The last minute of this is the best minute of Eurovision this year, and god, the buildup! I don’t even know Ukrainian but I am trying my damnedest to get the lyrics down, phonetically, at least. You know that “dancing goths” meme video? That’s me whenever this song comes on, especially during that speed up. Love the hell out of it. Could Ukraine be on its way to another victory already? I sure hope so, because this song fucking rules. Definitely checking out the rest of the discography someday, if all of their songs are in this folktronica style then they’ve gotta be a treat to listen to. Go Ukraine!

Ideal Qualifiers (favorite of each semi in bold):

Semi 1

Australia

Azerbaijan

Croatia

Cyprus

Israel

Lithuania

Malta

Norway

Romania

Ukraine Semi 2:

Czech Republic

Denmark

Finland

Greece

Iceland

Latvia

Moldova

Poland

San Marino

Serbia

This is definitely not what's going to happen - there is no universe where Switzerland and Sweden don't make it - but it'll be interesting to compare the reality to my hopes.

Let's go, Eurovision 2021

[ruensroad]

Could you do 14 for the dragon God au

Thank you for requesting it! For anyone who doesn’t know this AU can read the first part here.

Prompt from this list here!

Prompt 14 | “I-I miss your arms around me as I slept, I know it’s embarrassing but you made me feel safe.” | Xicheng

He’d always found it ironic, how romantic his kind actually were, and yet they chose to meet their mates in the strangest ways. For one, the mate in question had to come to them like a gift from the world itself, and without any preparation or warning beforehand. And it was a dragon’s job, after the fact, to figure out how to keep them.

Jiang Cheng had grown up on all the stories, had known that his inheritance of the World Lake would mean his mate would show. It was inevitable, the way it all worked. Nothing either of them could do to change it. No one could change destiny, after all. It was Fate.

Horribly stupid, was what it was.

Jiang Cheng had all the rule books, knew how to hunt, how to fish, how to showcase how good of a dragon he truly was. His mother had made sure he knew his job and knew it well, because that was the only way he could succeed.

The fact that he was failing now because his destined mate was not swayed by any of it? Fucking typical.

Lan Xichen told him early on that he did not partake of hunted meat, save for fish, and Jiang Cheng may have been an excellent fisherman, but his husband wanted variety, so he could only do so much. What Lan Xichen did want, he had no idea how to procure. Vegetables? Tea? A fine tea pot and cups? Books? 

Within a month of marriage, Jiang Cheng had tossed away everything his mother had taught and wondered what his family would think, watching a mighty Dragon God hunting not for fine kills, but for the best deals on seeds, or the freshest fruits and vegetables he could find. Books were harder, since Lan Xichen’s tastes ran to music, and what did dragons know of music? But he hunted the libraries too, bought music scores and other theory books he hoped would make Lan Xichen happy, feeling adrift but more than pleased to get even the barest smile.

Their courtship was odd in many ways, because Jiang Cheng did not know what he was doing, but it was somehow still working. Somewhere in the mess of panic he was learning to read his husband and learn his tastes for things. How he preferred music for xiao and guqin. How he liked awful tofu with a brilliant array of fresh vegetables on top, steamed, just so.

How he liked romance novels and history books and poetry, but did not like the songbooks as much. He didn’t sing, he admitted to Jiang Cheng, which explained that, but he did play instruments, hence the other music was accepted.

So, he brought him a guqin, a xiao, and everything else he asked for. Seeds to plant in the garden, knowledge on just how to actually coax those seeds into growth. Special nuggets of grain that attracted the butterfly koi down from the water ceiling above. How to call different fish in the Old Language, how to dance a dance that was Dragon made. All these things and more to make him smile.

Jiang Cheng perhaps felt like a fool, most of the time, but he was learning and his mate clearly didn’t hate him, so he supposed progress was progress, even if it was all guesswork.

In the end, it was not a guess that brought in his best gift. He knew what loneliness looked like, what grief could do to an otherwise smiling face. Lan Xichen, for all Jiang Cheng tried, was still grieving, still feeling the separation from the world he had known. As was only fair, of course, given he’d sacrificed himself to drown for the sake of all he left behind. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure if he regretted his actions, knowing he’d be forever tied to this place, to Jiang Cheng, without being able to return home. Did he know Jiang Cheng’s own guilt over the matter? Or would Jiang Cheng forever be the beast that took him away from all he loved?

The choice to bring Lan Wangji into the World Lake had been a very simple one, if a tricky sort of hunt, but not outside his skill. Only those of blood tie or marriage could enter who was not a Dragon God, and Lan Wangji’s blood relation to Lan Xichen would only grant him permission for so long. But it was the best Jiang Chen could offer, so he did, and he didn’t even have to see the brothers embrace to know he’d done well.

It was odd, returning to his side of their home, alone at night. Since the first time Lan Xichen had asked to join him in bed, he’d come faithfully ever since, seeming to find comfort under Jiang Cheng’s watchful gaze. Jiang Cheng was pleased at that, knowing he could, in fact, scare off his husband’s nightmares, and that Lan Xichen’s choice to be with him had been willing. The absence of him now was bearable only for that, and he willed that selfish desire to bury himself in his husband forever away for yet another night.

For two days, the brothers did not leave each other’s side even once. Jiang Cheng kept to his side, Lan Xichen kept to his, and all he had was the barest echoes of laughter and soft music to keep him company, to let him know his husband appreciated his trying. It was enough, because it had to be, and Jiang Cheng was just thankful that his own brother was not here to see his stupid smiles every time a flute wafted towards him on the breeze, or the gaggle of butterfly koi above giggled about his husband, sharing all the gossip. He never thought he would be one to listen to every detail about one man, but apparently he was. Wei Wuxian could never know, or he would never live it down.

It was a surprise, the third day - or, rather, night by human’s counting - that he found Lan Xichen alone on his massive bed, looking the kind of blissful tired one could only have when truly happy, and for a moment Jiang Cheng could only stand there watching him brush his hair and preen. He’d done well, that smile meant. He’d done something good and right.

Still, what of Lan Wangji?

“Is everything alright, husband?” he asked, startling Lan Xichen a little. But his smile only grew, a true blessing to see, and he eased like some tame creature under its master’s hand the moment the warmth of it registered.

“You gave me back my brother, Jiang Wanyin. It’s more than alright,” Lan Xichen said and set down his comb to cross the room to him. He was a vision tonight, hair down and in a soft sweep of robes. Jiang Cheng ached to drown in that warmth he offered, but refrained, just took Lan Xichen’s hands and kissed them one at a time, reverently, sweetly.

“I will bring him here as often as you both wish,” Jiang Cheng promised. It was not a permanent solution, but it couldn’t be. Not unless Lan Wangji found his own Dragon God to marry. “I am sorry it is all I can do, but know I will do it.”

Soft, so soft. How could any man fated to be his be so soft? “It is more than enough,” Lan Xichen promised, eyes so dark and sweet. Jiang Cheng felt a blush biting at his neck but offered the smallest smile back, something he’d learned his husband did like. “These past few days I’ve been remiss, however. I’ve hardly slept for all the catching up I’ve down with Wangji.”

Jiang Cheng tilted his head at that, blinking at what Lan Xichen was implying. “You still wish to sleep here?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice.

Lan Xichen’s ears went pink and it was perhaps the best thing he’d ever seen. “I have… missed you,” his husband admitted, and his smile turned downright shy. “I have missed you watching over me, keeping the bad dreams away.”

One of the hands in Jiang Cheng’s grip eased upwards, cupping his face. He blinked in surprise, but leaned into it, truly a tamed beast under that touch.

Lan Xichen smiled, as though he knew, and his voice dipped down into a whisper. “You make me feel safe. May I stay with you again? Tonight?”

“Tonight and every night,” Jiang Cheng promised and watched his husband light up as though the sun was rising inside him. It surely felt it to him. “My home is your home, my bed your bed.”

“Even without the bed, I’d still want you near,” Lan Xichen told him, bashful, but earnest, and Jiang Cheng chuckled, because gaping like a fish was the only other option and a terrible one.

“I’ll always be here, by your side, as long as you want me,” he swore, an easy oath, and turned his face in to kiss Lan Xichen’s palm, accentuating his point. “Now, and forever.”

[leupagus]

you will miss the green and the woods and streams

A Schitt’s Creek AU thing I wrote for @broadlybrazen, which boils down to “lol what if Schitt’s Creek had been Schitt Records can you imagine.” 

You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

***

“Okay, but why are you making me do this.” David doesn’t ask, because it’s not a question; it’s a declaration, something he’s learned in the long years since he and Stevie were coworkers, then friends, then — something, almost, not quite — and now they’re people who drag each other to shitty bars in shitty basements in shitty Toronto, except only Stevie is that.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Stevie lies right to his actual face as they collect her beer and his wine from the bartender. “You offered to comfort me.”

“I don’t think I said ‘comfort’ so much as I said ‘support you in your time of—‘“ he waves at her generally, carefully not to spill. “Loss, or whatever.”

Not that Jake qualifies as a loss, per se; he hadn’t even tried to get out of the contract, which Stevie keeps saying is the important thing. And David of all people knows that above-average sex can only take you so far when the other guy is an emotionally illiterate carpenter/rockstar who responded to a breakup text with “bummer :P”

“Well, this is you supporting me.” Stevie takes a swig and leans back against the bar; David admires the clean line of her neck and chest the way he’s done a thousand times before, absentminded appreciation the way he looks at a beautiful coat or listens to a new record; letting it slip through his fingers, like everything else.

“You’re not…performing, are you,” David doesn’t-ask.

Stevie gives him a long look. “You’ve known me for over two years,” she says, even. “Do you think I’m likely to break out into song?”

“You’re a talent scout for a major record label,” he feels obliged to point out.

“Uh, first of all, it’s not major, and second of all, so are you,” she says.

This is, sadly, irrefutable.

*

When Ira disappeared to God knew where with the keys to the Rose family fortune, their lawyer had pulled them all into the living room with a chipper expression and a folder. David hadn’t listened, the sounds of furniture, paintings, his life being carted out the door overwhelming everything else. But Dad’s voice cut through.

“Schitt Records? That was a joke—“ and it still is a joke, almost two and a half years later. The biggest joke in the music industry, and David hears the laughter everywhere he goes.

*

Roland Schitt had been managing his wife and an extremely chipper singer-songwriter who went by “Twyla” and did tarot card readings after every set. Schitt Records was worth approximately nothing; probably why the government had let them keep it. When Dad finally exercised his ownership clause and made Roland an ex-officio (read: non-voting) board member, Roland had actually cackled with delight and wished them all the best, taking his “President of” title and a small stipend with him. Jocelyn and Twyla stuck around, although David still isn’t sure that Twyla’s all that aware of the change in management.

And anyway, as far as David’s concerned, the only thing of value at Schitt Records, at least at first, was Stevie.

*

They’d put Alexis back in the studio for want of any better ideas; David had found a semi-decent, semi-sober songwriter to give her some of the songs Meghan and Ariana had rejected. “Pullin’ Up Alexis” didn’t so much as crack the top 200 but it had put Schitt Records in the black, at least, even if Alexis did go white-faced and brittle at the awful venues David coaxed her into for the better part of a year — county fairs and no-name festivals where the audience wanted to jeer and heckle, where her dancing would get her laughed offstage if her singing didn’t. But every time he’d tell her she could quit (she couldn’t) and that they’d find another way to get the company on its feet (they wouldn’t), she’d lift her chin and smile and ask her where they were going next, and David loved her more than he’d ever, ever tell her.

And when the tour ended, David gritted his teeth and went out with Stevie to find something else. They found Ronnie, who hates them all but has hands like an angel on the piano; Jake who’s prettier onstage than off but who can draw a reliable crowd; even Ray, whose one-man band act is surprisingly lucrative, though David suspects that’s because anyone who listens can’t actually believe what’s happening.

Schitt Records still isn’t worth buying, but it’s worth something, now; worth spending late nights in small towns, worth sleepless weekends working festivals, worth more than David had ever expected to find.

But he’s still looking, he knows, for something else.

*

Even more insultingly, the open mic has a theme; “90’s Nostalgia!” which means too many bad covers of Alanis and one truly offensive attempt at “I Will Always Love You” that has David ordering his next glass of wine in a pint glass.

Stevie is laughing, though — she’s happy, in tune with the crowd who are clearly here for their respective friends onstage, leading the shaky ones through their choruses and cheering with far more enthusiasm than is merited when each of them wraps up.

“This is horrifying,” David tells her as some guy in his 60s gets gently ushered offstage and there’s a blessed lull.

“I know,” Stevie replies, eyes shining. “It’s great.”

And it is, in a weird way that David would never have enjoyed in his other life; he would never have set foot in here, would never have been friends with someone as grounded and solid and plaid as Stevie in the first place. So he takes a drink and doesn’t suggest they leave, but does pick a fight about sending Ray to ACL.

Stevie obligingly takes the bait and they’re halfway through the comfortable old argument about riders when David realizes the strummy-strummy lala in the background is a) recognizable, b) good, and c) infuriating.

The guy onstage is best described as “unprepossessing accountant,” wearing an ugly shirt and ugly slacks and uglier shoes and an astonishingly ugly fringed vest that’s probably (hopefully) a joke, judging by the wolf whistles from a table near the stage. But he’s got a smile like a searchlight as he rounds the corner of the first verse:

“I’m caught up in the midst of you And I cannot resist…”

David flails around until he makes contact with Stevie’s — okay, her face, which she’ll probably complain about later, but he’s too incensed. “He’s singing Mariah?”

Stevie swats his hand away. “He’s not bad.”

“I—“ David clutches at his pint glass. Fringed Vest, still grinning into the crowd and unaware of David’s newborn vendetta against him, continues.

Boy, if I do The things you want me to The way I used to do Would you love me, baby Hold me, feeling now Go and break my heart

The entire bar joins in on the chorus, Fringed Vest leading them like some hick accountant Pied Piper:

Heartbreaker, you got the best of me But I just keep on coming back incessantly Oh, why did you have to run your game on me I should have known right from the start You'd go and break my heart

Fringed Vest does not, thank God, try his hand at rapping the break but the crowd seems reluctant to let him actually finish the song, the choruses getting progressively louder and more boisterous until Fringed Vest puts a line underneath and steps back from the mic and they finally take the goddamn hint.

“That was—“ awful, he’s about to say, but the problem is that it wasn’t. There’s not a whole lot a Canadian accountant can add to Mariah Carey, especially with the advent of Lip Synch Battle. But it hadn’t felt patronizing or mocking; Fringed Vest knew every word, sang with a voice that couldn’t hold a match to Mariah but still expressed some sort of longing. He’d been joyful, earnest where most people tonight had clung to trite. It… worked.

He’s even more enraged.

“C’mon,” Stevie says, slipping through the crowd with the weary ease of someone who’s been doing this half her life. David tromps behind in her wake, bumping up against the same people Stevie glides past and almost losing her twice before she gets to the dinky curtain that is the backstage and ducking inside.

Which smells like vomit; David immediately flips through the various acts tonight and makes a bet with himself that it was the very sweet otter with the beard and the accordion even while Stevie is making her way over to the side of the stage where Fringed Vest is talking to somebody else and drinking — god, Red Mountain, David is vetoing any contract Stevie tries to push on this guy for that alone.

But Stevie’s introducing them and Fringed Vest extends a hand. “Patrick,” he says, grip firm. Up close he’s — not attractive, exactly, no eyebrows to speak of and a haircut that screams middle management, that smile still the most interesting thing about him. But it’s very interesting.

“David,” he admits, aware of Stevie’s narrowed eyes.

“David Rose,” Patrick says, worryingly. “You own Schitt Records.”

He blinks; this is possibly the first time anyone’s said the name of the company without smirking. “Co-own,” he corrects.

“You manage a friend of mine,” Patrick continues, “Ray? Butani?”

“We only manage one Ray, don’t worry,” Stevie tells him.

“How are you friends with Ray?” David demands. “He plays a vibraphone.”

“We both went to Rotman,” and that explains so much about both Ray and Patrick. “He was pretty excited when he signed.”

“Yes, the glamour of the pub circuit,” David says. “Who can resist the allure of all this,” and he almost hits a girl with beads in her hair and a banjo in her hand climbing onstage.

“It’s got its charms,” Patrick says, still smiling.

*

[networkingdefinition]

Gift Quotes

Official Website: Gift Quotes

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• A good wife is heaven’s last, best gift to man, – his gem of many virtues, his casket of jewels; her voice is sweet music, her smiles his brightest day, her kiss the guardian of his innocence, her arms the pale of his safety. – Jeremy Taylor • A happy childhood is one of the best gifts that parents have in their power to bestow. – Mary Cholmondeley • Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God’s best gift to man. – Pliny the Elder

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Gift+', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_gift').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_gift img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends, for it is one of God’s best gifts. It involves many things, but above all, the power of going out of one’s self, and appreciating whatever is noble and loving in another. – Thomas Hughes • Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends,for it is one of God’s best gifts. – Thomas Hughes • Deep down inside we know that the best gifts don’t come from catalogs or shopping malls. They don’t come in brightly-colored packages or fancy envelopes and they’re not sitting under a tree somewhere… The best gifts come from the heart. They come when we look at each other, REALLY look at each other and say ‘You mean a lot to me’ or ‘I’m so glad you’re a part of my life.’ A gift like that will never go out of style or be forgotten or be returned for a different size. A gift like that can change the world. – Ron Atchison • Earnestness is the best gift of mental power, and deficiency of heart is the cause of many men never becoming great. – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • Everything seems overwhelming when you stand back and look at the totality of it. I build a lot of stuff and it would all seem impossible if I didn’t break it down piece by piece, stage by stage. The best gift you can give yourself is some drive–that thing inside of you that gets you out the door to the gym, job interviews, and dates. The believe-in-yourself adage is grossly overrated. – Adam Carolla • For my confirmation, I didn’t get a watch and my first pair of long pants, like most Lutheran boys. I got a telescope. My mother thought it would make the best gift. – Wernher von Braun • God spoke to me clearly and said, ‘Did I give my son Jesus on the cross expecting nothing in return?’ God bankrupted heaven and gave the best gift he could give. He gave the best offering he could give. What did God need? He needed sons and daughters, he gave the very thing he needed. You can bring God a gift fully expecting something in return. Get to the phone!’ – Paul Crouch • God’s gifts are many; His best gift is one. It is the gift of Himself. – Aiden Wilson Tozer • Great men are among the best gifts which God bestows upon a people. – George Stillman Hillard • Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving. – Erma Bombeck • Having the freedom to read and the freedom to choose is one of the best gifts my parents ever gave me. – Judy Blume • Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship. – Gautama Buddha • How sad that we often diminish our best gifts by struggling valiantly to develop in someone else’s area of ability. It is better to focus on your uniqueness and do that with excellence than to end up with mediocrity in several areas. – Dan Miller • I believe the best gift you could ever give a woman is your time. – Ziad K. Abdelnour • I believe the Bible is the best gift God ever gave to man. All the good from the Savior of the world is communicated to us through that book.” On a personal spiritual note, Lincoln confessed, “I have been driven many times to my knees with the overwhelming conviction, that I had nowhere else to go. – Abraham Lincoln • I believe the Bible is the best gift God has ever given to man. – Abraham Lincoln I believe the Bible is the best gift God has ever given to man. All the good from The Savior of the world is communicated to us through this Book. – Abraham Lincoln • I get really cool gifts, and I know this sounds really lame, but I think one of the best gifts I’ve ever received was the Easy Bake Oven when I was younger. When I was little, I loved to bake! I want to get one now so I can make weird mini desserts for people. – Ashley Benson • I have an extraordinary attention span. I manage to juggle two or three different ideas at the same time, and that’s probably, if I have a gift, that’s probably the best gift that’s given me. – Paul Newman • I played rugby for years, and I had a rugby jacket that I lost when I was 14. Somehow, my brother found it in storage 15 years later, and he gave it back to me for my 30th birthday. That was amazing and probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. – Ryan Reynolds • I think fun is one of the best gifts we can give to each other. If everyone was having fun we’d be in good shape. – Alex Ebert • I think humor is the best gift, and if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? – Cameron Diaz • I wake up to my three dogs and my wife in bed and the kids, and those are the best gifts that I have. – Mike Ness • In Africa, you only have an independent media in only eight African countries, so there is very little transparency. The best gift that rich countries can give Africa is Radio Free Africa and Radio Free Africa will do for Africa what Radio Free Europe did for Europe. – George W. Bush • In my view, the best gift is one that benefits both the receiver and the planet. – Andrew Weil • In regard to this Great Book, I have but to say, it is the best gift God has given to man. – Abraham Lincoln • In regards to this great Book [the Bible], I have but to say it is the best gift God has given to man. All the good the Savior gave to the world was communicated through this Book. But for it we could not know right from wrong. All things most desirable for man’s welfare, here and hereafter, are found portrayed in it. – Abraham Lincoln • It is one of Heaven’s best gifts to hold such a dear creature in one’s arms. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • It’s the best gift in the world to be able to get up and dance because it’s the best gym. You artistically stretch your brain and you physically stretch your body to a higher point than a singular rotation movement like running. It makes your whole body move in lots of different ways, and it can make you very flexible as well, which is good for later life. – Andrew Stone • Kindness is one of the best gifts you can bestow… We know that inherently that feels great. – Joe Rogan • knowledge is the best gift of pure God . – Bozorgmehr • Let my heart be wise. It is the gods’ best gift. – Euripides • LIVER, n. A large red organ thoughtfully provided by nature to be bilious with. The liver is heaven’s best gift to the goose; without it that bird would be unable to supply us with the Strasbourg “pate”. – Ambrose Bierce • Memories are perhaps the best gifts of all. – Gloria Gaither • My latest found, Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever new delight! – John Milton • My love can’t be purchased Best gifts have been well-thought-out surprises. – Nina Dobrev • My mother cranes her neck. Her ability to be fascinated by things is her best gift to me. – Gary Shteyngart • My parents always made education and school the number one priority. They believed that an education is the best gift you can give to your child. – Debra Messing • My whole life has been about changing negatives into positives. I got famous, then I got cancer, and now I live to talk about it. Sometimes the best gifts come in the ugliest packages. – Fran Drescher • New York has been the best gift, in that the city pushes me to so many next levels. – Baratunde Thurston • No matter how many times you forget it, you can turn around and help someone. Or you can deliver a positive message or share with someone or just listen to someone share their story with you, it’s just the best gift there is. And it’s free. – Eliza Dushku • One of the best gifts we can give ourselves is time alone with God. – Joyce Meyer • One of the best gifts you can give a poet is to present them with field guides – to rocks, to stars, to birds, to wildflowers, to trees and bushes, to butterflies, to reptiles and amphibians. Because when you look at anything long enough to be able to identify it, you see far more clearly and you make a tiny beginning at understanding the life, the place, the history of that bird or rock or mammal. – Marge Piercy • One of the best gifts you can give to an animal is a donation of a blanket to your local animal shelter during the winter months. – Carrie Ann Inaba • Pure water is the best gifts a man can bring. But who am I that I should have the best of anything? -Let princes revel at the pump, let peers with ponds make free, …beer is good enough for me. – Charles Neaves, Lord Neaves • Seeing you happy is the best gift I could ever ask for. – Maya Banks • So every year when Christmas comes, I realize a new, the best gift life can offer is having friends like you. – Helen Steiner Rice • Staying present, living in Presence is the best gift anyone can give to those they love. – Guy Finley • Suffering is the very best gift He has to give us. He gives it only to His chosen friends. – Therese of Lisieux • Surely a gentle sister is the second best gift to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes after. – Herman Melville • The best #‎ gift we can give in any interaction is to leave people feeling lighter, #‎ happier , and more at #‎ peace . – David Simon • The best gift a fan could give me is undeniable support. – Jessie J • The best gift an educator can give is to get somebody to become self reflective. – Randy Pausch • The best gift anyone can give to a friend is to pray for him. – Benedict Groeschel • The best gift for an actor is the love of the fans. Many make sweet cards, write letters and even come and meet me wherever I am in India. The love and blessings of your elders is also always cherished, but the extra mile that the fans go to is memorable. – Abhishek Bachchan • The best gift from a father to his child is Education and Upbringing. – Muhammad • The best gift I was ever given was the arts. My mum gave me those on a silver platter. Growing up, her and my grandmother would take me to ballets, classical concerts, even smoky jazz clubs I wasn’t supposed to be in! – Jill Scott • The best gift is giving from your heart – Kevin Heath • The best gift we can have is living in the present moment and really enjoying it for what it is; and, not being in our heads and getting sidetracked. – Amy Smart • The best gift you can ever give your mentor is to grow. They feed off your growth. I believe that everyone has the seed of success inside, but too many people can’t find it in themselves and as a result do not reach their potential. But there are those whose purpose in life is to fertilize the seed of potential in another, who are rewarded by seeing that person grow and blossom before their eyes. Raising up others to a higher level is a mentor’s joy and sustenance. – John C. Maxwell • The best gift you can give a human being is an introduction to a God who loves them. – Bill Hybels • The best gift you can give is a hug: one size fits all and no one ever minds if you return it. – Marge Piercy • The best gift you can give someone is a part of your soul. – Jane Seymour • The best gift you can give yourself is an open mind. – Hayley Williams • The best gift you can give yourself is the gift of possibility. – Paul Newman • The best gift you can give, besides your unconditional love, is to be strong for them when they are present and stronger for yourself when they are not! – David H. Cooke • The best gift, and investment, you can give your child is your time – Kevin Heath • The best gifts come from the heart, not the store. – Sarah Dessen • The best gifts in life will never be found under a Christmas tree, those gifts are friends, family, children and the one you love. – Unknown • The best gifts to give: To your friend, loyalty; To your enemy, forgiveness; To your boss, service; To a child, a good example; To your parents, gratitude and devotion; To your mate, love and faithfulness; To all men and women, charity. – Oren Arnold • The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other. – Bill Vaughan • The big thing with all parents is they just want to be left alone. I want no demands. That’s the best gift for Father’s Day, just leave them alone. – Terry Crews • The highest act of love is the giving of the best gift, and, if necessary, at the greatest cost, to the least deserving. That’s what God did. At the loss of His Son’s life to the totally undeserving, God gave the best gift – the display of the glory of Christ who is the image of God. – John Piper • The very best gift… is that anyone can experience those unexpected twinkles of joy that make a magical moment. At these moments, you feel true, deep joy because of a great new insight, a beautiful prospect, or a glimpse into the radiance of another soul. They are the magic moments when life seems better than you ever realized. – Richard M. Eyre • There is something about saying, ‘We always do this,’ which helps keep the years together. Time is such an elusive thing that if we keep on meaning to do something interesting, but never do it, year would follow year with no special thoughtfulness being expressed in making gifts, surprises, charming table settings, and familiar, favorite food. Tradition is a good gift intended to guard the best gifts. – Edith Schaeffer • To be free from evil thoughts is God’s best gift. – Aeschylus • Turkey is undoubtedly one of the best gifts that the New World has made to the Old. – Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin • Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness That even above the smiles and frowns of fate Exalts great Nature’s favourites: a wealth That ne’er encumbers, nor can be transferr’d. – John Armstrong • When God loves a creature he wants the creature to know the highest happiness and the deepest misery … He wants him to know all that being alive can bring. That is his best gift…. There is no happiness save in understanding the whole. – Thornton Wilder • Who can go to a rodeo and then criticize the hunter? … an expertly placed bullet would be the best gift a rodeo horse could receive. – Roger Caras • Wine, madam, is God’s next best gift to man. – Ambrose Bierce • WINE, n.Fermented grape-juice known to the Women’s Christian Union as “liquor,” sometimes as “rum.” Wine, madam, is God’s next best gift to man. – Ambrose Bierce • Wow,” I said. “Are you making this up?” “Hazel Grace, could I, with my meager intellectual capacities, make up a letter from Peter Van Houten featuring phrases like ‘our triumphantly digitized contemporaneity’?” “You could not,” I allowed. “Can I, can I have the email address?” “Of course,” Augustus said, like it was not the best gift ever. – John Green • You should never lose heart. God is merciful and kind- he has endowed you with the best gift- smile, which can make millions happy. – Mother Teresa

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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[equitiesstocks]

Gift Quotes

Official Website: Gift Quotes

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• A good wife is heaven’s last, best gift to man, – his gem of many virtues, his casket of jewels; her voice is sweet music, her smiles his brightest day, her kiss the guardian of his innocence, her arms the pale of his safety. – Jeremy Taylor • A happy childhood is one of the best gifts that parents have in their power to bestow. – Mary Cholmondeley • Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God’s best gift to man. – Pliny the Elder

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Gift+', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_gift').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_gift img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends, for it is one of God’s best gifts. It involves many things, but above all, the power of going out of one’s self, and appreciating whatever is noble and loving in another. – Thomas Hughes • Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends,for it is one of God’s best gifts. – Thomas Hughes • Deep down inside we know that the best gifts don’t come from catalogs or shopping malls. They don’t come in brightly-colored packages or fancy envelopes and they’re not sitting under a tree somewhere… The best gifts come from the heart. They come when we look at each other, REALLY look at each other and say ‘You mean a lot to me’ or ‘I’m so glad you’re a part of my life.’ A gift like that will never go out of style or be forgotten or be returned for a different size. A gift like that can change the world. – Ron Atchison • Earnestness is the best gift of mental power, and deficiency of heart is the cause of many men never becoming great. – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • Everything seems overwhelming when you stand back and look at the totality of it. I build a lot of stuff and it would all seem impossible if I didn’t break it down piece by piece, stage by stage. The best gift you can give yourself is some drive–that thing inside of you that gets you out the door to the gym, job interviews, and dates. The believe-in-yourself adage is grossly overrated. – Adam Carolla • For my confirmation, I didn’t get a watch and my first pair of long pants, like most Lutheran boys. I got a telescope. My mother thought it would make the best gift. – Wernher von Braun • God spoke to me clearly and said, ‘Did I give my son Jesus on the cross expecting nothing in return?’ God bankrupted heaven and gave the best gift he could give. He gave the best offering he could give. What did God need? He needed sons and daughters, he gave the very thing he needed. You can bring God a gift fully expecting something in return. Get to the phone!’ – Paul Crouch • God’s gifts are many; His best gift is one. It is the gift of Himself. – Aiden Wilson Tozer • Great men are among the best gifts which God bestows upon a people. – George Stillman Hillard • Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving. – Erma Bombeck • Having the freedom to read and the freedom to choose is one of the best gifts my parents ever gave me. – Judy Blume • Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship. – Gautama Buddha • How sad that we often diminish our best gifts by struggling valiantly to develop in someone else’s area of ability. It is better to focus on your uniqueness and do that with excellence than to end up with mediocrity in several areas. – Dan Miller • I believe the best gift you could ever give a woman is your time. – Ziad K. Abdelnour • I believe the Bible is the best gift God ever gave to man. All the good from the Savior of the world is communicated to us through that book.” On a personal spiritual note, Lincoln confessed, “I have been driven many times to my knees with the overwhelming conviction, that I had nowhere else to go. – Abraham Lincoln • I believe the Bible is the best gift God has ever given to man. – Abraham Lincoln I believe the Bible is the best gift God has ever given to man. All the good from The Savior of the world is communicated to us through this Book. – Abraham Lincoln • I get really cool gifts, and I know this sounds really lame, but I think one of the best gifts I’ve ever received was the Easy Bake Oven when I was younger. When I was little, I loved to bake! I want to get one now so I can make weird mini desserts for people. – Ashley Benson • I have an extraordinary attention span. I manage to juggle two or three different ideas at the same time, and that’s probably, if I have a gift, that’s probably the best gift that’s given me. – Paul Newman • I played rugby for years, and I had a rugby jacket that I lost when I was 14. Somehow, my brother found it in storage 15 years later, and he gave it back to me for my 30th birthday. That was amazing and probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. – Ryan Reynolds • I think fun is one of the best gifts we can give to each other. If everyone was having fun we’d be in good shape. – Alex Ebert • I think humor is the best gift, and if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? – Cameron Diaz • I wake up to my three dogs and my wife in bed and the kids, and those are the best gifts that I have. – Mike Ness • In Africa, you only have an independent media in only eight African countries, so there is very little transparency. The best gift that rich countries can give Africa is Radio Free Africa and Radio Free Africa will do for Africa what Radio Free Europe did for Europe. – George W. Bush • In my view, the best gift is one that benefits both the receiver and the planet. – Andrew Weil • In regard to this Great Book, I have but to say, it is the best gift God has given to man. – Abraham Lincoln • In regards to this great Book [the Bible], I have but to say it is the best gift God has given to man. All the good the Savior gave to the world was communicated through this Book. But for it we could not know right from wrong. All things most desirable for man’s welfare, here and hereafter, are found portrayed in it. – Abraham Lincoln • It is one of Heaven’s best gifts to hold such a dear creature in one’s arms. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • It’s the best gift in the world to be able to get up and dance because it’s the best gym. You artistically stretch your brain and you physically stretch your body to a higher point than a singular rotation movement like running. It makes your whole body move in lots of different ways, and it can make you very flexible as well, which is good for later life. – Andrew Stone • Kindness is one of the best gifts you can bestow… We know that inherently that feels great. – Joe Rogan • knowledge is the best gift of pure God . – Bozorgmehr • Let my heart be wise. It is the gods’ best gift. – Euripides • LIVER, n. A large red organ thoughtfully provided by nature to be bilious with. The liver is heaven’s best gift to the goose; without it that bird would be unable to supply us with the Strasbourg “pate”. – Ambrose Bierce • Memories are perhaps the best gifts of all. – Gloria Gaither • My latest found, Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever new delight! – John Milton • My love can’t be purchased Best gifts have been well-thought-out surprises. – Nina Dobrev • My mother cranes her neck. Her ability to be fascinated by things is her best gift to me. – Gary Shteyngart • My parents always made education and school the number one priority. They believed that an education is the best gift you can give to your child. – Debra Messing • My whole life has been about changing negatives into positives. I got famous, then I got cancer, and now I live to talk about it. Sometimes the best gifts come in the ugliest packages. – Fran Drescher • New York has been the best gift, in that the city pushes me to so many next levels. – Baratunde Thurston • No matter how many times you forget it, you can turn around and help someone. Or you can deliver a positive message or share with someone or just listen to someone share their story with you, it’s just the best gift there is. And it’s free. – Eliza Dushku • One of the best gifts we can give ourselves is time alone with God. – Joyce Meyer • One of the best gifts you can give a poet is to present them with field guides – to rocks, to stars, to birds, to wildflowers, to trees and bushes, to butterflies, to reptiles and amphibians. Because when you look at anything long enough to be able to identify it, you see far more clearly and you make a tiny beginning at understanding the life, the place, the history of that bird or rock or mammal. – Marge Piercy • One of the best gifts you can give to an animal is a donation of a blanket to your local animal shelter during the winter months. – Carrie Ann Inaba • Pure water is the best gifts a man can bring. But who am I that I should have the best of anything? -Let princes revel at the pump, let peers with ponds make free, …beer is good enough for me. – Charles Neaves, Lord Neaves • Seeing you happy is the best gift I could ever ask for. – Maya Banks • So every year when Christmas comes, I realize a new, the best gift life can offer is having friends like you. – Helen Steiner Rice • Staying present, living in Presence is the best gift anyone can give to those they love. – Guy Finley • Suffering is the very best gift He has to give us. He gives it only to His chosen friends. – Therese of Lisieux • Surely a gentle sister is the second best gift to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes after. – Herman Melville • The best #‎ gift we can give in any interaction is to leave people feeling lighter, #‎ happier , and more at #‎ peace . – David Simon • The best gift a fan could give me is undeniable support. – Jessie J • The best gift an educator can give is to get somebody to become self reflective. – Randy Pausch • The best gift anyone can give to a friend is to pray for him. – Benedict Groeschel • The best gift for an actor is the love of the fans. Many make sweet cards, write letters and even come and meet me wherever I am in India. The love and blessings of your elders is also always cherished, but the extra mile that the fans go to is memorable. – Abhishek Bachchan • The best gift from a father to his child is Education and Upbringing. – Muhammad • The best gift I was ever given was the arts. My mum gave me those on a silver platter. Growing up, her and my grandmother would take me to ballets, classical concerts, even smoky jazz clubs I wasn’t supposed to be in! – Jill Scott • The best gift is giving from your heart – Kevin Heath • The best gift we can have is living in the present moment and really enjoying it for what it is; and, not being in our heads and getting sidetracked. – Amy Smart • The best gift you can ever give your mentor is to grow. They feed off your growth. I believe that everyone has the seed of success inside, but too many people can’t find it in themselves and as a result do not reach their potential. But there are those whose purpose in life is to fertilize the seed of potential in another, who are rewarded by seeing that person grow and blossom before their eyes. Raising up others to a higher level is a mentor’s joy and sustenance. – John C. Maxwell • The best gift you can give a human being is an introduction to a God who loves them. – Bill Hybels • The best gift you can give is a hug: one size fits all and no one ever minds if you return it. – Marge Piercy • The best gift you can give someone is a part of your soul. – Jane Seymour • The best gift you can give yourself is an open mind. – Hayley Williams • The best gift you can give yourself is the gift of possibility. – Paul Newman • The best gift you can give, besides your unconditional love, is to be strong for them when they are present and stronger for yourself when they are not! – David H. Cooke • The best gift, and investment, you can give your child is your time – Kevin Heath • The best gifts come from the heart, not the store. – Sarah Dessen • The best gifts in life will never be found under a Christmas tree, those gifts are friends, family, children and the one you love. – Unknown • The best gifts to give: To your friend, loyalty; To your enemy, forgiveness; To your boss, service; To a child, a good example; To your parents, gratitude and devotion; To your mate, love and faithfulness; To all men and women, charity. – Oren Arnold • The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other. – Bill Vaughan • The big thing with all parents is they just want to be left alone. I want no demands. That’s the best gift for Father’s Day, just leave them alone. – Terry Crews • The highest act of love is the giving of the best gift, and, if necessary, at the greatest cost, to the least deserving. That’s what God did. At the loss of His Son’s life to the totally undeserving, God gave the best gift – the display of the glory of Christ who is the image of God. – John Piper • The very best gift… is that anyone can experience those unexpected twinkles of joy that make a magical moment. At these moments, you feel true, deep joy because of a great new insight, a beautiful prospect, or a glimpse into the radiance of another soul. They are the magic moments when life seems better than you ever realized. – Richard M. Eyre • There is something about saying, ‘We always do this,’ which helps keep the years together. Time is such an elusive thing that if we keep on meaning to do something interesting, but never do it, year would follow year with no special thoughtfulness being expressed in making gifts, surprises, charming table settings, and familiar, favorite food. Tradition is a good gift intended to guard the best gifts. – Edith Schaeffer • To be free from evil thoughts is God’s best gift. – Aeschylus • Turkey is undoubtedly one of the best gifts that the New World has made to the Old. – Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin • Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness That even above the smiles and frowns of fate Exalts great Nature’s favourites: a wealth That ne’er encumbers, nor can be transferr’d. – John Armstrong • When God loves a creature he wants the creature to know the highest happiness and the deepest misery … He wants him to know all that being alive can bring. That is his best gift…. There is no happiness save in understanding the whole. – Thornton Wilder • Who can go to a rodeo and then criticize the hunter? … an expertly placed bullet would be the best gift a rodeo horse could receive. – Roger Caras • Wine, madam, is God’s next best gift to man. – Ambrose Bierce • WINE, n.Fermented grape-juice known to the Women’s Christian Union as “liquor,” sometimes as “rum.” Wine, madam, is God’s next best gift to man. – Ambrose Bierce • Wow,” I said. “Are you making this up?” “Hazel Grace, could I, with my meager intellectual capacities, make up a letter from Peter Van Houten featuring phrases like ‘our triumphantly digitized contemporaneity’?” “You could not,” I allowed. “Can I, can I have the email address?” “Of course,” Augustus said, like it was not the best gift ever. – John Green • You should never lose heart. God is merciful and kind- he has endowed you with the best gift- smile, which can make millions happy. – Mother Teresa

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[ruensroad]

the best laid plans

A little ficlet for @this-solaris-life because she had a bad day and hopefully this will make her smile! :D ---

Geralt called it iram, with such loathing and anger that Jaskier was taken aback. And just when he’d thought that witchers had learned to conquer all sorts of monsters. Apparently even someone as powerful as Geralt had a bane. And boy was it one hell of a complication.

Because iram had an unbreakable advantage that even witchers could not penetrate: they were only visible - and therefore killable - when certain parameters were met, and these differed from monster to monster. Impossible to see, impossible to predict. For them to have crossed paths with one now was nothing short of a twist of fate, and an endless frustration on Geralt’s side of things as well as endless amusement from Jaskier’s. Though he was not laughing out loud about it, because that would be rude.

(Even if it was a little funny to see his mighty witcher up in knots. He may have a ballad or three to say about it too.)

Though even his very great capacity for holding down laughter had its limits and after nearly an hour of just watching Geralt pace around their fire, Jaskier strummed his lute and cleared his throat to make him stop. It perhaps said far too much about him how he knew just how to play to annoy the man into doing so.

“You are overthinking this, my friend,” Jaskier hummed, because it was true, and his fingers danced down the neck of his instrument in a sweet, lilting tune. A wedding march. “You said this irane or whatever it is has chosen to hunt married couples. Therein lies your opportunity to catch it.”

Geralt looked seconds from punching him, which was his usual state of being, so Jaskier was unconcerned. “Jaskier.”

A warning, one Jaskier strummed over. “We just have to get you married off, then it’ll come racing after you and you can do your witchering. Problem solved.”

His lute gave two powerful beats to accentuate this and he grinned up at Geralt’s incredulous face. “See? Simple.”

“There is nothing simple about that,” Geralt grunted, which was just typical.

“Now, now, don’t even start with your contrary dramatics,” Jaskier huffed and paused his music to give him a more serious glare. It did nothing in the face of Geralt’s own glaring, but he knew Geralt read his earnestness regardless. “I’m certain there is someone out there who wants to marry you.” He was sitting right here, in fact, holding a lute and angling for Geralt to remember someone else. Gods. “And I am very good at plying wines to priests, so we could have you married by the morning if we hustle.”

“You’re not serious,” Geralt said, ridiculous man. Jaskier had his serious face on!

“As the plague,” Jaskier resumed his playing, a quick up and down chase of his fingers. “One lovely, albeit rather terrifying and crazy witch comes to mind.”

Geralt’s face pinched, a minute change since he was almost always scowling, and took a visibly calming breath. “She is out of communication range,” he said, slowly, like to a child, though also resigned, because saying this was the same as giving thought to one of Jaskier’s ideas.

Jaskier did not smirk. He didn’t. It was far too giggly anyway and, again, rude. “Then I will,” he said, taking his chance, and told himself the bark of a laugh he got didn’t hurt. “Why not? It’s just to catch the irate -”

“Iram.”

“-thing, and you just told me its invisible to catch unless it’s enticed. So, we marry, we find it, and you kill it.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly at the man, which had the effect of a wet towel hitting a stone wall, sweet mercy, why was he so damn stubborn? “I don’t see how this is a problem.”

“Jaskier.” So, Geralt didn’t have a good reason to say no, victory. But he was still going to say no, because Geralt. “That will never work.”

Jaskier wondered if it was worth sacrificing his lute to knock some sense into the man. Probably not. “And just why not? Do you have another idea? It’s not like the beast cares for true love or anything. The third and fourth couples attacked were arranged marriages.”

The more he used logic to push the plan, the more Geralt balked, until finally with a growl he stalked off into the woods, presumably to kill something that wasn’t Jaskier, which he appreciated. Even if the man’s anger hurt, too. Would it really be so bad married to Jaskier? He didn’t think so, but then, he was barely Geralt’s friend. To jump to spouse was no small thing, no matter how flippant he could try to be. Was that, perhaps, why Geralt was so against it?

“He’s only grumpy because he knows I’m right but he doesn’t want to admit it!” Jaskier sang loudly in his wake, forcibly cheerful to keep his spirits from sinking. It was far easier to smile and laugh in true joy when he felt Roach’s soft muzzle in his hair, lipping softly at his neck, and allowed the horse to nuzzle him. After all, he was forbidden from touching the mare, that didn’t mean the same was true for Roach.

Geralt would let his horse get away with murder if Roach went in for that sort of thing. Their bond was special like that, all silent conversation and simply being with one another. Geralt didn’t talk much, and when it wasn’t grunting boorishly at Jaskier, he was talking softly to Roach, who slowly fell asleep against him, or pricked her ears to every word, like she was truly listening as a proper companion should.

Jaskier was more than a little convinced Roach could understand him, too. Geralt deserved that much.

“Oh my dearest Roach,” he switched to a crooning love song, kissing that nose that bumped his own. “If only our love need not remain secret! I would marry thee without thought or care!”

Roach snorted at this and nudged him until he was laughing. Definitely a supernatural sort of horse, this one. He smoothed a hand down Roach’s forehead and nose, smiling wide to see the mare’s eyes flutter. “Do not worry, dearest love~ You are the secret of my heart and to lose you would be to stop breathing!”

Roach just sighed, content with all the petting, and Jaskier decided it was worth losing a hand to give those ears a good scratch. Oh, but to be a horse and find heaven so easily! At least without a voice he would be a far more proper companion. And all those free apples. And warm murmurings from Geralt.

“Do not tell Geralt, but I am rather jealous of you,” Jaskier murmured in the horse’s ear, laughing as he was butted again. “Yes, yes, and your witchy ways are safe with me. Don’t think I’m not onto you, my sweet mare. I know you know that I know.”

It was jibberish, but Roach liked being talked to, he’d found. If only Geralt were so easy to please. If only…

The crack of a branch signaled Geralt had returned, a pheasant hanging in one hand and a grim look on his face. Though there was something… new in the sharpness of his eyes, an almost softness as he looked between Jaskier and Roach. The mare gave a soft whicker and like they were having some sort of conversation, Geralt huffed back, shoulders slumping.

It was endearing and the gods were cruel indeed to make him want this man so much.

“Alright Jaskier,” Geralt growled out, eyes flashing in the dark. “We’ll do it your way.”

Jaskier nearly fell over, hearing that, and forced a bright smile onto his face. His nervous fingers teased in a quick, happy tune to further the illusion that his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his chest right that minute. Hell of a way to go. 

“Well then, tomorrow I shall begin my quest for a priest while you find the best wine we can buy! Trust me, Geralt, you will not regret it!”