#like I know the parting glass isn’t technically a Christmas song but that’s what his version reminds me of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fallingoverharrypotter · 3 years ago

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If We Make It Through January 7th

Draco and Harry on the wrong side of the holiday season, making the gloom a little bit brighter. Also on AO3 here.

I’m barely through the front door of the place before I catch a glimpse of the man behind the counter and freeze up. Right there in the doorway.

A frustrated cough comes from behind me, and I hear a rude “excuse me.”

I swear. “Sorry,” I move out of their way, back onto the icy cobblestones: the patron flicks me an insincere smile as they hurry into the warmth of the bakery, and the door shuts in my face with a clang. The noise of the store, regular café sounds and music with it. That’s unfortunate, as Diagon still has Christmas jingles incessantly twinkling across the cold brick back and forth down the alley on this side of the new year, and that’s… only one part of the reason I want to enter.

Surely there are other places on Diagon that sell hot drinks and buns this late on a Wednesday. But… I know there aren’t. Even in muggle London.

Going home empty handed on Monday was one thing, but going home empty handed on Wednesday seems out of the question.

The cheerful drawings of smiling faces and steaming pastries on the glass are mocking me - there’s raucous noise of laughter just from the other side of the windows. I’m drawn up close and shivering in my winter robe, and it’s so cold that the warming charms keep wearing off. There are the sludgy remnants of snow on the cobbles, and I had to save myself from a couple of falls on the way down here. The blush on my cheeks is definitely from the embarrassment of the wobbles, but thankfully it’ll be passed off as the bite of the air. He probably won’t realise a difference anyway.

I take a deep breath, and go to reach for the door again, but then my hand stops, barely within my control. I close my eyes and try once more. Breathe deep, hand out to grasp the handle. I pretend not to think about whether any patrons of the bakery are staring at me through the glass. I hypothesise that if this takes me longer than five minutes, I’ll get an Auror called on me for drunk and disorderly, and wouldn’t that truly make my day.

Suddenly, it’s too much. I don’t even want to see his face. Wednesday pastries will just have to go without. It’s a silly tradition anyway. Surely if I’m ever allowed to forgo a habit, it would be as a new year’s resolution. It was his neurotic practice anyway. Probably one of those things I should toss out like I did all the rest of his stuff.

I take another deep breath and point my chin up, stare challengingly at one stupid smiling figure on the glass, and turn to make my way down to the other apparition point at the end of Diagon.

Stupid ex-boyfriends and stupid bleeding-heart holiday seasons. I manage to keep my feet reasonably stable as I walk down the almost icy path on this darker end of the street.

Unfortunately for me, however, a loud noise startles me and I completely wipe out.

A loud grunt expels itself from my chest as my back hits the ground. Thankfully my neck and head seem to be pretty well protected by the thick green scarf I’ve got wrapping me up, but my ass doesn’t fair all that well. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, and groan as I roll over onto my side. I wince when a sharp twinge in my back is set off with my movement.

Thankfully I’m not alone in my predicament, because the noise that startled me was an initial slick sharp sound of a slip against the icy cobbles. I tilt my head up and see heavy black boots, worn just slightly at the sole, and the figure of their owner, a man in amongst a mountain of sludgy snow that someone had just moved to the side instead of vanishing. I mutter to myself about the absolute travesty which is Diagon without proper foot traffic. People here get bloody careless this time of year.

I push myself up by my gloved hands, now soaked, along with the backside of my cloak. “Are you alright?” I half-heartedly direct to the man who I can hear angrily muttering to himself in his current position. I have to pay direct attention to getting my feet under me so that I don’t make another trip, but I do finally stabilise myself. I sigh crossly. My penance for getting so startled is that I don’t immediately get to grab my wand and dry myself off.

The man sighs too. His reply is muffled, but I think I can make out a “yep”. Charming.

He’s not moving though, so I huff out a breath impatiently and wander over to where he lies carelessly under an awning, face shadowed from Diagon’s twinkling lights. Good King Wenceslas chimes out of the charms on the street, and seems to mock me, and I have to force myself to think of how best to rectify this. I hope this guy isn’t drunk. Or maybe I hope he is, so that I can just call the aurors to deal with this.

“Are you pissed?” I ask, just to know.

“I wish.” Is his muffled reply. “Would be a bit less embarrassing if I were, I think.”

I roll my eyes. “Can you get up?”

“Yep.” He repeats, and then groans again as he pulls himself out of the soaking wet, dirty grey cushion, that is the snow bank.

My mouth drops open. “Potter?”

And, yep indeed. It’s Potter. He’s leaning back on gloved hands when he looks up at me quickly and then he groans. Throws his wet haired head back, and those green eyes look up at the awning like he’s berating whatever trickster god pulls his strings of fate. Or, so I assume.

He leans his weight on a single hand and stretches out the other in my direction.

For a second, I think he’s extended it so we can shake hands, before I realise that he just wants a hand up. I flush and hasten – carefully – over. A quick pull from my hand and he does the rest of the work, but he has to grab at my shoulders when he’s upright, a little wobbly.

He looks at me and grimaces. “I’m a danger to myself and others.” His hands release my shoulders, but only, it seems, to brush off bits of snow and dirt off of my coat.

I huff, my breath making a cloud of vapour in the space between us. “Well, I won’t disagree with you on that. Do you need me to go and get someone for you, or can you make your merry way to your reserved bed at Mungos?”

He laughs just a little. “It’s always a pleasure, Draco, honestly.” He’s joking, so I reserve the right to kick him until later. Maybe when he’s a bit less pathetic from the slip. “Are you okay?”

I scowl, and don’t answer his question. “It’s bloody 6pm on a Wednesday. In the middle of winter. After a snow storm. Who’s honestly buying wands this time of year?”

He smiles, winks slightly. “Gotta be made, don’t they?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, I get it. You’re chained to your desk. A snowstorm fit for the arctic circle could blaze through here and you couldn’t be moved.”

He laughs. Harry laughs the same way he’s always laughed, and I blush just a little bit, as I’ve always done. I feel a shiver start to come upon me, but I keep it away by share force of will as he continues. “The new year is good for the thestral tail hair.” A dirty glove subconsciously comes up to rub at his wet hair, and he grimaces when he feels it. “Decay, new life, you know. The Death-horses and Winter going hand in hand.”

I smirk as he tentatively tries to rub his dirty glove off against a cleaner part of his cloak. “Cruel of them. Not taking the time to consider your plight.”

“Well,” he challenges, “I doubt it’s a major concern. It’s actually not every day that I slip and fall on the pavement. I survive my walks, mostly.”

“Well,” I answer, “I never slip or fall.” I raise a haughty eyebrow at him, and I can see the humour dust his eyes a little bit more. “Don’t go blaming me for this.”

He rolls his eyes and grimaces. “Why are we still so wet.” He flicks his hand and a wave of annoyingly familiar magic crests itself over my figure until the dirt and the moisture are driven right away. I flick a warming charm over him in thanks.

He seems to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings now that he’s dry and warm. “You just come from Finch-Fletchley’s? You mind reminding him that if the other shops are closed down for the holidays that it’s his job to vanish the snow after a blanketing?”

I avert my eyes, drawn to the bright lights of the bakery. I scowl. “You can tell him yourself, thank you very much.” I take a deep breath, and straighten my back. Keeping some decorum, hopefully. “We’ve broken up.”

Potter’s eyebrows are up when I glance quickly back to his face. He looks at me, and his face is very controlled. He looks at the bakery. “When?”

I swallow. “Week before Christmas, if you can believe.”

He can’t seem to stop himself from whistling sympathetically. Then he winces. “Sorry.”

I shrug, casually. “No matter.”

He snorts.

“I’m serious” I say, pointlessly.

He crosses his arms and looks hard at me. “Oh yeah? What are you doing here, then? Surely not too many muggleborns turning 11 around this time of year.”

Not to back down, and turn to face him properly and cross my own arms. “You know full well that’s not all I do, Potter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like my point doesn’t still stand. What? You doing a lot of muggleborn house calls the week after new year’s?”

“Not every muggleborn celebrates Christmas and New Year’s.”

“Sure, technically. In reality, though?”

I turn away, and don’t answer his questions. He snorts, but then steps a little closer. We’re facing the bakery, because of course we are. O’ Holy Night plays above us. I wonder who chooses these songs.

I hear him take a deep breath in and out. “I really am sorry.”

I sigh, too. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s only been two weeks, Draco.”

Two weeks and 5 days. If we’re counting. I don’t say this though.

He bumps my shoulder. “Not to pick at the wound, but what areyou really doing here.”

I consider lying to him again, but we’re not really in the business of doing that. It’d just be a bore. And he’s always been… good about things like this. “Christmas.” I swallow. “It gets lonely, you know.”

He hums.

I kick out at the ground with my foot and it slides a little bit too far, and I end up having to take a step forward to balance myself again – Potter grabs at my arm.

He laughs, a little anxiously. “Never slip and fall, huh?”

I ignore that, my face flushed and hot. “We had a tradition. Wednesday pastries at the bakery. I would assume it’s common decency to let someone know in advance if you’re going to break up with them. So that one can plan for these moments, right?” I close my eyes against the lights of Justin’s bakery, feeling unwelcome. “I apologise. I’m morose. It’s not exactly the post-holiday cheer I’m sure you want on a nice evening.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t call this a nice evening.” My warming charm wears off, and he flicks his wrist for another one to settle over us. He lets go of my upper arm, and puts a hand on my shoulder – drags me around a bit to face him. “Fuck him, right?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not a bad guy, Potter.”

He rolls his eyes right back, and then looks quite serious. “Be a little indulgent with yourself sometimes, Draco.”

I look back at him. He’s only just shorter than me, and I’ve always cherished that fact, but now he almost seems to be towering over me, even with a bit of a slouch to his stand. His messy hair and his shadowed cheeks and under-eyes the likes of which I only really see during the summer break when I’m chaperoning muggle families and their muggleborn children to get their first wands before September. Working too hard. Chained to his desk.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” I blurt out.

His eyes widen. So do mine. The heat in my face expands to a blaze, and I groan as I drop it into my cold gloves. “Merlin, I’m sorry. You just said the indulgent thing, and I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” He grabs at my wrists lightly and tugs a bit, but I don’t budge. “Draco.”

A clang mutely sounds from just up the street, the usual echo of the door in the cobbled street trapped by the snow. “Draco?” I hear, and look up. Startle, because that’s definitely Justin at the door, surrounded in the glow of the lighting. I take a step back almost without thought, and Harry’s grip on my wrist unfortunately makes me lose my balance. I go right down, and he follows. Right on top of me.

I groan loudly, my head and back and arse all once again wet and cold. Harry groans too, and his warm weight gets off me very quickly, tugging me up by my hands, and then a hand tight on my waist to right me. I don’t step out of his grip immediately, too overcome with the situation. Ready to take another crack at the cobbles and see if this time I brain myself.

“Hell, Draco,” Harry mutters, and then grabs his wand to get the wet and the dirt off the both of us again. Another of his beautiful warming charms settles over my body. “We’re even now, okay? No more falls, for god’s sake.”

Justin has wandered a bit closer by the time I look away from Harry’s face, a little consternated. “Draco? Are you okay? Merlin, what are you doing standing out here?”

I don’t respond. Harry coughs. “That’ll be me. I basically tripped him earlier, and we got talking.”

Justin’s eyes widen just a little, and he looks at Draco in concern. “In this weather? It’s freezing! I’ll grab you mug of spice cider, alright?”

“No,” I say, finally finding my bloody voice again. “No, I’m fine. And anyway.” I shoot a glance at Harry. “We’re tied one-for-one.” Harry smirks.

Justin continues when I look back to him. “Dray, come on. A cup of cider, a bite to eat.”

I shake my head, wanting this day to be done with already. “I’ve got plans.”

Justin eyes get just a little softer. “Come on, please?”

“He does. Have plans.” Potter says, and my neck twinges with how fast I turn to look at him. “We’re going to dinner.”

Justin goggles, just a little, looks between Harry and me. There’s a certain part of me – a different part to the one that’s processing whether or not Harry means what he said about dinner – that’s a little vindictively pleased about Justin’s reaction. “Oh!” Justin says. “Okay, no… No worries!” He meets my eyes, and I flush. “It was good to see you. Please, do come around. The staff miss you, you know.”

I smile politely. “Thanks, Justin.” I stand a little taller, and nod to him. “Take care.”

“You too.” And he grins kindly, lifting a hand to Harry and me, before hastening back into the warm sanctuary of his bakery. The door does its little muted clang again as it closes. My mouth – still sitting in a polite smile – relaxes, leaving a little pain in my cheeks.

Harry hums. “Do you ever think that we’re all a bit toomature now?”

Surprisingly, I laugh loudly at that. I’m nodding even before I get the words out. “Yes. I’d almost wish to be fifteen again and have a real proper tantrum about this.” I sigh, laugh a little again. “But, you know. Fifteen-year-old me? Good riddance.”

“I don’t know…” Harry trails off, “there were some redeeming qualities. He was certainly a creative sort.”

I goggle at him, and immediately stop when I realise that I’m imitating Justin to some extent. “Stop having me on.”

Harry… laughs. “Yeah, I’m having you on. You were a right bastard.”

I shake my head, and turn away from the lights of the bakery, and start walking. He’ll surely catch up.

“I was serious.” Harry says, and I turn my head a little to let him know I’m listening as I walk. “About dinner.”

“I assumed so,” even though that’s a bit of a lie.

“And,” Harry catches up. “I mean ‘dinner’ as in. A date.”

I’m not proud of this, but I slip. Just a little. “Fuck,” I say as I try to catch myself. Thank goodness that Potter’s a bit more onto it, though. He just grabs my arm, and an arm around my back. Straightens me up.

“Bloody hell, I should have talked to him about the snow vanishing,” Harry’s saying as I brush off my cloak to hide my flush. “It’s all the Diagon Business Association talks about during winter, I don’t know what he’s on-”

“Harry.”

He stops and looks at me. Christmas music is still playing, and its still grating, but goodness the lights work well on his complexion. And his eyes.

I smile, just a little. “We’ve got dinner plans, I thought? We could talk about this there, surely?”

He laughs.

#drarry fic #drarry #drarry fanfic #harry potter fanfic #this came out of nowhere and was supposed to be something much different before it became this #fluff #pure and simple #and god now all i want is to have 30k of Harry as wandmaker and Draco as the muggleborn liason #brining the little muggleborn kids and their families through Diagon before they go off to Hogwarts #and Harry and Draco learning to like each other through that #and falling kind of just #slowly for each other because of it #and Draco deserves a little date #as a treat

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shewhospeakswiththunder · 5 years ago

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Perhaps you’re feeling bored at home or, if considered an “essential” worker like me, you need a little fun and stress relief. Here is my masterpost of fic recs from my two years of reading so far. Maybe you’ll find something new, or reconnect with an old favorite. Either way--

Enjoy! 😷💕

Reylo Fics that Deserve All the Love

Near Kinsman by englishable

Englishable is just one of the best writers I’ve encountered in fandom. This historical western mail order bride AU is top notch quality.

The Masochism of Self-Defence by greyorchids

The Reylo dynamic in this Boston PD AU is steamy, but also heartfelt.

So Much Thin Glass by walkingsaladshooter

Never knew I loved modern day Gothic AUs until I ran across this one.

Heaven Forbid by DarkKnightDarkSide

I was stunned by the author’s creativity in this Priestlo fic. So smutty. So... inventive 😉🔥

Sonder by deathbyhumidity

Two strangers passing each other by on the train. Soft, dreamlike, somber, poignant. Modern AU.

And Still I Would Remember by Inmyownidiom

A Victorian era AU of two souls that parted and come crashing back together.

So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl. by selunchen

Faeries AU! Ben, a fae, and Rey, a human. Shenanigans ensue.

Live Long, and Prosper by SaintHeretical

For the Reylo Trekkies. Hell, even if you don't do Star Trek, read this. PHENOMENAL.

Mr. Solo & Miss Wellfound by LinearA

“Regency/Victorian AU, Ben sees Rey's stockinged ankle by accident.”

Diyari by Nervoustouch

Modern archeologists AU. Snarky banter with dashes of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, and Sahara vibes.

Drawn to the light of your burning sorrows by Kyriadamorte

The Mothlo AU you didn’t know you needed. Both gritty and soft.

Crown Glass by RebelRebel

Fantasy AU, with lots of beautiful imagery and engaging character dynamics.

Kohelet 3:16 (Call Me A Cab) by LinearA

NYC Jewish Leia and Ben. Skillfully layered plot, nuanced characterization. Smut is HOT.

By the Shores of Varykino Lake by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

Unhealthy dynamics, definitely read the tags. “There’s a lot of fucked-up-ness”, in the author’s own words. But it’s good writing. Fair warning.

Let Me Put My Darkness In You by ArdeaJestin

Canonverse. Hux is an insufferable, pompous ass and Kylo Ren writes terrible, melodramatic poetry.

Wintertide by Zabeta

Whimsical and primitive in turn, this lives up to the style of a true fairytale AU.

The Forty Thieves by PoetHrotsvitha

Peaky Blinders/Gangsters AU. Rey starts as Ben’s bartender and ends up as so much more.

I Said to My Soul, Be Still by LinearA

Dark!Rey takes her man. 🥵🔥💕

Hux's Rousing Pep Talks by Riels_shorts

This fic is hysterical. It’s not Reylo, and I don’t care. My list, my rules.

It's All I Can Do To Leave You Alone by TazWren

Office AU. Silly, spunky, with a bashful Ben.

Sip the Honey Sweet by dietplainlite

Anne of Green Gables-esque/Edwardian era AU, the title really says it all.

The Pull to the Light by HarpiaHarpyja

Entrancingly macabre. This modern/fantasy/monsters AU catches your attention from the get-go, and never lets you off the hook.

lay then the axe to the root by sciosophia

All the Bronte goodness, plus smut.

The Golden Age by TourmalineGreen

Golden Age of Hollywood AU in which Ben is a jaded actor in serious need of an image fix, in the form of fresh-faced actress Rey.

Never Be Your Curse by Kate_Reid

Kylo Ren is a go-go dancer in this AU. That was enough to get my attention 😘

Gallows God by Killtheselights

Bursting with deliciously grim imagery, an intelligent take on Norse mythology.

Thunderstorms, Clouds, Snow, and a Slight Drizzle by aNerdObsessed

Who doesn’t love an ugly sweater Christmas party? Ben Solo, that’s who. All the nostalgic wintertime feels in this modern AU.

Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness by englishable

It’s not long, but it’s good. A lyrical dive into the mindspace of child Ben Solo. A true gem. Also not technically Reylo. Still don’t care.

I Dare You by tinylittlebrain

Daredevil Kylo has pissed off ER doc Rey Kenobi for the last time. Spicy!

stuck in colder weather by redbelles

Professor Ren stops grad student Rey from biking home in a snow storm. And takes her to his home. You can guess where this goes 😉

Between Sky and Sea by nessalk

Serious Indiana Jones vibes with a Caribbean flair. Painstakingly researched, and moments of true beauty and joy.

But Before Tomorrow by Kate_Reid

Such good writing. Canonverse.

The Sword of Prince Hector by englishable

Exploration of what redemption might feel like for Ben, canonverse.

if compassion be the breath of life, breathe on me by Victoryindeath2

All the angst and unknowns that we were left with in the wake of TLJ are soothed in this canonverse piece.

build a ladder to the stars by redbelles

An exploration of events post-Crait. Fantastic, beautifully written.

nor are we forgiven (which brings us back) by TolkienGirl

Both Kylo and Rey get to see what life would have been like if they both got exactly what they thought they wanted after TLJ. Fascinating read.

Forsworn by Erulisse17

This Mando/ST crossover has everything you could want--action, witty banter, space romance! So much fun!

Reylo Favorites & Classics

One Shots

59 Minutes by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

For Science by KyloTrashForever, ohwise1ne

He Made It Through the Wilderness (somehow he made it through) by LovesBitca8

light carries on endlessly by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)

Grey by ocjones

The Idiot's Guide to Flirting by Violetwilson

High School/College AU

I Caught Fire by KyloTrashForever

Mountain Springs High School by animal

Epithumia by pontmercy44

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth

Office/Workplace AU

Sensual Storytime by andabatae

The Food of Love by LovesBitca8

Historical/Dystopia AU

Hiraeth by Ferasha

a manner of virtue by neonheartbeat

The lamb's thirst by animal

Wanted by Inmyownidiom

She Who Would be Queen by sasstasticmad

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosives

ABO

Knot My First Time by KyloTrashForever

Canonverse/Canon-divergent

variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (Reydar)

i will be the wolf by diasterisms

Sky Marked Souls by AnonymousMink

The Death of Kylo Ren by nymja

World In My Eyes by sasstasticmad

i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) by diasterisms

Catch Me I’m Falling by violethoure666

Sword of the Jedi by diasterisms

You'll Be the One to Turn by postedbygaslight

Dark Crown by Violetwilson

Harry Potter AU

Nocturnal Studies And Other Peculiar Magic by WaterlilyRose

Otherwise Modern AU

Pretense by Celia_and

Insta-heart by slipgoingunder

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44

The Elusive Mating Dance of the Porgus Adorabilis by andabatae

Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter

WAR DOGS by fulcrumstardust

miles from where you are by Mooncactus

Charcoal by luvkurai

Stay by jeeno2

coarse and rough and irritating by frak-all (or_ryn)

Blades Crossed by the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Embers by sciosophia

Mitan, Midi by animal

Janus by englishable

Say My Name by Graendoll

Thank You for The Music by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

darling, so it goes by akosmia

This is the Sign You've Been Looking For by RebelRebel

Broken Things by midnightbluefox

One-Night Stand by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

The Rebel Side of Heaven by jeeno2

On The Bumpy Road (To Love) by violethoure666

we could plant a house, we could build a tree by Like_A_Dove

I’d Like My Obituary to Hint at a Sequel by Violetwilson

Only If You Want To by Violetwilson

Not Reylo, Still Awesome

Gingerflower/Gingerrose, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico

Between Sand and Sea by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)

If Ever I Would Leave You by Weddersins

Her Yellow Rainboots by Weddersins

Merrical, Cal Kestis/Merrin (Jedi: Fallen Order)

The Stars Alight by FlyingMachine

Heavy Ice by FlyingMachine

Caltrilla, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri (Jedi: Fallen Order)

No One Else by xanderwilde

call it what you want by xanderwilde

tear you to pieces by xanderwilde

Dramione, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter Universe)

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

Zutara, Katara/Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

oracle bones by an orphaned account

Fics by Me

Virtue Ethics

Reylo College AU (completed)

Dr. Ben Solo, adjunct philosophy professor and part-time martial arts instructor, discovers a young woman in his Intro to Philosophy course whom he thinks may not actually be enrolled at the University.

Chiasmus

Reylo Role-reversal canonverse AU (WIP)

Scourge of the galaxy, Kira Ren, is tasked by the First Order to eliminate the last of the Jedi. When she captures hotshot podracer Ben Solo to extract Luke Skywalker’s location from him, things do not go according to plan.

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing

Snapshots of a modern Reylo AU. Smutty, prosey one-shot.

Listen Up, Kid

Canonverse Reylo Post TLJ one-shot

The ghosts of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's past are back to haunt him with a vengeance. A well-meaning, familial kind of vengeance. Or, A Star Wars Carol.

Ben’s Body

Reylo Modern AU (completed)

Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked.

Growin’ Up

Reylo High School AU (completed)

Ben Solo was supposed to only be ruining his own life with his bad decisions. Rey Niima was just trying to pay attention in class. Both get stuck in detention.

Seven Texts, 2 AM

Reylo Modern AU, smutty one-shot

Ben has good reasons not to have sex with his neighbor, Rey. She has other ideas.

Song of the Forest

Reylo Fantasy/BatB/Fairytale AU (completed)

Once upon a time, a girl with an unknown past appeared on the doorsteps of a lord’s manor, and now the forest at the edge of the lord’s property is calling to her.

A Season of Frost & Warmth

Modern Reylo P&P AU (completed)

When Ben shows up to a Halloween party with no costume, it only confirms Rey’s certainty that he is the world’s biggest jerk. Until it comes to light that maybe... he isn’t.

Follow Me Home

Modern Werewolf Reylo AU (completed)

Rey gets stone drunk and brings home a big cute husky she found in an alley. The next morning, she finds a naked man built like a fridge sleeping on her living room floor, and no dog in sight.

The Gentleness That Comes

Reylo Modern AU one-shot

Underground boxer!Ben is resigned to his life of violence, until he meets a pretty new bartender one night.

Unlikely, Unbidden, Unbound

Gingerflower canonverse AU (WIP)

General Hux is imprisoned by the Resistance when the First Order falls. He had known his death was coming, it was simply a matter of course. He’s disappointed to learn the Resistance has other plans, and an unwavering policy of giving people second chances.

@thereylowritingden @reylofic @nancylovesreylo @grlie-girl @lilia-ula @greyforceuser @tazwren @mhcalamas

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years ago

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Kurtbastian one-shot - “Inflated Egos” (Rated G)

Summary: When Kurt takes one of his students to compete in their first competition after landing their Axel, Kurt is confronted with the conundrum of choosing good sportsmanship or doing anything you can to win...

And Sebastian and Blaine are of no help whatsoever. (2080 words)

Part 69 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“I wanna add the Axel!”

"I know you do, Kevin. It's exciting to land your Axel. But we can't add it to your routine last minute."

"Why not!? I know the perfect place for it!"

Kurt sighs, steering his precocious pupil down the corridor that leads to the ice, rehashing this conversation they've had close to a hundred times over the past three hours.

“You can't add the Axel because you're competing at a level that doesn't include Axel."

"But this isn't a technical competition!" Kevin argues, the words tumbling around his mouth as if they don't belong. "I'm skating spotlight artistic! I can have an Axel in my program. They just won't score it!"

"Wow. You have such a firm grasp of the rules and qualifiers for a ten-year-old. Almost as if someone fed them to you... " Kurt shoots his boyfriend a dirty look. Sebastian shrugs, but he doesn't look the least bit guilty.

"It might be considered bad sportsmanship, and that could lower your score,” Blaine adds, inching in on Kurt's side of the argument. He has nothing against Kevin adding the jump. It would add pizzazz to his program. But judging at the ISI level can be ambiguous, to put it nicely. Not like in higher levels where it's required to put real-time scores on a readily available screen throughout the performance for transparency. If a judge doesn't like your music or your costume or your coach or you in general for whatever reason, a skater can lose fractions of a point.

And those add up.

Most ISI judges coach competitors, and they tend to favor skaters in their own skating clubs. Scratches magically disappear if a coach happens to know the performer, knows that they've done better in the past, and cuts them some slack.

It happens more often than the casual onlooker may think.

Kevin is a talented up-and-comer who hasn't ruffled anyone's feathers (that Blaine knows of), so he doesn't see how one little Axel could sully his reputation. And Kevin is correct - it's not technically against the rules for his event class.

It's just frowned upon.

But if Blaine joins the Kevin-Sebastian tag team, that would be three against one, and that wouldn't be fair to Kurt. Kurt is looking out for his skater like any good coach would. Bad scoring won't tank a judge, but bad sportsmanship can kill a skater's career before it starts.

“I know the kids at the rink love this event, but I've never competed in spotlight artistic," Kurt admits. "Only technical. So I don’t really know what to expect.”

"I didn't either," Blaine chimes in. "My coach was adamant that it was a waste of time for serious skaters."

“I did a few," Sebastian says, "when I was part of Elite."

Kurt peeks over at his boyfriend, lips twisted behind his mask in an amused grin. "Why? That doesn't seem like Elite's cup of tea."

"Because coach wanted our names on the board for every event possible - technical, spotlight, shoot-the-duck, spirals... "

"What sort of routines did you do?"

"Nothing too impressive. Not like my technical programs. I was a big Avengers fan, so I stuck with that. I was Thor one year. Had a Mjölnir with lightning coming out of it and everything."

"Oh, please tell me there's a video of this somewhere!" Blaine begs, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I would pay good money to see it!"

"You can't afford it," Sebastian says, blowing him off without a glance. "You had to have a prop for spotlight, but coach always said it was about the skating, like every other event. Or it was." He raises an eyebrow at a tractor prop covered in LED lights, quietly questioning, "What the hell song is that for?" as it drives by. "Something tells me that may have changed a tad.”

“Ya think?” Blaine chuckles, pointing to three skaters dressed in inflatable T-Rex costumes pulling an animatronic Indominus Rex the size of a VW bus behind them.

Kevin gasping diverts their attention to a podium covered in holographic wrap, a giant "diamond" mounted on top spinning slowly, throwing colored beams across the floor, pushed by a young lady dressed as a one-eyed spy. "These props are awesome!" he says, his own small prop clutched in his right fist.

"Maybe next time, we can wrap you up in Christmas lights and glue drones to your shoulders to make you fly," Sebastian suggests. "Eh, Kevin?"

"Can we?" Kevin asks, bouncing on his blockers, excited at the prospect of taking his hand-made Elvis costume to the next level.

"No! Kevin doesn't need any bells or whistles," Kurt declares, unsure what Christmas lights and drones have to do with Elvis. "His routine is about his skating. Props are just gravy. We don't need more. One is enough."

"Yeah. Right. Okay," Sebastian and Kevin grump. Even Blaine looks disappointed.

So when Kurt hears a chuckle, his ears prick up, and his head turns.

Everyone he sees around them seems focused on their warmups. No one is paying attention to them. But off to his right, he spots a brown-haired woman, her smiling green eyes darting their way, then back to the ice. When she looks back and notices Kurt watching her, she knows she's been caught and waves their way.

"I'm sorry," she says, trundling over. "I didn't mean to overhear, but I was wonderin'... are you fellas new?"

It's not often that Kurt walks into a rink in Ohio and isn't immediately recognized. But unlike Sebastian, he enjoys the anonymity.

"Let's just say I am," Kurt says. "What am I missing?"

"A lot." She laughs again so hard, she snorts. "I'm sorry. Saying it's about the skating is admirable. That's what it should be about. But it's not. Not in this category. It's about the props. The bigger the prop, the better. You have to use every advantage you have if you want your skater to come close to winning a medal."

"Not everybody thinks that way," Kurt argues.

"Oh no? Do you see that boy over there in the gold crown?" She motions with her head past the crowd to where a boy slightly older than Kevin, dressed in pale blue and gold brocade, warms up. "That's Michael. He's skating as Tommen from Game of Thrones. His dragon prop is programmed to roll around the ice on its own. It even breathes fire! And at the end, he's going to jump out a tower window."

"Wow," Sebastian says when he catches sight of said tower. It has to be made of styrofoam. The skaters are responsible for getting their props on and off the ice by themselves. There is no way this kid would be able to push his tower around unless it was constructed out of foam. But it looks like stone. It stands at least six feet tall with a platform roughly three feet up and outfitted with a cushion for Michael to land on, painted to look like a cloud that will blend in with the ice. "Kurt, you're super dramatic and stuff. This sounds right up your alley! How about we sign you up for the next go-'round? You can do an excerpt from Wicked. Or Phantom of the Opera! We just need to find you a cape, a mask, and about seven dozen candles! Whaddya say?"

"I say it depends on which testicle you want to lose," Kurt mutters, hoping the bubbly stage-mom dressed in head-to-toe flair doesn't hear.

"Look, it may not be my place to say," she starts. "You are his coach and all, but... uh... " Her eyelids narrow. "What event is your skater in?"

"Thirty-seven," Kurt says.

She sighs, looks strangely relieved. "Okay. My Maggie's in twenty-three."

Kurt's brow furrows. Then he rolls his eyes, realizing she asked to make sure Kurt's skater wouldn't be competing against her daughter after she imparts this valuable nugget of information.

"If you want some advice, let him add the Axel. His prop is a little... well, it's a little... " She glances down at the object Kevin is strangling in his grip, searching for a polite word to describe it "... puny. He'll need a little oomph. Ooo!" She yelps so suddenly, all four boys jump. "I almost forgot! I have a boom box in my trailer from Maggie's last spotlight! It's got a detachable disco ball and flashing strobe lights! It would go great with his costume!"

"Is it big?" Sebastian asks, infuriating Kurt by getting caught up in this woman's prop propaganda.

"It's the size of an Irish Wolfhound!"

"And they're big," Blaine concurs, sharing a nod with Kevin, then Sebastian.

"Oh, I couldn't put you out..." Kurt tries, but she shakes her head, refusing to let him turn down her offer.

"Nonsense! I'm parked right outside the loading doors! It'll take five minutes to get!"

"It couldn't hurt," Blaine says, having the good sense to move away after.

Kurt can't reach him, but he fixes him with a glare that could melt glass.

"You can't honestly believe the skating doesn't matter?" he says, not directed at any one person.

"Of course, I believe the skating matters," Maggie's mom says. "But in this event, you have to have some sort of edge. Especially when you're up against stuff like that." She points past them, her eyes traveling up, way up, and Kurt's heart sinks into his stomach before he even turns around.

”Jesus Christmas,” Sebastian moans, staring at the monstrosity traveling their way - the biggest, gaudiest, parade-style float he has ever seen indoors, decorated to look like a six-year-old girl's dream: the base wrapped in tons of fluffy pink tuille intertwined with hundreds of white twinkle lights, crystal baubles and gold balls hanging from fishing line so they look like they're suspended in air, no less than three machines spewing bubbles straight up, a hidden fog machine obscuring the view slightly with pink mist, and in the center, a whole family of inflatable rainbow unicorns on an elevated platform, each one rotating independently, all surrounding a cocoon of pink satin pillows where a skater sits, carried onto the ice by this cotton candy throne. “I’m not even skating, and I’m suffering from some serious prop envy.”

Kurt stares at the thing as it passes by, its smug passenger waving at them like they're peasants waiting for crumbs of stale bread, until the image is burned into his retinas. He looks at Kevin and his pathetic prop - a lime-green inflatable guitar his mother bought for five dollars at the last county fair. There's something wrong with it. It keeps deflating at the neck. Kurt brought a hand pump with him, one he uses to put air in his yoga ball. One of Kurt's jobs as Kevin's coach is to fortify the thing before Kevin takes to the ice. He tosses it about three seconds in to his routine anyway.

Because it's not the star of the show.

Kevin is.

Kevin could probably skate circles around half these kids, but if what Maggie's mom says is true, he doesn't have a chance simply because they didn't think to look for anything larger for him to hold than this defective pool toy. Kurt finds it horrible that Kevin has lost before he even begins because his prop is less in-your-face than everyone else’s.

Excuse him for thinking that a skating competition would be judged on skating!

Kurt isn't necessarily proud of his next few decisions since they play into the "anything to win" mentality. But later, Sebastian will convince him he wasn't elevating Kevin so he could win. It was leveling the playing field so he had a chance.

And Kurt can live with that.

"Sebastian? Blaine?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Blaine debates calling Kurt babe, too, if for no other reason than to rankle Sebastian, but now might not be the best time. "Yeah?"

"Could you please escort this kind woman to her trailer and retrieve the enormous boom box she has graciously offered to lend us?"

"On it," Blaine replies.

"Yessir." Sebastian gives Kurt a playful salute, then hurries away, led by the now effervescent woman who couldn't be more thrilled than if they were outfitting her daughter.

“And Kevin?”

“Yeah, coach?”

Kurt puts his hands on Kevin's shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze as they watch that grotesque, bubble-spitting giant take the ice. “Add the Axel.”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #463

“the siren sings a lonely song of all the wants & hungers / the lust of love, a brute desire”

Describe the person that you would like to be in three years. I want my mental health to be in great condition, I really want to be in much better physical shape, ideally be living with somebody in our own place, have a job I'm happy with, have an improved social life, my own license and car... Think back to when you first met your significant other (or ex). Was your first impression of them accurate? It's funny, I honestly don't remember what my first impression of Girt was. I don't even recall our first interaction. I'm sure it was most likely that he was friendly, because he is and always has been. What is your most noticeable personality trait? Probably that I'm really, really shy. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Which of your family members do you resemble the most? I guess one of my immediate sisters? People tend to say stuff like they can definitely tell we're related. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. Who knows you better than anyone else? Hell, probably whoever reads these. When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? I guess you could call dating Girt a "new chapter." I have a much, much stronger feeling of this attempt being more successful than the last now that I've been able to change my angle on how I see him. What’s the most expensive thing your car needed to get done? I don't have my own vehicle and never have. If you had a thousand dollars to spend on a pricey brand you like but can’t really afford (until now of course), which ONE brand would you choose? *shrug* Most products of highly expensive brands I find hideous anyway. Do you still talk to any of your old teachers? Yeah. One is a close family friend and actually our landlord. Does your family still use the home phone or are you all on cell phones now? We haven't had a landline is yeeeeaaarrrrsssss. Ever go to another school’s prom? No; my boyfriend went to the same school as me. Do you ever venture into the woods? What do you normally do there? No; we live in the city now. :/ When I DID live in the woods, I absolutely loved wandering around with my camera for stuff to take pics of. Does your significant other ever make you mix CDs? None ever have but omg I wish that would be adorable. How did you dress your freshman year of high school? I was one of them emo kids. Would you ever date your best friend of the opposite sex? WELP that's what I'm doing lol. Would you say you have a high sex drive or not so much? I'd call it normal? Higher sometimes, lower other times, but not to either extreme. Come with an unpopular opinion. Silent Hill: Homecoming is a great game and while there's a lot of fan service from the movie, it belongs in the series. It's actually my second (or third)-favorite installment. Most of the SH community absolutely hate that game. What’s the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? A lot of shit Colleen would say if we got into arguments. She'd ridicule effects of my depression, said I'd never know what it's like to pay my own bills, stuff like that. She's hateful as fuck and everything cut deep. What’s fake about you? Like extensions, fake nails, botox etc. Nothing physical. If you got the chance, would you audition for a reality show? No. Have you ever gotten into a Facebook fight? More than once. What’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever experienced irl? Hm, I'm unsure. Favorite flavor of jelly bean? Probably watermelon. Do you use Tinder? If yes, have you ever met up with someone you matched? No. You do you, but if I understand Tinder correctly, it just seems... really shallow to me. Like don't you JUST see their picture to decide if you're interested or not? It just enforces the false belief that appearance really matters in love. You just poured your heart out to your crush and all he/she does is respond “k”. What do you respond/do? Well, I don't have a crush anymore; my boyfriend and I literally exchanged "I love you"s last night. That's not a crush. But for the sake of the question, I'll imagine I was single and this happened, in which case I would be both hurt and annoyed. Like, either tell me you return the feelings or not. It's not hard. What's your favorite thing to order from McDonald’s? I usually get a quarter pounder w/ cheese or a McDouble, occasionally with a small or medium fry, depending on how hungry I am. When do you feel your sexiest? Never, hunny. What's your favorite emoji? I don't really have one? It just depends on what the situation calls for. What’s your skincare routine? I don't really have one... I just use a washcloth to clean my face. Who all out of your immediate family smokes? My dad and stepmom. Do you like incense or candles better? Incense, totally. Do you respect your parents? Yeah. What’s your bf/gf’s name? It's technically Donald Jr., but since high school, I've known him as Girt, a nickname I won't explain for his privacy. Do you wear glasses? Yeah. Do you like The Beatles? I honestly don't. Except "Hey, Jude." What was the last reason you got excited? Last night. When we were saying goodbye, I was scared to, but I told Girt I loved him, and he immediately said it back confidently. My heart did like five flips. I'm still over the moon about it. Yes, we just got back together, but we've been in each other's lives as a constant since HS, and after changing my angle of how I looked at him, it's not at all platonic anymore. Do you know anyone who drinks the pickle juice from the jar? Sara does alskdjfklwejrl;er Name something crazy that’s happened recently? Uhhhh... I dunno. My life is very uneventful to have something really "crazy" happen. Can you say for a fact that you’re happy right now? I'm happy about some things, but also nervous and self-doubtful. Have you ever zip lined? No, but they look fun. I'd just be really scared of losing my grip. If you broke your computer, would you be able to fix it on your own? Ha, no. Have you ever been on a boat and got sick? No, but the one time I was at the beach and on a boat riding to an island, I was TERRIFIED I was going to get sick because of the waves. I didn't, thankfully. Did you sleep well last night? For the most part. My new mask might just be working. Do your parents try and plan your life for you? Not at all. Do you have any pictures of you kissing someone? Yes. List two things about yourself that you find embarrassing. My weight and how dark my leg hair is. Do you like to cuddle with your pet when you are sad? Yes. Do you find piercing attractive or unattractive? h o t Do you have any secret hiding spots in your room? To put money, yes. Do you like parmesan cheese on your spaghetti? Ew, no. I don't like parmesan. Does your best girl friend have any talents that you don’t? Yeah. She can animate well, for one. And sing like a fucking champ. Do you have any video game systems in your room? Which one(s)? My Nintendo DS Lite is in here. Well, and my laptop is a gaming one. What color eyes does the last person you kissed have? ... Oh WOW I've known this man for a fuckin decade and somehow I'm not sure??? But I want to say light blue? Have you ever taken a ride in a helicopter? No. Have you ever visited hot springs? No. How slowly or quickly would you say you eat? I'm aware I eat too fast, because my mom will point it out almost without fail if we eat in sight of each other. I'm not a messy eater at all, just... fast. Chewing your food and swallowing isn't a complex task. I've made active efforts to slow down, I just haven't been able to succeed. It doesn't feel normal. That and I've come to discover that when I chew food TOO much, I don't like the mushy texture of it in my mouth. What did you do the last time you were with friends? Yesterday Girt and I planned to watch shitty Netflix anime for some laughs, but we wound up starting Attack on Titan, which I am officially pretty into. What kind of cologne/perfume do you like the opposite sex to wear? I don't care if they wear any or not, so long as they know how to clean themselves and therefore not actually smell bad. If you celebrate Christmas, do you get a real tree or an artificial tree? We always use a fake one. Is there someone who means a lot to you but they don’t know that? My sisters probably don't, really... Is money important to you? Live your whole life poor and I want to see you answer "no" to this. Have you ever watched a meteor shower? No. Do you like Slim Jims? LOOOOOOOVE them. Would you rather write a mystery or love story? Love story. Are you muscular? No. Working for it. Do you have one of those removable hand-held shower heads? Yes. Originally, this house didn't, but I hated it so much that Mom bought one. How many burners does your stove have? Four. Has your car ever been broken into? Mom's hasn't.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''blood milk and sky'' by white zombie

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toplinetommy · 4 years ago

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You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Three) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: Underage casual drinking (Tyson is almost 20 in the first part so it kind of counts)

Part One | Part Two

February 2018 - Denver, CO

“So, have you and Tyson been hanging out a lot?” Caityln asks from where she’s sitting on the opposite side of her couch.

“Kind of. We FaceTime a lot because our schedules don’t match up a lot.” You answer. “We get food or cook a lot together and he’ll invite me over just to hang out with him and JT and Kerfy.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed your car over there more often than before.” She smirks. You roll your eyes at her love of snooping. “I still think it’s crazy that he lives across the street from me.”

“Honestly, same,” You agree. “Speaking of the Rookie House, I probably won’t be over there for a while. Tyson was telling me that their Mentor’s Trip is coming up at the end of this week, so everyone has people visiting them.”

Caityln looks confused as you speak, so you explain further. “The Avs have the dads and stuff come out for a few days to watch their kids play and get to spend some time with them. Tyson said his grandpa is coming down.” You smile. You thought of the way your friend’s face would light up every time he had mentioned his Grandpa Jim.

“Aw, that sounds like so much fun!” Caitlyn exclaims. Suddenly, your phone starts vibrating on the coffee table in front of you, pulling you from your conversation with her. Tyson’s face fills the screen as you pull your phone to your ear.

“Hey, I just saw your car. Come over real quick.” Tyson greets you, foregoing his usual ‘hey’.

“Uhhh, okay,” You stammer, “Let me put shoes and a coat on and I’ll walk over.” You hang up the rather short phone call and stand from the couch to head to the entryway of Caitlyn’s home.

“I’ll be right back, Tyson wants me to go over there for a minute.” You tell your friend as you pull your Doc’s on. She nods at you, not looking up from her phone before you slip out into the cold, nippy Denver air.

You walk up the front steps of the Avs rookie house before you knock on the large front door. Tyson swings It open, moving to the side letting you in.

“Why do you even knock still?” He questions.

“I was raised to knock, and besides, you don’t live alone. I don’t know what I could be walking into.” You reason with him, to which he nods his head in understanding. “Anyways, what was so urgent that you made me come over here for.”

“JT got his soulmark over the weekend!” Tyson exclaims. “Also, Grandpa Jim is here!” He points to the man sitting on the living room couch, not noticing him prior to his gesture. The man, now with the title of Tyson’s grandpa attached, stands up and walks over to the two of you.

You smile at him before sneaking a stern look towards your best friend.

“This is y/n! She’s the one that went to UND with me.” Tyson introduces you. You stick your hand out with the intention to shake Grandpa Jim’s hand, but he ignores the gesture and instead opens his arms to hug you.

“You’re the best friend Tys is always calling me and his mom about then, eh?” He says, pulling away. He takes his eyes off you and looks towards his grandson, which you’re happy about now that you feel your cheeks heating up.

Tyson groans next to the both of you, “Grandpa you can’t just say stuff like that.” Grandpa Jim laughs, not too sure why that’s even a big deal.

He turns back to you, “Y/n, are you coming to Tysons game tomorrow?”

“I wasn’t planning to, I don’t really go to too many games.” You answer.

“Well let’s change that! Tyson can get you tickets, right?” He asks, looking back at Tyson for an answer.

“Yeah, I can. I can get you two so you can bring Caitlyn if you’d like.” He suggests, fishing in his pocket to pull out his phone. He’s tapping away at the screen when you interrupt him.

“Tyson, I’d be more than happy than happy to get them myself, I promise.” You say. You had previously expressed to him that both you and Caitlyn were more than compatible to spend money on your own tickets, to which he constantly responded with ‘then what’s the point of having me as a best friend’. “Just this one time, eh?” He suggests. “It’s a special occasion with Grandpa Jim and all the dads being here.”

You contemplate the proposition before giving in, “I have to make sure Caitlyn can come still.” Tyson nods his head in understanding. A large smile filling his face and his eyes glimmer in the setting sunlight from the windows.

“I’d normally say we can go to dinner afterwards or something but I think the guys are doing a big team dinner after the game.” Tyson mentions. You nod your head, trying to think of an alternative thing all three of you can do.

“Let’s just do something tonight and I can just drive you all to the airport Saturday morning?” You suggest. You knew that they would be traveling to Chicago that morning from your previous conversation with Tyson when he first told you all about the Mentor's Trip and his plans for the week. “Also, let’s circle back. JT got his soulmark? It’s that Sydney girl right? Is he here?”

Tyson laughs at your rambling before shouting for JT to come to the living room through the house. You hear his heavy footsteps and he greets you with a ‘hey’ and a small head nod.

“When do I get to meet this Sydney now that she’s officially your soulmate?” You ask, a smirk playing at your lips. His eyes light up and a smile appears on his face at the topic,

“You can’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” JT chirps his roommate.

“Technically I used it as bait to get her to come over here because I know she wouldn’t have come if I told her she was meeting my Grandpa.”

You smack Tyson’s chest as your jaw drops at his confession. He lets out a quiet ‘oops’ before speaking again, “Well you’re here now.”

“She’s coming during her spring break which is next week so you can meet her then.” JT offers up. You nod, making a mental note to make at least introduce yourself to her.

“Can I see your soulmark?” You ask, moving close to the tall ginger. He nods his head and shows you his ankle where you could make out a small outline of a wolf. “Does it have any meaning?”

“Yeah, we met at college and the mascot is a wolverine there.” He answers. Your heart swoons at his answer, feeling excited for your friend. You stand up from where you were slightly bent over before looking over at Tyson.

“I really can’t stay that long, Caitlyn and I had plans.” You say more to Tyson than to anyone else in the living room.

“Just stay for one drink.” Grandpa Jim suggests. You don’t see the harm in it, so you agree and send a text to Caitlyn letting her know you’ll be a little bit.

“I got that bottle of wine you suggested to me last week if you want a glass of that.” Tyson recommends as the three of you make your way to the kitchen.

“You found it?” You exclaim. “I haven’t been able to find it since I first tried it a few weeks ago.” As you finish talking, the two of you move in harmony as he grabs the bottle of wine from the wine cooler located underneath the island and you go to where the wine opener and wine glasses are located - both of which you urged the three rookies to purchase. You meet Tyson at the island where his grandpa is now sitting, handing him the wine opener for him to use as he pours the three of you a glass.

Tyson moves to sit next to his Grandpa on the other side of the island while you opt to continue standing, leaning on the countertop in front of you.

“I’m your best friend, huh?” You ask Tyson, referring back to your first conversation with Grandpa Jim.

Tyson rolls his eyes, taking a quick sip of his wine before speaking. “Don’t act all high and mighty. You’re my best friend and I’m yours, that’s how this relationship works.”

You can’t argue with him, fully knowing that Tyson had suddenly become your go-to for almost anything nowadays. You take another small sip of your wine, setting the glass back onto the island table top in front of you, pondering the amount of time you’ve spent in the Rookie House lately.

“Have you played the ukulele for her yet?” Grandpa Jim says interrupting your thoughts. He’s looking at Tyson but pointing his free hand towards you. Tyson’s face drops into another groan as he sets his wine glass down hastily.

“What?” You exclaim with your jaw slightly dropped.

“I got him a ukulele for Christmas.”

“Why am I just now finding this out?” You question eyeballing Tyson’s reddening face.

“Because I barely know what I’m doing,” Tyson laughs in an effort to shrug it off.

“Wait,” You interrupt. “That ukulele you have sitting on your bedroom dresser isn’t just for decoration? Like, you actually play it?”

“Kinda,” Tyson repeats his earlier statement in hope this topic of conversation will die down and that the three of you could talk about anything else.

“Oh, c’mon, Tys, you’re good at it.” Grandpa Jim complemented, giving a slight nudge to Tyson’s shoulder with his own. “Go get it and we can play a song for y/n!”

Tyson, knowing he was going to lose this battle with his Grandpa, gets up from his barstool. “I’ll be right back,” He utters, before disappearing down the stairs to his room. He reappeared a moment later, ukulele grasped in his hand. A hand you hadn’t really noticed was all that big until you saw it dwarf the neck of the instrument. You pushed the unfamiliar warm feeling down at the thought and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I only know the one song.” Tyson starts, directing his assertion more towards his Grandpa than you. He strums lightly at the instrument and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to concentrate. His face twists in concentration as his tongue pokes out of his mouth, a gesture you’ve always smiled to yourself at.

His fingers pick up pace and he starts to strum a familiar beat before you realize he’s playing Riptide by Vance Joy. The already small smile on your face widens as you see his concentrated face turn into a smiling one. His head starts bopping along to the beat and you look to his Grandpa, his head also bopping in synchronization with his grandson’s.

He plays through most of the song before the familiar beat fases away and he seems to just be strumming away at the strings. He tilts his head up to the both of you, “That’s all I really know.”

“That was so good!” You compliment. You move your arms from where they were crossed around your chest to play with the stem of your wine glass. Tyson smiles sheepishly, looking down at the instrument now resting his lap.

His Grandpa slaps Tyspn’s shoulder saying he did a good job, and suggests to him that he’ll teach him a few more songs before he leaves. The conversation flows naturally from there as the three of you continue to sip on your wine. You and Tyson share stories from your college days and Grandpa Jim doesn’t miss any chances when it comes to making fun of his grandson - too which Tyson continuously groans in embarrassment at.

One glass of wine ends up turning into two, but you couldn’t complain as you hugged Grandpa Jim and Tyson goodbye in the entryway, letting them know you’d see them tomorrow at the game.

April 2018 – Morrison, CO

“Have you ever thought about who your soulmate might be?” You ask Tyson, voice just above a whisper. Your eyes flicker from the night sky to your friend next to you, before flicking back towards the brightly lit, crescent moon in the clear sky.

“Honestly?” He checks with you, looking at you as you nod your head towards him. “I’ve put most of my time into my hockey career for pretty much my whole life. I haven’t slowed down enough to give it much thought.”

You hum in response, understanding the intensity that was his life. “But have you ever, like, just fantasized about it?”

He stays quiet for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched together and his eyes looking off into the distance thinking over the question. “I guess I’ve thought about what she looks like and what it’ll feel like when it happens, ya know?”

You chuckle at his response, nodding in agreement. The two of you are laying on a shared blanket - the one you kept in your car for moments like these - just off the path of your favorite spot to hike. You had discovered it soon after you had moved to Denver all those months ago, and it had quickly become your favorite spot to come to on nights when there was a clear sky scattered with bright stars.

“I feel like I fall into that category of people that’s all like ‘it’ll happen when it happens’. I’m not actively looking for anyone but I’m not avoiding it either.” He explains further. “What about you?” He asks, turning his head to look at you.

“I’m really excited for whenever it happens.” You start, voice soft and smooth like honey. “Growing up my friends and I would always talk about how we wanted it to happen or what we wanted our soulmarks to look like.” You turn your attention back to your friend whose gaze is already on you. The combination of the moonlight and the stars create a slight, almost ethereal, glow on his tan skin.

“Yeah?” He asks, smiling softly at the fondness in your voice.

“Yeah, like, my one friend back home got exactly what she guessed.” You smile, thinking of the small butterfly tattoo she has on her ankle. “We have this theory that whatever you think it will be or want it to be, will actually be what it is.”

Tyson hums, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks more about your theory.

“I kinda hope mine has to do with the mountains or the sky. I don’t know, it kinda sounds silly now that I’m this old still thinking about it.” You shrug, smile faltering as you feel your walls to start coming back up.

“No, it isn’t at all,” Tyson reassures you. He turns his body towards you, propping his head upon his hand before he continues. “I wanna hear about it.”

“I just feel like I have this connection to the mountains and to the sky and to the moon and to the stars,” You ramble. “Growing up I was always really infatuated by it all and always wanted to go on trips to the mountains and lakes instead of the beach. Like, part of me feels like I was supposed to end up in Denver because what better place is there to get all of that than here.” Your smile comes back slowly as the corners of your mouth turn up at the thought.

“You should go to Lake Okanagan in the summertime.” He suggests. “It’s where I spend my summers, it’s beautiful. You get the best views of the mountains when it’s sunny out.” He smiles at you, thinking back to his memories of last summer.

Quietness falls over the two of you as Tyson rolls back to lay on his back, moving his hands to rest under his head. The moonlight and the stars are the only sources of light on the mountainside. The only sound around the two of you is the wind rustling through the trees and the music playing quietly from your car speakers.

“Does it ever scare you?” Tyson asks. You continue to look at the man lying next to you, unable to read his face.

“Soulmates?”

“Yeah. What if I never find mine?” He asks, barely above a whisper. “It’s so engraved in our minds from such a young age that there’s someone out there for you and that you’re destined to meet them. What happens if you don’t though? Or if the person you fall in love with doesn’t fall in love with you?”

This time, it’s your turn to turn your body to face his, your head now leaning on your hand. “There’s definitely stories like that out there, but you can’t let that thought be the one to cloud your mind.”

“It just seems like so much extra added pressure.” He continues. From the short time you’ve been close to Tyson, you’ve quickly noticed that one thing he struggles with is not letting the pressure get to him.

“You have to remember you’re barely 21, you still have your life – and your career – ahead of you. Don’t forget that.” You reassure. Tyson stays quiet at your advice, closing his eyes. “Besides, you’re too great a guy to not find someone that wants to spend forever with you.”

He doesn’t respond verbally to you and instead nods his head once more letting out a heavy breath. The music and the wind becomes the predominant sounds before he speaks up again. “Hey, thanks for taking me out here.” Tyson speaks, opening his eyes and flicking them towards you. “I needed a break from the stress of the playoff push.”

“Of course.” You reply with a yawn, “I’m always down for spontaneous trips out here.”

You yawn once more, causing Tyson to sit up. “C’mon let’s get you home. I’ll drive.”

You stretch your arms above your head as you stand up, wrapping the blanket around you as you walk to the passenger side door of your car.

Tyson starts your car, turning the music down some before he puts the car in drive and starts the short drive back to Denver.

“You can stay at my apartment if you don’t want to drive back to your house.” You offer, knowing once he dropped you off and started his drive back it would be well past midnight by the time he got home.

Tyson ponders the offer shortly before responding, “I think I’m gonna just head home. I have an early practice in the morning and I don’t want to have to drive around all morning or wake you up earlier than you’re used to.”

You nod your head in response, too tired to use your words to respond.

“I have a question for you.” Tyson starts after a few songs have gone by. “Gabe’s getting married in July. I wanted to know if you wanna go?”

“Is Gabe asking you to ask me or are you asking me to go with you?” You asked, considering you weren’t terribly close to the captain, so you figured it was the latter. You had only hung around him when you made your casual appearance to group-gatherings over the past few months.

“He wants you to come.” Tyson states, “and I want you to come.” He looks at you at his second statement, blush rising to his cheeks in the dark car. You hum as you think about the offer.

“And it’s in California and I know you’ve never been.”

“That’s a pretty good selling point, bud.” You joke, “Ask me again tomorrow when I’m not half-asleep in my car.”

Tyson smiles widely, glancing at your smiling face once more before focusing on the road in front of him.

A few days pass by before Tyson walks through your apartment door kicking off his shoes in a messy manner. You give him a stern look telling him to keep the entranceway neat before he kicks his shoes so they’re neatly placed next to your running shoes and out of the way.

“Sorry we haven;t been able to talk much since I brought up Gabe’s wedding. I promise I didn’t forget I just got really busy with some family stuff.” Tyson rambles as he moves into your living room, sitting on the ‘L’ part of your couch.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask, wanting to make sure your best friend was feeling alright. You take a seat at the opposite end where you were sitting before he arrived, folding your legs underneath you.

“It’s nothing really anymore, Kacey just had a tough end to her senior season and had an injury scare on top of that. All good though.” Tyson reassures you as he pushes a hand through his longer than normal curls. You knew he was due for a haircut soon, knowing that he had a weird thing where he didn’t like being able to tuck his curls behind his ears.

“She’ll be a freshman in the fall right?” You ask, not quite remembering his sister’s age.

“Yeah, she’s super pumped. She got to meet a lot of her new teammates a few weeks ago and said she’s really excited to start playing with them, especially at the next level, ya know?” Tyson says, quirking his eyebrow in your direction.

“I’m glad she’s not hurt then, so she can be ready right away for college.”

“Yeah, me too.” He says, a sigh of relief coming out of his mouth. “Anyways, Gabe’s wedding. You still want to come? I was serious about it when I asked you the other night?” He turns his head to face you, tucking one his large legs under him and moving his arm to drape over the back of the couch.

“It sounds like a lot of fun, yeah. As long as you’re sure Gabe doesn’t mind that I'm coming.”

“I already told you, he said he doesn’t mind and that he wants you there. I even asked him why he didn’t just ask you and he said something about how he just assumed I was already planning on bringing you, whatever he means by that.” Tyson waves off.

“Then, yeah. Give me the dates and I’ll request time off.” You answer, a small, tight-lipped smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His smile mirror yours only slightly larger before the two of you start an argument over what new show you were going to start.

July 2018 - Newport Beach, CA

As you walk towards the baggage claim of the airport you shoot a text to Tyson, letting him know you landed and just waiting on getting your bags. Instead of texting you back, your phone starts ringing and Tyson’s face fills the screen.

“Hey! So I’ve actually been here for a while, so I parked, and now I’m walking towards the baggage claim area, too.” Tyson lets out in one breath.

“Really?” You exclaim. A smile finds its way on your face at the thought of seeing your best friend for the first time since early May in a few short minutes. That was the major downfall of becoming so close to Tyson - he lived hundreds of miles away from you in a different country for close to four months out of the year.

“I’m walking in right now. I see baggage claim number three if that helps?” He says, infliction in his voice as he asks the question.

You don’t answer and instead, turn your body around dramatically looking for where Tyson may be standing. Your eyes move around the large space quite quickly until you see Tyson and his familiar head of brown curls with his phone pressed to his ear.

You shriek lightly at the sight of him and you can see him pull his phone away from his ear in confusion before you’re jogging over to him and encompassing his body into a hug.

“Hello to you too.” He laughs, wrapping his arms around your body tightly. The two of you stay together for a beat too long and you pull away looking up at his face, then looking at the random people standing a few feet away from you to avoid his gaze.

“Whose car did you drive?” You ask. You knew that he had flown in from Alberta yesterday so he obviously didn’t have a vehicle of his own with him, which was something the two of you had argued about the day prior when solidifying your arrival plans. You had told him you had no issues ordering an Uber and meeting him at the hotel which he refused to let you do.

“Gabe let me borrow his actually.” He answers, following you as you lead him towards your respective baggage carousel.

“That’s surprising considering you’re the worst driver I know.” You chirp. He scoffs in response, knowing you don’t actually mean that.

You stand in silence, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying each other’s company as you wait for your bag to come around. Once you spot you go to grab it and Tyson doesn’t miss the chance to chirp you on the size of your suitcase.

“You’re literally here for three days, what the hell did you pack?” Tyson asks, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He starts to lead the two of you out of the airport and to the parking garage where he’s parked.

“I needed options! You know how indecisive I can be when picking out my outfits.” You bite back. There had been plenty of times when you were late to something he invited you to and times where he sat around your apartment waiting for you to just pick an outfit. Not to mention all the times you’d ask for his opinion and the countless amounts of times he reminded you of his colorblindness.

“So what are our plans for the rest of the day?” you ask once you’re sitting in the passenger seat and on the highway heading towards the hotel.

“The wedding is obviously Saturday, so we can do whatever we want today and tomorrow. Everyone’s doing a thing tonight at the house Gabe and Mel rented for family that we can go to.” Tyson suggests.

“It’s not just a team thing?” You ask.

“Nah, it’s everyone that’s already in town, like family, close friends, a bunch of the team, and some other players Gabe invited.”

“Sounds like fun. My only request is that we go to the beach and that I can take you to get a pedicure with me.” You muse, looking across the car to see Tyson’s eyes bulge at the word ‘pedicure’. “Please! I don’t know anyone but some of the team so you have to come with!”

“Fine,” He huffs out. “Just don’t put me on your Instagram story.”

You cheer in victory to yourself and turn the volume up on the radio as you hear a familiar song start to play.

The two of you are sitting at a large round table, sharing it with a few of Tyson’s teammates and their dates. Most of them are off on the dancefloor or at the bar getting refills. You’re sipping on your cocktail admiring Gabe and Mel as they continue to make their rounds around the reception room.

“Hey Tys, thanks for inviting me this weekend.” You say, moving your attention from the newly married couple to your friend sitting next to you. There’s a slight glossiness to his eyes and his golden cheeks have a pink tinge to them from what you assume was the many Bud Lights he’s consumed. You can hear the slight slur in his louder than normal tone as he speaks and the way some part of his body seems to always be touching yours, whether it be standing shoulder to shoulder or laying his hands softly on your exposed back.

His suit jacket and tie are long-gone and draped over the back of his seat. The California heat combined with the alcohol he’s consumed has also caused him to undo the first few buttons on his dress shirt and roll up his sleeves. His silver watch stands out against his tanner than normal skin and you admire the contrast before looking back up at Tyson’s face.

“I’m glad you came, too.” He agrees sweetly. He moves his arms that’s draped over the back of your seat causally to grab at your hand that’s sitting in your lap. He stands up, tugging at your hand and setting his drink down on the table in front of him. “Let’s dance.”

You stand up, letting the slit in your floor-length dress fall around your bare leg. “My feet hurt,” you pout, sticking out your heel adorned feet. Tyson glances down at your feet and back up to your face before suggesting that you take them off. Before you can even argue about how pain is beauty or whatever, he’s lifting the thighs of his slacks before he’s down on one knee reaching for your ankles.

“What are you-” You start with a laugh. He interrupts you with a loud shush before moving his fingers to under the straps of your heels.

“I expect us to be tearing up the dance floor all night and I’m not listening to you complain.” He states. You step out of your right heel as he moves to do the same with your left heel, thanking him as he places them under your chair.

He grabs your hand again and drags you out the dance floor, joining JT, Sydney, Alexander, and Marissa. It seems like hundreds of songs go by and as that time goes by it seems as the men in attendance have decided to not only ditch their suit jackets, but start ditching their dress shirts as well. You laugh alongside some of the other girls as they watch their boyfriends whip their shirts above their heads.

Tyson, never one to not act like a fool, also decides to partake in the new dress code. You can see the redness in his cheeks start to pop out and the curls in his hair are starting to bounce around atop his head.

He dances his way over to you as the song fades into the next one, a much slower one this time, and he pulls you into him before you can run back to your table.

“Just one slow song.” He pleads, teeth shining through his smile. He puts his dress shirt back on, choosing to not tuck it back into his slacks, and only doing the buttons up halfway.

“You keep me young.” You muse as you rest your hands softly on his shoulders.

“Shut up,” he laughs. “I’m only, like, four years younger than you.”

You move your arms from around his neck briefly to scratch at your left elbow for what felt like the millionth time that evening, continuing to sway to the soft beat of the acoustic guitar that’s playing.

“You okay?” Tyson inquires with knitted eyebrows once he notices the discomfort on your face.

“Uh, yeah, I think my eczema is acting up again. No big deal.” You reassure him with a smile on your face. “I have lotion back at the hotel.”

Tyson smiles right back at you before pulling you in a little tighter to his chest, continuing to sway to the music. “Good, gotta make sure you’re all good.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, sending shivers down the exposed part of your back. You readjust your arms and rest your hands at the back of his neck, playing with the long curls resting at the nape. You look up at your best friend, with a new sort of adoration in your eyes before speaking up. “Still haven’t gotten your summer haircut, have you?”

A quiet chuckle passed through Tyson’s lips, “No, I was thinking of listening to what everyone was saying and let the curls go wild for a bit.”

You nod your head at his words, knowing that you were one of the many people that encouraged him to keep his hair on the longer side. The song and the chatter of the crowd drown to the background as you look into Tyson’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with what you think is the same look that you have in your eyes, with pure adoration and like you could have hung the moon in the sky.

Tyson’s hands slowly move from the small of your back, one going to your hip and the other curling around your rib cage, and suddenly his head is tilting down towards yours. Going along with both his movements and bravery, your hands tug around his neck bringing his head closer to yours as you tilt your head up, getting ready to meet him in the middle.

You can feel his nose brush against yours and that’s when the background noise comes back, someone in the distance clanking their champagne flute to make a speech and cheers erupting around you. Tyson breathes out heavily, closing his eyes, choosing to instead pull your body flush against his in a hug.

You release Tyson, looking around the reception area to see that Gabe’s sister is the one getting everyone’s attention for a speech. The two of you are standing staggered now, with your shoulder in front of his as Beatrice begins to speak. She dives headfirst into stories about how Gabe would constantly call his twin throughout the years to talk about Mel, stories about the summers Mel spent in Sweden with the Landeskog family, and what happened when Gabe’s soulmark had appeared on his shoulder blade a few years back.

All of the storytelling has Tyson pulling your back into his front, draping his arms loosely around your shoulders. You smile, holding onto his forearms, leaning back into his chest. As Beatrice continues to tell stories of her twin falling in love and finding his soulmark, you can’t help but think about the brief two years you’ve known the man standing behind you.

He was essentially some random Canadian that had somehow forced his way into your life. From finishing your senior year at North Dakota barely knowing him to you landing a job in Denver and befriending his neighbor unknowingly. From getting really into hockey only because you had tutored a few guys on a college team to it becoming an almost every day topic of discussion for you.

From how getting into hockey landed you here, at the Colorado Avalanche captain’s wedding, in beautiful Southern California, dancing with a man you knew would somehow forever have an impact on your life. That feeling was only confirmed when the two of you went to the airport the next evening to get on flights that were going to two separate places - him back to Alberta and you to Denver.

tag list: @REAVENEDGES-LIES (if you want to be added just let me know)

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost #alex writes #nhl imagine #ybtmastm fic

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neo-shitty · 4 years ago

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papertowns 👁👄👁

ahhh, this one. i wrote this in the middle of missing seungmin last christmas + rereading john green’s papertowns, but i never got around to finishing it. here’s everything i’ve written so far tho!

ngl i stopped working in this because i thought it was crap. apparently, it’s not as bad as i thought.

send me a wip name from this list.

The same six words repeat in Seungmin’s head over and over again and it’s enough to throw him out of focus. He stops tapping his foot to the beat of the song playing through the speakers and he falls victim to his own thoughts again. He sighs before leaning his entire upper body against the cushion of his chair. The comment forced him into a position of doubting himself, questioning whether he really was making the right decisions in life or just wasting his own time.

It was half past 1 and he still couldn’t sleep, so instead he resorted to practicing for the talent show presentation taking place in the upcoming week. He’d picked his piece a week prior and practiced it a few times in the past week and his schedule to head to his professor’s studio to present his piece was earlier today.

“You’re good,” Seungmin recalled his professor say but with the tone the man used, it didn’t seem like he was praising the younger boy at all, “but—”

Seungmin was startled out of his own thought spiral when he heard two knocks. For a moment he thought it was just a mere product of his imagination or it was just his sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on him in the middle of the night. But the knocks come again and he realizes that it wasn’t coming from his bedroom door but from his window.

He turned his swivel chair to face the glass and caught sight of a silhouette pacing back and forth impatiently on his balcony before stopping directly in front of the window. Seungmin scrambled to get his phone, unlocking it swiftly to have one hand ready for an emergency dial. That is, until he heard you shout from the other side of the glass.

“Jeez, dude! It’s freezing out here. At least, let me in.”

Seungmin lets out a relieved sigh at the thought that the person outside, at least, wasn’t a stranger. But nonetheless, there was still a person outside at such an ungodly hour. He walked over and drew the curtains open.

You looked at him through the glass. You could tell his annoyance just by the look on his face; the furrowed brows, the pursed lips and his overall expression that screamed ‘what the hell are you doing here’. Understandable, considering you paid him a visit this late on a school night.

Your friendship with Seungmin wasn’t always the best. You barely acknowledged each other even when you were both technically in the same friend group and even when you knew him longer than you knew the others. You just didn’t click too well. His teasing nature would often get on your nerves and it would result in non-stop bickering. You’ve gotten so used to exchanging banters with him that it shocks you that an insult isn’t the first thing that leaves his mouth when he sees you.

He turns to unlock a knob before pulling the window pane upward. “What do you want?” he asks, more calmly than you expected him to.

You raised a brow, “No insult today, Kim?”

Seungmin doesn’t bother proving you wrong, staring back at you with tired eyes. He sighed, “If you have nothing important to say, go home. I’m going to sleep.”

He grabbed the bottom part of the pane to pull it back down but you held it up with your own palm in resistance. “Don’t bother. I’ve known you long enough to know that you can’t fall asleep when something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he denied, but the fact that he’d become defensive about it proved your guess right. “Go home, it’s late.”

“I don’t want to go home,” you uttered, resisting another attempt of his to tug the window pane down. “You know why.”

His stare softened when he noticed how your tone changed suddenly. He might not have been your closest friend in the group, but he was the only one around long enough to know things from your childhood that you refused to talk about now. With him, there was no need to relive anything since he already knew.

“I’m starting to think that I’m not the one bothered here,” Seungmin said, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You let out a huff, “Never said I wasn’t. Let’s get something to eat, are you up for it? You know, to get our mind off things?”

But it’s half past 1 in the morning on a chilly school night and you’ve paid an impromptu visit to the sole person in your friend group who’d least expect a visit from you. Seungmin had all the excuses to decline your offer and you couldn’t possibly force him to join you on your adventure at such an ungodly hour. You were annoying and persistent, but you still respected his boundaries.

Right when you’ve accepted the chance that he’d decline he says, “Hold on, I’ll get my keys.”

#toff.writes #toff.asks #childofthecycle

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years ago

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[Stand My Heroes] 聖夜を奏でる♪ Symphonic numbers (Performing the Holy Night ♪ Symphonic numbers) Shindo Kiyoshi SR Event Drop Card Story 【The Trembling Heart is a Tremolo】 Translations

*Sutamai Master-list *MC name is retained as my usual. Requested by Anon! *Part 1′s Story title: [カクテルとジャズの聖夜 Holy Night of Cocktails and Jazz]. *Scenario Writer: @Atomiatomi (Ａｔｏｍｉ)

Part 1 / Part 2

Ran: So, err… Why have you called me here?

——The 24th of December, Christmas Eve. Shindo contacted me to come to the bar he had given me the directions to, which I have been at for the past couple of seconds.

Shindo: I wanted to have a drink to wash down the unpleasant dinner I was just coming home from.

Shindo: But drinking on a day like this will no doubt make people shoot glances at me as if I’m a pain.

Ran: So, you called me here to act as a camouflage against said glances.

Shindo: Yeah, sorry about that, but accompany me for a while?

Shindo unceremoniously pulled out the chair beside him and gestured to me to sit down.

Ran: I’ll be bothering you for… a while, then.

Taking a seat by him in front of the counter, I ordered my first drink for the time being.

(Still, this bar really has a mature vibe to it…)

The bar had a live performance going on, performing Christmas songs jazz-style, along with a subdued-looking guy in his older years bartending.

(Uh oh, if this goes on, I think I might actually become way too comfortable with the atmosphere of this place and get swept along…)

Bartender: Thank you for waiting, here is your Martini.

Ran: Thank you.

But there’s no way I won’t go down with a fight! And so, I took the mature vibe of the place in stride, elegantly downing my cocktail like a shot.

Ran: Mm, this is delicious.

Ran: Sorry, err… Could I get a Mojito next?

Bartender: Understood.

Shindo: You’re drinking through them rather quickly. Drinking your sorrows away because of the loneliness you feel from not having any plans this Christmas?

Ran: What? No! I mean, look! Isn’t this triangular glass rather small?

Shindo: So that’s why you’re downing it so elegantly like that.

Shindo: Cocktail Shots are meant to be drunk quickly, often times in succession, but because of that, it has more concentrated alcoholic content.

Shindo: …You good?

Ran: Yes, I’m technically okay with high alcohol content since I like them. But still…

Shindo: ?

Ran: A lonely Christmas without any plans?

Shindo: I was simply stating the facts.

Ran: You aren’t wrong, but… Thanks to you, it won’t be a lonely Christmas anymore.

Ran: I’m glad that you invited me out, even if it’s to act as your camouflage.

Shindo: ……

Stating my honest thoughts about it, I picked up the Mojito that was left out on the counter, downing it. And as I gradually sunk down into the adult world—

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Ran: Phew~ That was delicious…

I continued drinking on, in an absolutely pleasant mood. Who knows how many Cocktails I’ve had by now?

(The taste of the alcohol served in a bar like this with such mature-vibes is really on a whole other level.)

Just as I was getting myself drunk whilst spending time luxuriously like this and enjoying myself—

Shindo: It’s about time you stopped.

Ran: !

Shindo grabbed onto my hand, stopping me from taking another glass.

Ran: ……

Shindo: ?

Shindo: Hey, are you listening to me?

Ran: …Shindo-san, you…

Ran: Your hands are really big.

Shindo: Huh?

Shindo: …Your hands are just as small as a kid’s.

Saying so, I looked at my hand that he had released in utter seriousness.

Ran: I never thought that it was that small…

Ran: Besides, I’m not a kid, so I know how to moderate my own alcohol intake.

Shindo: Oh? Think you’re an adult now?

Ran: …I’m still a 26-year-old woman no matter how I look.

Shindo: I know that.

Shindo: But you’re still a child if you can’t spot my excuse for what it really is.

Ran: …Excuse?

I don’t even know what he was talking or referring to.

Shindo: I knew it; you’re still inexperienced.

Ran: ……

It’s honestly pretty vexing to be treated as a child, but…

(But it’s true, there might still be some parts of me that have yet to fully mature.)

Ran: Well then… I’m starting to feel a little of the fuzziness set in, so I’ll take a little break from the alcohol.

Shindo: Yeah. Sorry, but could I get water for her instead?

Bartender: Understood.

Ran: …You’re really an adult, Shindo-san.

Shindo: That so?

Ran: You don’t feel out of place even when you’re in an establishment like this, and you’re also smart about the way you place your orders.

Ran: …It’s cool.

Shindo: ……

Shindo: I’m a lame-excuse for a man who can’t even invite the girl he fell for out without an excuse.

Ran: Huh? What did you say?

Shindo: Nothing… I said to drink the water and hurry up and get yourself sobered up.

Ran: ……

(Did he say something like that?)

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

But as for me, who didn’t have the courage to ask if it was really true, I suppose I might still be a child after all.

───⋅𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊…⋆⋅☆

#Stand My Heroes #スタンドマイヒーローズ #スタマイ #Sutamai #Translations #Otome #Shindo Kiyoshi #Masuda Toshiki #聖夜を奏でる♪ Symphonic numbers #聖夜を奏でるSymphonic numbers #Performing the Holy Night ♪ Symphonic numbers #Symphonic numbers

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keishins-ukai · 4 years ago

Text

I Just Wanna Be Your Favourite Boy

(here’s a link if you prefer reading on ao3)

The amount of alcohol flowing in Kuroo’s veins was not enough to distract him from how pathetic all of this truly was . He was at his first University party, he was surrounded by beautiful people and free alcohol, he should be having the time of his life, right? Tetsurō sat in his friend’s garden with his back resting against the cold brick of the house, his head resting there too. His arms were balanced on his pulled-up knees, his eyes closed.

To any party-goers that ventured outside this would look normal, like the first year partied too hard and passed out super early – it's not like that kind of thing doesn’t happen all the time. Then they’d notice the earbuds still in his ears (though they weren’t playing anything, he just didn’t want to speak to anyone), the dry tear tracks down his cheeks, the ever so slight shaking of his chin. Well, that or the glitter-like sparkle that seemed to be all around the black-haired boy

Tears had become a very common part of Tetsurō’s life recently, a fact he hated with every fibre of his being. Six months ago, you would need the saddest song on earth put in the background of the saddest video on earth and he might have considered crying. Now all it took now was the thought of blond and black hair, golden eyes, mint vodka that smelled like his shampoo…

The stars hadn’t appeared until his first day of university. He had texted Kenma when he’d woken up - Kuroo always texted as soon as he woke up – some dumb chemistry joke he’d found the night before, trying to convey his excitement at finally starting his course. Kenma never usually replied immediately, though this day he did, though Kuroo didn’t actually know why (Kuroo would look back and see it as the first sign. Kenma told him everything)

Kenma had only sent a gif of a cat showing almost complete apathy, but Kuroo’s heart started racing nonetheless, mind spiralling at all of the possible meanings behind the response and never once landing on the real answer (Kenma just woke up earlier than normal). They’d texted a lot of the day, Kuroo only turning his phone off during classes, not wanting to make any bad impressions.

While it obviously hadn’t been the reason, in the following months Kuroo had started to blame turning his phone off as the inciting event as when he turned his phone on he got the notification, the moment that changed everything. It was so small, so seemingly inconsequential.

Instagram: Kodzuken has posted a photo

Kenma’s Instagram consisted mainly of photos from games he was playing, purposely unflattering pictures of himself or animals. But that day was different. He posted a picture of him and Hinata, and the orange-haired boy was positively grinning into the camera, Kenma wasn’t even smiling but Kuroo could tell he was happy, that he was less stressed than he had been for a lot of the summer.

Kuroo knew that what he told himself was unfair, that there simply wasn’t enough data to support the idea of ‘he likes Shōyō more’. But none of that mattered, Kuroo just knew. He didn’t need evidence to prove that Kenma had feelings for the shrimp, the ever so slight dimple was proof enough – even Kuroo had only seen that dimple once, and he wasn’t the one who bought it out.

Crying in the men’s bathroom, as it turns out, is neither very comfortable nor as discreet as one would imagine, though that didn’t matter to Tetsuro as the itching and burning sensation was the only thing he could think about. ‘What the hell is this?’ repeated in his mind as he did his best to stop the small glass-like crystals from falling to the floor and creating even more noise. After spending what felt like an eternity researching what could possibly in all hell be happening to him he moved, hating the quiet twinkling sounds in his pocket.

‘Of course this would happen to me.’ Kuroo would think to himself repeatedly over the next few days ‘Star fucking tears’.

Stars Tears

Caused by intense but unrequited love, always romantic, ‘star tears’ is a rare condition wherein the afflicted will secrete small crystalline shards from their tear ducts, the crystals often being compared to stars which is where the illness got its name. Side effects from stage two ‘star tears’ can include

- Leaking tear ducts

- Dryness of the eyeballs

- Itchiness in the eye area

- Blocked tear ducts

And in some extreme cases

- Partial or complete colour blindness

- Partial or complete sight loss.

As the disease is caused by unrequited love there is no ‘mainstream’ treatment which can cure this, some patients never being cured while others were reportedly healed if the person they loved also loved them back, in a romantic sense.

Even though he was aware of how bad an idea it was, Kuroo remained sat in his friend's garden, though now his earphones were playing something. More specifically he had his ‘Kenma’ playlist on which was playing all of the songs and bands that the shorter boy had ever introduced him to. They were playing at full volume to drown out his own thoughts - the ones nibbling on his mind, making him think of lazy nights playing ‘Majora’s Mask’ with him , of the nights leading up to Christmas making their cinnamon and raisin cookies, of the toothbrush that had been Kuroo’s spare but that he’d stolen because of their frequent sleepovers.

He really didn’t want to cry again, having decided that his new rate of three times a week was far too much, but the stars demanded more still. In the beginning, they would only appear if he’d seen his face, whether it be over skype or as a photo. That had been remarkably easy to handle - Kuroo had just moved all of the photos of him to the ‘hidden’ folder on his phone, and minimise the skype screen when they talked. Easy.

But then Kuroo started to really miss him, started to think of him almost every moment of the day, affecting his sleep and work schedule. That’s when he realised how truly fucked he was. You can’t just pick and choose what parts of friendship you want to participate in and expect it to remain completely intact. Kenma didn’t know what was going on, but he could sense a change, making more of an effort to start their conversations, to not leave Kuroo out of what was going on his life, to make sure that the elder knew that they were still friends.

It was unfair how this made everything worse, that Kenma’s thoughtful inclusions made Kuroo feel more excluded than ever, made him feel both like he had a chance and also made him know that Kenma saw him as his closest friend and that he wouldn’t be more. Kenma had always worried with his crushes that initiating things with them would scare them off, that he would be seen as overbearing. Rather than risking anything, he would just wait until he thought the other would like him back before asking them on a date.

The tears started to increase, them coming at just the thought of Kenma when Kuroo hadn’t got any prevention methods. His most effective was to drown out any other noise with the sound of his own music, even investing in better earphones to ensure that he wouldn’t be hearing any other external noises. However, his playlist choice could definitely be improved upon since every voice, every chord, every bar had the Kenma Kozume seal of approval, making the task of not thinking about the boy almost impossible.

Not even twenty minutes alone and his mind wandered, going to almost every stop in Tetsurō’s brain before stopping at one that made his heart dance. If it were a book the edges would be folded, the spine broke, and some of the pages ripped just from the sheer amount of use.

“Stop looking at my ass!” Kenma had demanded, trying his best to wriggle away from Kuroo “This isn’t for you”. The blond wasn’t looking at him, trying to pretend that his attention was on the syringe in his hand.

“You’re the one who asked me to do this.” Kuroo reminds, reaching over for the injection. “And knowing I was coming over to do this you decided to wear trousers rather than shorts when all I need is your thigh, so…” Their eyes meet and the elder man winks.

Kenma’s face scrunches up in retaliation, fingers lingering for just a moment against Kuroo’s, placing the syringe gently in his hand. “What are you trying to suggest?”

He pretends to think for a second when he wipes a disinfectant wipe on his leg, knowing that he technically didn’t need to but also wanting to be as safe as possible. “That maybe you wanted me to see your ass?”

The youngers face calms into a neutral expression. “Dream on Tetsurō.” Despite being quite scared of needles, he had decided on having testosterone injections rather than pills or any other alternative, finding that needing to do injections more infrequently benefitted him more. He’d also figured that getting someone else to administer the injection would have negated his fear.

Kuroo had agreed, why would it be more difficult for an injection to occur when you’re not the one putting the needle in your skin? The answer; Kenma was a wriggler. He moved back on the bed every time that Tetsurō tried to move closer to him “Come on, kitten.” he chides, the pet name tacked on as a joke.

His only answer is a hiss, a literal fucking hiss, as Kenma tries to move his leg away again, but is caught by the ankle and pressed back down to the bed. Kuroo eventually managed to give Kenma his testosterone, despite the difficulty and found that when he went home there was only one thing on his mind. The hiss.

Most people who met Kenma Kozume thought he was polite, shy and awkward. And he was all of those things, but he was also so much more. He was funny, intuitive, self-assured and weird and Tetsurō loved that so much. As soon as he thought the word ‘love’, everything seemed to make sense. Every look that lasted too long, every thought replaced by one of Kenma, every feeling of longing to be with his best friend.

Tetsurō was in love with his partner in crime. He still is.

Rex Orange County is a band that frequently blasts on Kuroo’s phone, them having many songs that fit the themes of unrequited love so well that he had no choice but to really connect with their music. Though there was one song in particular that is constantly on his mind, the song being called ‘Best Friend’.

At some point in his reminiscing Kuroo had put on the song, immediately pressing the repeat button as he moved his head to stare into the night sky.

But no, it wasn't meant to be and see, I wasn't made for you

And you weren't made for me

When he was younger he’d wanted to be an astronomer, having found the stars and the moon fascinating, but he couldn’t stand the sight of them anymore. His hands were shaking, shoulders shaking, lip shaking. Maybe if he got some closure he could move on and get rid of this disease, finally feel whole again.

Love someone for loving you instead of someone really cool

That makes your heart melt

Tetsurō needed to turn this song off, to stop fucking thinking about him, about the man he had literal scientific proof that he doesn’t love him back, but the pure boost of serotonin he got when he thought about Kenma was worth it. It was worth the pain, it was worth the constantly itchy eyes, it was worth feeling sick to his stomach anytime he sees a twinkle.

Oh, I still wanna be your favourite boy

I wanna be the one that makes your day

The one you think about as you lie awake

He started typing the text before he could stop himself, feeling like he was watching himself make this extremely poor decision but having absolutely no power to stop himself. Even if it wouldn’t make Kenma love him it would be cathartic, right? And as long as he’s vague enough he could preserve their friendship, maybe even claim plausible deniability if necessary. The text read: ‘listening to this and thinking about you’ along with a link to Best Friend.

Kenma’s response was very short, only three words but enough to send his heart into a tailspin, for it to stop completely in its tracks, to make him feel like he’d never breathe again. ‘I’m dating Shōyō’

That night Kuroo lost the golden hue of his eyes.

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

A special thanks to @wanderlustsky for beta reading this! it was amazingly helpful <3

#kuroken #haikyū!!#angst #star tears #no happy ending #best friend #rex orange county #haikyuu kuroo #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma #kuroo tetsuro

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years ago

Text

Taylor Swift: ‘I was literally about to break’

By: Laura Snapes for The Guardian Date: August 24th 2019

Taylor Swift’s Nashville apartment is an Etsy fever dream, a 365-days-a-year Christmas shop, pure teenage girl id. You enter through a vestibule clad in blue velvet and covered in gilt frames bursting with fake flowers. The ceiling is painted like the night sky. Above a koi pond in the living area, a narrow staircase spirals six feet up towards a giant, pillow-lagged birdcage that probably has the best view in the city. Later, Swift will tell me she needs metaphors “to understand anything that happens to me”, and the birdcage defies you not to interpret it as a pointed comment on the contradictions of stardom.

Swift, wearing pale jeans and dip-dyed shirt, her sandy hair tied in a blue scrunchie, leads the way up the staircase to show me the view. The decor hasn’t changed since she bought this place in 2009, when she was 19. “All of these high rises are new since then,” she says, gesturing at the squat glass structures and cranes. Meanwhile her oven is still covered in stickers, more teenage diary than adult appliance.

Now 29, she has spent much of the past three years living quietly in London with her boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn, making the penthouse a kind of time capsule, a monument to youthful naivety given an unlimited budget – the years when she sang about Romeo and Juliet and wore ballgowns to awards shows; before she moved to New York and honed her slick, self-mythologising pop.

It is mid-August. This is Swift’s first UK interview in more than three years, and she seems nervous: neither presidential nor goofy (her usual defaults), but quick with a tongue-out “ugh” of regret or frustration as she picks at her glittery purple nails. We climb down from the birdcage to sit by the pond, and when the conversation turns to 2016, the year the wheels came off for her, Swift stiffens as if driving over a mile of speed bumps. After a series of bruising public spats (with Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj) in 2015, there was a high-profile standoff with Kanye West. The news that she was in a relationship with actor Tom Hiddleston, which leaked soon after, was widely dismissed as a diversionary tactic. Meanwhile, Swift went to court to prosecute a sexual assault claim, and faced a furious backlash when she failed to endorse a candidate in the 2016 presidential election, allowing the alt-right to adopt her as their “Aryan princess”.

Her critics assumed she cared only about the bottom line. The reality, Swift says, is that she was totally broken. “Every domino fell,” she says bitterly. “It became really terrifying for anyone to even know where I was. And I felt completely incapable of doing or saying anything publicly, at all. Even about my music. I always said I wouldn’t talk about what was happening personally, because that was a personal time.” She won’t get into specifics. “I just need some things that are mine,” she despairs. “Just some things.”

A year later, in 2017, Swift released her album Reputation, half high-camp heel turn, drawing on hip-hop and vaudeville (the brilliantly hammy Look What You Made Me Do), half stunned appreciation that her nascent relationship with Alwyn had weathered the storm (the soft, sensual pop of songs Delicate and Dress).

Her new album, Lover, her seventh, was released yesterday. It’s much lighter than Reputation: Swift likens writing it to feeling like “I could take a full deep breath again”. Much of it is about Alwyn: the Galway Girl-ish track London Boy lists their favourite city haunts and her newfound appreciation of watching rugby in the pub with his uni mates; on the ruminative Afterglow, she asks him to forgive her anxious tendency to assume the worst.

While she has always written about relationships, they were either teenage fantasy or a postmortem on a high-profile breakup, with exes such as Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles. But she and Alwyn have seldom been pictured together, and their relationship is the only other thing she won’t talk about. “I’ve learned that if I do, people think it’s up for discussion, and our relationship isn’t up for discussion,” she says, laughing after I attempt a stealthy angle. “If you and I were having a glass of wine right now, we’d be talking about it – but it’s just that it goes out into the world. That’s where the boundary is, and that’s where my life has become manageable. I really want to keep it feeling manageable.”

Instead, she has swapped personal disclosure for activism. Last August, Swift broke her political silence to endorse Democratic Tennessee candidate Phil Bredesen in the November 2018 senate race. Vote.org reported an unprecedented spike in voting registration after Swift’s Instagram post, while Donald Trump responded that he liked her music “about 25% less now”.

Meanwhile, her recent single You Need To Calm Down admonished homophobes and namechecked US LGBTQ rights organisation Glaad (which then saw increased donations). Swift filled her video with cameos from queer stars such as Ellen DeGeneres and Queen singer Adam Lambert, and capped it with a call to sign her petition in support of the Equality Act, which if passed would prohibit gender- and sexuality-based discrimination in the US. A video of Polish LGBTQ fans miming the track in defiance of their government’s homophobic agenda went viral. But Swift was accused of “queerbaiting” and bandwagon-jumping. You can see how she might find it hard to work out what, exactly, people want from her.

***

It was girlhood that made Swift a multimillionaire. When country music’s gatekeepers swore that housewives were the only women interested in the genre, she proved them wrong. Her self-titled debut marked the longest stay on the Billboard 200 by any album released in the decade. A potentially cloying image – corkscrew curls, lyrics thick on “daddy” and down-home values – were undercut by the fact she was evidently, endearingly, a bit of a freak, an unusual combination of intensity and artlessness. Also, she was really, really good at what she did, and not just for a teenager: her entirely self-written third album, 2010’s Speak Now, is unmatched in its devastatingly withering dismissals of awful men.

As a teenager, Swift was obsessed with VH1’s Behind The Music, the series devoted to the rise and fall of great musicians. She would forensically rewatch episodes, trying to pinpoint the moment a career went wrong. I ask her to imagine she’s watching the episode about herself and do the same thing: where was her misstep? “Oh my God,” she says, drawing a deep breath and letting her lips vibrate as she exhales. “I mean, that’s so depressing!” She thinks back and tries to deflect. “What I remember is that [the show] was always like, ‘Then we started fighting in the tour bus and then the drummer quit and the guitarist was like, “You’re not paying me enough.”’’’

But that’s not what she used to say. In interviews into her early 20s, Swift often observed that an artist fails when they lose their self-awareness, as if repeating the fact would work like an insurance against succumbing to the same fate. But did she make that mistake herself? She squeezes her nose and blows to clear a ringing in her ears before answering. “I definitely think that sometimes you don’t realise how you’re being perceived,” she says. “Pop music can feel like it’s The Hunger Games, and like we’re gladiators. And you can really lose focus of the fact that that’s how it feels because that’s how a lot of stan [fan] Twitter and tabloids and blogs make it seem – the overanalysing of everything makes it feel really intense.”

She describes the way she burned bridges in 2016 as a kind of obliviousness. “I didn’t realise it was like a classic overthrow of someone in power – where you didn’t realise the whispers behind your back, you didn’t realise the chain reaction of events that was going to make everything fall apart at the exact, perfect time for it to fall apart.”

Here’s that chain reaction in full. With her 2014 album 1989 (the year she was born), Swift transcended country stardom, becoming as ubiquitous as Beyoncé. For the first time she vocally embraced feminism, something she had rejected in her teens; but, after a while, it seemed to amount to not much more than a lot of pictures of her hanging out with her “squad”, a bevy of supermodels, musicians and Lena Dunham. The squad very much did not include her former friend Katy Perry, whom Swift targeted in her song Bad Blood, as part of what seemed like a painfully overblown dispute about some backing dancers. Then, when Nicki Minaj tweeted that MTV’s 2015 Video Music awards had rewarded white women at the expense of women of colour, multiple-nominee Swift took it personally, responding: “Maybe one of the men took your slot.” For someone prone to talking about the haters, she quickly became her own worst enemy.

Her old adversary Kanye West resurfaced in February 2016. In 2009, West had invaded Swift’s stage at the MTV VMAs to protest against her victory over Beyoncé in the female video of the year category. It remains the peak of interest in Swift on Google Trends, and the conflict between them has become such a cornerstone of celebrity journalism that it’s hard to remember it lay dormant for nearly seven years – until West released his song Famous. “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex,” he rapped. “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The video depicted a Swift mannequin naked in bed with men including Trump.

Swift loudly condemned both; although she had discussed the track with West, she said she had never agreed to the “bitch” lyric or the video. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released a heavily edited clip that showed Swift at least agreeing to the “sex” line on the phone with West, if not the “bitch” part. Swift pleaded the technicality, but it made no difference: when Kardashian went on Twitter to describe her as a snake, the comparison stuck and the singer found herself very publicly “cancelled” – the incident taken as “proof” of Swift’s insincerity. So she went away.

Swift says she stopped trying to explain herself, even though she “definitely” could have. As she worked on Reputation, she was also writing “a think-piece a day that I knew I would never publish: the stuff I would say, and the different facets of the situation that nobody knew”. If she could exonerate herself, why didn’t she? She leans forward. “Here’s why,” she says conspiratorially. “Because when people are in a hate frenzy and they find something to mutually hate together, it bonds them. And anything you say is in an echo chamber of mockery.”

She compares that year to being hit by a tidal wave. “You can either stand there and let the wave crash into you, and you can try as hard as you can to fight something that’s more powerful and bigger than you,” she says. “Or you can dive under the water, hold your breath, wait for it to pass and while you’re down there, try to learn something. Why was I in that part of the ocean? There were clearly signs that said: Rip tide! Undertow! Don’t swim! There are no lifeguards!” She’s on a roll. “Why was I there? Why was I trusting people I trusted? Why was I letting people into my life the way I was letting them in? What was I doing that caused this?”

After the incident with Minaj, her critics started pointing out a narrative of “white victimhood” in Swift’s career. Speaking slowly and carefully, she says she came to understand “a lot about how my privilege allowed me to not have to learn about white privilege. I didn’t know about it as a kid, and that is privilege itself, you know? And that’s something that I’m still trying to educate myself on every day. How can I see where people are coming from, and understand the pain that comes with the history of our world?”

She also accepts some responsibility for her overexposure, and for some of the tabloid drama. If she didn’t wish a friend happy birthday on Instagram, there would be reports about severed friendships, even if they had celebrated together. “Because we didn’t post about it, it didn’t happen – and I realised I had done that,” she says. “I created an expectation that everything in my life that happened, people would see.”

But she also says she couldn’t win. “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now,” she drawls wearily. “And I think it happens to women so often that, as we get older and see how the world works, we’re able to see through what is gaslighting. So I’m able to look at 1989 and go – KITTIES!” She breaks off as an assistant walks in with Swift’s three beloved cats, stars of her Instagram feed, back from the vet before they fly to England this week. Benjamin, Olivia and Meredith haughtily circle our feet (they are scared of the koi) as Swift resumes her train of thought, back to the release of 1989 and the subsequent fallout. “Oh my God, they were mad at me for smiling a lot and quote-unquote acting fake. And then they were mad at me that I was upset and bitter and kicking back.” The rules kept changing.

***

Swift’s new album comes with printed excerpts from her diaries. On 29 August 2016, she wrote in her girlish, bubble writing: “This summer is the apocalypse.” As the incident with West and Kardashian unfolded, she was preparing for her court case against radio DJ David Mueller, who was fired in 2013 after Swift reported him for putting his hand up her dress at a meet-and–greet event. He sued her for defamation; she countersued for sexual assault.

“Having dealt with a few of them, narcissists basically subscribe to a belief system that they should be able to do and say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want to,” Swift says now, talking at full pelt. “And if we – as anyone else in the world, but specifically women – react to that, well, we’re not allowed to. We’re not allowed to have a reaction to their actions.”

In summer 2016 she was in legal depositions, practising her testimony. “You’re supposed to be really polite to everyone,” she says. But by the time she got to court in August 2017, “something snapped, I think”. She laughs. Her testimony was sharp and uncompromising. She refused to allow Mueller’s lawyers to blame her or her security guards; when asked if she could see the incident, Swift said no, because “my ass is in the back of my body”. It was a brilliant, rude defence.

“You’re supposed to behave yourself in court and say ‘rear end’,” she says with mock politesse. “The other lawyer was saying, ‘When did he touch your backside?’ And I was like, ‘ASS! Call it what it is!’” She claps between each word. But despite the acclaim for her testimony and eventual victory (she asked for one symbolic dollar), she still felt belittled. It was two months prior to the beginning of the #MeToo movement. “Even this case was literally twisted so hard that people were calling it the ‘butt-grab case’. They were saying I sued him because there’s this narrative that I want to sue everyone. That was one of the reasons why the summer was the apocalypse.”

She never wanted the assault to be made public. Have there been other instances she has dealt with privately? “Actually, no,” she says soberly. “I’m really lucky that it hadn’t happened to me before. But that was one of the reasons it was so traumatising. I just didn’t know that could happen. It was really brazen, in front of seven people.” She has since had security cameras installed at every meet-and-greet she does, deliberately pointed at her lower half. “If something happens again, we can prove it with video footage from every angle,” she says.

The allegations about Harvey Weinstein came out soon after she won her case. The film producer had asked her to write a song for the romantic comedy One Chance, which earned her second Golden Globe nomination. Weinstein also got her a supporting role in the 2014 sci-fi movie The Giver, and attended the launch party for 1989. But she says they were never alone together.

“He’d call my management and be like, ‘Does she have a song for this film?’ And I’d be like, ‘Here it is,’” she says dispassionately. “And then I’d be at the Golden Globes. I absolutely never hung out. And I would get a vibe – I would never vouch for him. I believe women who come forward, I believe victims who come forward, I believe men who come forward.” Swift inhales, flustered. She says Weinstein never propositioned her. “If you listen to the stories, he picked people who were vulnerable, in his opinion. It seemed like it was a power thing. So, to me, that doesn’t say anything – that I wasn’t in that situation.”

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was more than nine months into his presidency, and still Swift had not taken a position. But the idea that a pop star could ever have impeded his path to the White House seemed increasingly naive. In hindsight, the demand that Swift speak up looks less about politics and more about her identity (white, rich, powerful) and a moralistic need for her to redeem herself – as if nobody else had ever acted on a vindictive instinct, or blundered publicly.

But she resisted what might have been an easy return to public favour. Although Reputation contained softer love songs, it was better known for its brittle, vengeful side (see This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things). She describes that side of the album now as a “bit of a persona”, and its hip-hop-influenced production as “a complete defence mechanism”. Personally, I thought she had never been more relatable, trashing the contract of pious relatability that traps young women in the public eye.

***

It was the assault trial, and watching the rights of LGBTQ friends be eroded, that finally politicised her, Swift says. “The things that happen to you in your life are what develop your political opinions. I was living in this Obama eight-year paradise of, you go, you cast your vote, the person you vote for wins, everyone’s happy!” she says. “This whole thing, the last three, four years, it completely blindsided a lot of us, me included.”

She recently said she was “dismayed” when a friend pointed out that her position on gay rights wasn’t obvious (what if she had a gay son, he asked), hence this summer’s course correction with the single You Need To Calm Down (“You’re comin’ at my friends like a missile/Why are you mad?/When you could be GLAAD?”). Didn’t she feel equally dismayed that her politics weren’t clear? “I did,” she insists, “and I hate to admit this, but I felt that I wasn’t educated enough on it. Because I hadn’t actively tried to learn about politics in a way that I felt was necessary for me, making statements that go out to hundreds of millions of people.”

She explains her inner conflict. “I come from country music. The number one thing they absolutely drill into you as a country artist, and you can ask any other country artist this, is ‘Don’t be like the Dixie Chicks!’” In 2003, the Texan country trio denounced the Iraq war, saying they were “ashamed” to share a home state with George W Bush. There was a boycott, and an event where a bulldozer crushed their CDs. “I watched country music snuff that candle out. The most amazing group we had, just because they talked about politics. And they were getting death threats. They were made such an example that basically every country artist that came after that, every label tells you, ‘Just do not get involved, no matter what.’

“And then, you know, if there was a time for me to get involved…” Swift pauses. “The worst part of the timing of what happened in 2016 was I felt completely voiceless. I just felt like, oh God, who would want me? Honestly.” She would otherwise have endorsed Hillary Clinton? “Of course,” she says sincerely. “I just felt completely, ugh, just useless. And maybe even like a hindrance.”

I suggest that, thinking selfishly, her coming out for Clinton might have made people like her. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she stresses. “I was just trying to protect my mental health – not read the news very much, go cast my vote, tell people to vote. I just knew what I could handle and I knew what I couldn’t. I was literally about to break. For a while.” Did she seek therapy? “That stuff I just really wanna keep personal, if that’s OK,” she says.

She resists blaming anyone else for her political silence. Her emergence as a Democrat came after she left Big Machine, the label she signed to at 15. (They are now at loggerheads after label head Scott Borchetta sold the company, and the rights to Swift’s first six albums, to Kanye West’s manager, Scooter Braun.) Had Borchetta ever advised her against speaking out? She exhales. “It was just me and my life, and also doing a lot of self-reflection about how I did feel really remorseful for not saying anything. I wanted to try and help in any way that I could, the next time I got a chance. I didn’t help, I didn’t feel capable of it – and as soon as I can, I’m going to.”

Swift was once known for throwing extravagant 4 July parties at her Rhode Island mansion. The Instagram posts from these star-studded events – at which guests wore matching stars-and-stripes bikinis and onesies – probably supported a significant chunk of the celebrity news industry GDP. But in 2017, they stopped. “The horror!” wrote Cosmopolitan, citing “reasons that remain a mystery” for their disappearance. It wasn’t “squad” strife or the unavailability of matching cozzies that brought the parties to an end, but Swift’s disillusionment with her country, she says.

There is a smart song about this on the new album – the track that should have been the first single, instead of the cartoonish ME!. Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince is a forlorn, gothic ballad in the vein of Lana Del Rey that uses high-school imagery to dismantle American nationalism: “The whole school is rolling fake dice/You play stupid games/You win stupid prizes,” she sings with disdain. “Boys will be boys then/Where are the wise men?”

As an ambitious 11-year-old, she worked out that singing the national anthem at sports games was the quickest way to get in front of a large audience. When did she start feeling conflicted about what America stands for? She gives another emphatic ugh. “It was the fact that all the dirtiest tricks in the book were used and it worked,” she says. “The thing I can’t get over right now is gaslighting the American public into being like” – she adopts a sanctimonious tone – “‘If you hate the president, you hate America.’ We’re a democracy – at least, we’re supposed to be – where you’re allowed to disagree, dissent, debate.” She doesn’t use Trump’s name. “I really think that he thinks this is an autocracy.”

As we speak, Tennessee lawmakers are trying to impose a near-total ban on abortion. Swift has staunchly defended her “Tennessee values” in recent months. What’s her position? “I mean, obviously, I’m pro-choice, and I just can’t believe this is happening,” she says. She looks close to tears. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s really shocking and awful. And I just wanna do everything I can for 2020. I wanna figure out exactly how I can help, what are the most effective ways to help. ’Cause this is just…” She sighs again. “This is not it.”

***

It is easy to forget that the point of all this is that a teenage Taylor Swiftwanted to write love songs. Nemeses and negativity are now so entrenched in her public persona that it’s hard to know how she can get back to that, though she seems to want to. At the end of Daylight, the new album’s dreamy final song, there’s a spoken-word section: “I want to be defined by the things that I love,” she says as the music fades. “Not the things that I hate, not the things I’m afraid of, the things that haunt me in the middle of the night.” As well as the songs written for Alwyn, there is one for her mother, who recently experienced a cancer relapse: “You make the best of a bad deal/I just pretend it isn’t real,” Swift sings, backed by the Dixie Chicks.

How does writing about her personal life work if she’s setting clearer boundaries? “It actually made me feel more free,” she says. “I’ve always had this habit of never really going into detail about exactly what situation inspired what thing, but even more so now.” This is only half true: in the past, Swift wasn’t shy of a level of detail that invited fans to figure out specific truths about her relationships. And when I tell her that Lover feels a more emotionally guarded album, she bristles. “I know the difference between making art and living your life like a reality star,” she says. “And then even if it’s hard for other people to grasp, my definition is really clear.”

Even so, Swift begins Lover by addressing an adversary, opening with a song called I Forgot That You Existed (“it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference”), presumably aimed at Kanye West, a track that slightly defeats its premise by existing. But it sweeps aside old dramas to confront Swift’s real nemesis, herself. “I never grew up/It’s getting so old,” she laments on The Archer.

She has had to learn not to pre-empt disaster, nor to run from it. Her life has been defined by relationships, friendships and business relationships that started and ended very publicly (though she and Perry are friends again). At the same time, the rules around celebrity engagement have evolved beyond recognition in her 15 years of fame. Rather than trying to adapt to them, she’s now asking herself: “How do you learn to maintain? How do you learn not to have these phantom disasters in your head that you play out, and how do you stop yourself from sabotage – because the panic mechanism in your brain is telling you that something must go wrong.” For her, this is what growing up is. “You can’t just make cut-and-dry decisions in life. A lot of things are a negotiation and a grey area and a dance of how to figure it out.”

And so this time, Swift is sticking around. In December she will turn 30, marking the point after which more than half her life will have been lived in public. She’ll start her new decade with a stronger self-preservationist streak, and a looser grip (as well as a cameo in Cats). “You can’t micromanage life, it turns out,” she says, drily.

When Swift finally answered my question about the moment she would choose in the VH1 Behind The Music episode about herself, the one where her career turned, she said she hoped it wouldn’t focus on her “apocalypse” summer of 2016. “Maybe this is wishful thinking,” she said, “but I’d like to think it would be in a couple of years.” It’s funny to hear her hope that the worst is still to come while sitting in her fairytale living room, the cats pacing: a pragmatist at odds with her romantic monument to teenage dreams. But it sounds something like perspective.

#taylor swift #interview #by taylor #the guardian #lover era #lover album #not sure how I feel about the interviewer's approach...there's a lot of irony in it #but a fun read for us nonetheless

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sunshinesholland · 5 years ago

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the one (and all the others) [2] | t.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 5.35k

Warnings: swearing, angst/pining, allusion to abusive past relationships, PTSD mention

Summary: It’s possible Tom would have outgrown the crush, but after one night where feelings were confessed and tears were shed, everything changed. And the worst of it all is that the two of you don’t talk about it, or even acknowledge that it happened. But that’s how it always goes right? It’s good until it’s not.

A/N: This part is a flashback to the night Tom alludes to in part one (see summary above). This is just some exposition to explain their relationship and past. I also just want to say a huge thank you for such a great reaction to my writing so far. It’s something I used to be so passionate about and it feels lovely to get back into it :) Let me know your thoughts, or if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

part one || part two || part three

eighteen months ago

Tom and you are sat on the couch, tangled up in your favorite blanket with Iron Man 2 playing in the background. Zendaya is away on a family trip, so naturally you and Tom are spending the whole weekend watching your favorite movies and eating lots of takeout. It’s not too different from your usual time spent together, but it’s always nice to not feel like you’re bugging her. You’re about tell him the things you’ve learned in your psychology class this week, but instead he’s trying to get you to thumb wrestle him, determined to win.

“Okay, you know what? You’re the one who wanted to watch this movie! The second one isn’t even my favorite and now you’re thumb wrestling me instead of even watching it,” you say exasperated, though the grin on your face shows you’re enjoying your time together all the same.

“Well, you’re the one that wanted to talk instead of watch so technically this is all your fault. I just want something to do while you tell me about… about, uh,” he pauses, long enough for you to tuck his thumb under yours.

“About arousal theory,” you finish, knowing he won’t remember what you’ve been trying to tell him the past five minutes.

“Oh, now all of a sudden I’m interested, continue,” he grins at you, putting his hand under his chin to (dramatically) show he’s averted his full attention to you.

“If you were paying attention, you would know that’s not at all what that means, Tommy,” you laugh, and face away from him to watch the movie.

“Well, if it was maybe then--” he’s cut off by your phone ringing and vibrating on the coffee table.

The caller ID shows a picture of your friend George that lights up the screen. Since most people don’t opt for calling, especially in your friend group, you answer quickly.

“Hello?” You question, nervous something’s wrong with him or another of your friends.

“Y/N!” He excitedly shouts in your ear, so much so that you have to take it away from your ear. At least now you know there’s nothing wrong but your bleeding eardrums.

“I tried calling Tom’s phone but it went straight to voicemail! I’ve got some exciting news and I figured he’s with you though, yeah?” He continues to shout over the noise on his side.

“I’ll put you on speakerphone,” you reply and do just that, before you place it on the coffee table.

“Is there a congratulations in order?” Tom asks, a knowing smile on his face. You look at Tom, confused as to what he is talking about.

“Hell yeah there is! She cried and I cried but she said yes! Her family is over right now but the whole gang is coming over for celebratory drinks later, are ya in?” George asks, and you quickly connect the dots.

“Wait, you proposed to Gwen?! And you didn’t tell me? And more importantly, you didn’t ask for my help?” You question in quick succession, because as resident hopeless romantic, you should really be the first one your friends come to for things like this.

You then turn to Tom who’s chuckling at your excitement, and now you’re yelling at him, “but you knew? And didn’t tell me either?!”

You chuck a pillow at him, which he dodges before laughing harder at. He ignores you and leans towards the phone to reply to George’s invitation.

“We’ll be there, George. Just text me the details, oh and tell Gwen she’s a div for saying yes,” Tom replies, laughing when George replies with a ‘sure thing!’ before hanging up. He’s so excited he didn’t even register Tom’s comment as a jab, or needing a comeback (which is especially amusing considering how quippy George usually is).

Gwen and George are a few years older than the rest of your friend group, so you’re a little unsynchronized in your points in life but they’re close friends with you all nonetheless. They have been going out since before anyone in your group has known them. They’re high school sweethearts, best friends, lovers and everything in between. They’ve been through so much in all their time together. They had been told they would never last for the first four years of their relationship. When they ended up on opposite coasts since George left to a startup business and Gwen stayed home to go to culinary school, they were told that one of them would cheat if they didn’t get bored of the distance and each other before then. When they ended up on the same coast in recent years, people assumed Gwen wouldn’t want to stay with him as he wasn’t making much money and had yet to pop the question. Neither Gwen or George paid any mind to any opinions or judgements and were happy taking their time. They were secure with where they were at and whether a shiny ring on her finger and piece of paper happened tomorrow or years in the future, it didn’t matter to either of them when it happened when they knew how they felt.

Now two years later, George’s business has taken off, they live upstate in a nice apartment with their sweet little French bulldog and they’re stable enough to plan the big, romantic wedding they both want. It’s heartwarming every time either of them tells you about their story, or talks about each other at all. Which is why you’re pissed you’re only finding out now.

“I cannot believe you didn’t even tell me,” you mumble, crossing your arms across your chest with your eyes trained on the TV, “you’re shit at keeping secrets, but this one you decide to not tell me.”

“You’re just jealous that he came to me advice rather than you,” he grins, laying his head in your lap to look up at you.

“Well yeah! You’re not even into all that lovey-dovey, romantic stuff, I am. When you dated that girl last year you couldn’t even think of a gift to give her for Christmas, I had to pick one out. And Harry said you never even said ‘I love you’ to any of your girlfriends growing up and I’ve never heard you say that either.” you pout at the TV, despite not paying attention because it’s just your excuse to not look down at him.

Except that he is into all that lovey-dovey stuff. Or at least he has been since he met you. It’s cheesy, but it’s like you’ve lent him the rose-colored glasses you see the world through and he’s eternally grateful for it. Of course, it helps that he’s in love with you and watching you admire romance and the idea of a fairytale ending is enough to make anyone fall just as hard as he has. But all of that is just too heavy considering you’ve only recently returned to your usual self. Tom can’t be selfish and risk hurting you when you’ve only just begun to heal from your shitty ex-boyfriend. What you need now is your friend and so instead of any declaration of love, he jokes with you.

“Guess the ladies love me because I love hard enough in other ways,” he says, winking at you.

“I live across the hall, so I know definitely not hard enough, Holland” you retort back, grabbing the last pillow on the couch to throw at his face.

The both of you are in Tom’s car, on the way to Gwen and George’s apartment. The setting sun streams through the passing trees, while Tom’s playlist (the one full of all the songs you like, that he’ll always deny was made specifically for you) plays throughout the car.

Tom glances at you as you lean your head against the window. You’ve been silent the whole car ride. Not singing along to your favorite song or blabbering about the romance of the engagement, which is unbelievably out of character. He turns down the volume on the stereo so it’s quiet enough to hear the wind whip against the car.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions, sneaking a glance at you before returning his eyes to the road, pulling onto their street.

You don’t say anything for a few minutes, making him think you didn’t hear him. He pulls into a parking spot, thankful for not having to parallel park, and is about to repeat the question when you finally reply.

“Nothing important.” You say and of course Tom doesn’t believe it. Before he can question the honesty of your reply, you’re opening the passenger door and beginning to walk up to their apartment.

Tom takes the keys out of the ignition and exits the car, quick to catch up to you. It's colder upstate, allowing the snow to form a thick blanket on the ground. It’s fresh and fluffy, effectively dampening all ambient sound outside. While he really wants to ask you again, he can tell you’re not ready to talk yet so he stays silent on the walk up to the apartment building as well as the elevator ride up.

You reach to knock on the door, greeted immediately by George.

“Hey guys! I’m glad you could make it,” he smiles, practically beaming. They’ve both always known it was in the cards for them to get engaged and of course married, but damn if he wasn’t ecstatic about it finally happening.

“Gwen’s in the living room, on her fourth glass of champagne so naturally she’s already started her own acapella concert in there,” he tells you, looking absolutely smitten just thinking about his future bride, even as a drunk, goofy mess.

“Oh, and Jacob brought some celebratory cigars and since you were such a huge part in helping me plan this, I’d love if you’d join me for one,” George offers Tom.

Tom looks towards you, not wanting to leave when your mood seems off like this. He doesn’t want to flat out say no to George, but you can tell this is his silent way of asking.

“You can go, I’m gonna go see Gwen. I hate the smell of them anyways,” you reassure him with a smile and congratulate George before walking through the apartment to find her.

Gwen is surrounded by people talking to her and congratulating her but as soon as she sees you, she comes running.

“Y/N! Hi! I’m engaged!” She shouts despite the music not being at a loud volume, champagne in one hand and flashing the other with the ring on it at you.

“I know you did, that’s why I came,” you reply with a smile, leaning in to greet your tipsy friend with a hug.

For a while you’re chatting with her and some other friends, not really as energetic as you would be but most people have been here longer than you and are already a little tipsy, so no one notices. You’re in the middle of half-listening to one of Gwen’s co-workers tell all of you about their upcoming trip to somewhere you don’t really care about, when a hand is placed on your back.

“Do you mind if I steal Y/N away from you for a moment?” He asks and he’s behind you but you can just tell he’s got on a charming smile (but isn’t it always charming to you?)

All of the intoxicated girls grin at his English accent and endearing smile, nodding simultaneously and encouraging him to take you away. You think one may have even said ‘hell, you can take me!’, but regardless, Tom utters a thank you regardless. With his hand in yours, he leads you through the apartment and onto the balcony. The smell of cigar smoke lingers outside and the night air is chilling against your bare arms, having left your jacket inside.

“You brought me away from friends, free booze and the warmth of the indoors to… have me smell some cigar smoke?” You joke, arms hugging yourself in an attempt to keep warm.

“You’re being weird,” he replies before sliding glass door shut, blocking out the music and talking from inside.

“Excuse me?” You question, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “so you’re gonna force me to be cold, smell cigar smoke, and call me weird? I’m going inside then.”

“Okay I’m sorry for saying you’re being weird,” he says quickly, “But, can you please sit down with me? You can even have my jacket,” he offers, and shrugs it off to hand to you.

You eye the jacket, then the table, before grabbing his coat and sitting down. Bundling yourself up in his warm jacket, the smoke scent lingers on his coat, but it's mixed with his familiar cologne and that’s enough to be comforting.

“I just, I really love engagements and romance and I realize I haven’t really been excited for two of my closest friends when that’s all tonight is about. It’s just kind of weird behavior on my part and I wanted to talk to you about it,” Tom replies dramatically (the damned acting major).

You look down at the table because you know exactly what he’s doing. Really, it’s hard not to, he knows how stubborn you are and reads you better than anyone, so voices his concern this way. If he says something flat out, you don’t really have a chance to deny it.

“Oh, no wait. That’s you.” He finishes his sentence and pulls out the chair on the opposite side of the table to sit down in.

“Haha, that never gets old.” You reply sarcastically, running your fingers across the glass that covers the top of the table.

He places his hand atop of yours, stilling your movements. You look up to him, unblinking and expressionless.

“Really, N/N what’s wrong? You were excited earlier and you’re practically the president of the Gwen/George fan club so if you don’t get excited, they’re going to find another leader.” He jokes but stops when you don’t smile.

“It’s nothing,” you reply, biting at your cheek. You’re trying your best to not rain on their parade, and no one notices but Tom. But if he keeps pushing, you’re not going to be able to hold your stupid emotions in.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he reprimands, squeezing your hand, “you know you can tell me anything.”

You look at the closed door and no one else is out here, or paying attention and Tom is your best friend, and maybe if you talk about it, you’ll be able to enjoy the party.

“Sometimes I just worry it will never happen for me,” you start, looking down at your hands, “getting married I mean. Or anything relatively close, like finding someone who loves me long enough to even stay more than a few months…”

“And I know I’m only 23, and they’re 28 so they’re at a different point in their life and they’ve been going out forever but..” you pause, and Tom doesn’t interrupt, just listens.

“After what happened with him, I’m scared of ever trying again. More than that, I think I just feel like that maybe that’s the best I’ll ever get, or even deserve,” you finish, with tears welling up in your eyes, and you look away, out over the balcony.

Tom gets up and you close your eyes, letting the tears fall because maybe he thinks you’re selfish for making this night about you somehow and he’s leaving. But instead, he pulls you up out of the chair and brings you to his chest and holds you tightly. You stay like that for a while, until the tears slow to a stop and your breathing has slowed to normal.

“Why would you ever think that’s the best you’ll get?” he asks and you look up at him, expecting some sort of joke because there’s no way he’s serious.

“Why wouldn’t I? I must deserve it in some regard after how deeply and unapologetically he hurt me. After all that happened and how long it went on for, it's hard not to think somehow, it’s my fault. I must have done something wrong.” The tears are welling in your eyes again, threatening to fall.

“You cannot seriously believe that,” He softly rubs his hands up and down your arms, “hey, look at me.”

He puts his hand under your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his.

“Why would you ever think you deserve the kind of treatment he gave you?” He questions, and then repeats himself when you don’t answer, gingerly as though speaking too loud would scare you away.

“He wasn’t all bad,” you reply meekly, biting the inside of your cheek, “sometimes he--”

Tom cuts you off, “No, there’s no ‘sometimes’ for treating someone you’re supposed to love well, it’s not something you need to earn or something that’s rationed. He was a dick all the time, he just pretended not to be sometimes to manipulate you into staying.”

Your heart throbs at the blunt veracity of his words. Deep, deep down, under everything that has happened, all of the trauma and damage done, you know it’s true. Internally you’ve just been at a constant tug of war, trying to rationalize all that happened. Was he in love with you at all? Did you do something to make him hurt you like he did? Could you have fixed him? Was he good under it all and just hurting? Did you imagine it all? Were you not good enough in the end, even for him?

“Why manipulate me into staying if he was the one who ended up leaving in the end?” you question, and his own heart hurts at your words.

Tom’s not sure what to say because he saw your ex leave you and come back so many times. Saw how it slowly chipped away at you each time. When someone does that to you, time and time again, it takes away all your power. You feel helpless and like you can’t go on and the only thing you can do is wait for them to come back. While all of that makes Tom furious, and he wishes you were the one who dumped that asshole because he deserved it, he instead says what will best comfort you.

“Because he’s a blind idiot. But it’s probably the kindest thing he’s done your whole relationship,” he replies, before moving his hand from under your chin to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, “and I know that sounds insensitive because you hurt for so long and you’re just getting over it, but it’s true.”

“You’ll find someone who fulfills all of those fairytale expectations, because you shouldn't settle for less and you don’t have to. Someone who is kind, and cares for you, and appreciates everything you are and have to offer. I’m not saying it will take away all the hurt you have felt, but they will love you so deeply that you’ll wonder how you ever thought you deserved any less,” he promises, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

He wants to say he’s that someone, confess the way he felt about you since the very beginning but that’s not what you need now. Instead he gives you one last squeeze and brings you down inside, out of the cold. He’s gotten you to at least talk about it and that at least means you won’t hide yourself away, hurting and staying silent in an attempt to not burden anyone. Not that you could ever be a burden, not to Tom.

It hurts a little less when you have someone like Tom by your side. Maybe people look at you two and think he’s suffering from white knight syndrome, like you need to rescued because you’re a damsel in distress. Maybe they think you love him because he’s doing the saving and you love him for such a shallow reason. Except it’s not that, you’re just healing on your own with your best friend being there to support you and love you. It is deeper than a fleeting attraction because someone has helped you. This love is patient, kind and unwavering. As cheesy as it sounds, Tom is someone you fell for slowly, and then all at once. You went to bed one night thinking of him as your best friend and woke up the next with the thought crossing your mind while you were in the shower; ‘I love my best friend so much’ and by the time you were done rinsing away your shampoo, you realized ‘shit, I love him’.

After that it was all you could think of for weeks, noticing all the ways he cared for you. Something as simple as asking if you had gotten enough sleep last night or giving you the cherry from his drinks because you love them so much. The way he locks eyes with you in a boring lecture to make sure you’re awake, the way his hand immediately grabs yours in crowds. Picking up your favorite chips when he goes grocery shopping, just so he always has them in the cupboard for you even though he doesn’t like them. The way he doesn’t just tolerate the things you like, and he doesn’t but gets excited for them simply because he likes seeing you enjoy things. The two of you are the other’s first person to tell both good and bad news alike to. The two of you may fight but neither of you are too embarrassed to admit you’re in the wrong to the other. He makes mundane things like getting gas or going grocery shopping entertaining. While you should be scared of him leaving or being hurt again, you’ve trusted him for so long with matters regarding your heart, it only seems right that he’s the one you trust to hold your it and not harm it. But you don’t want him to think he’s a rebound from the man who’s broken your heart only months ago, because it is so much deeper than that. Your love for him is so much deeper than that. So, you keep quiet, loving him silently.

You both have fallen so deeply into each other, but both too worried about caring for the other to say anything and tonight isn’t any different. The rest of the night is spent celebrating your friends’ engagement: dancing and drinking the night away. The two of you exchange longing glances throughout the entire evening, scared to break the silence regarding your feelings.

—

Tom pulls into your own apartment complex, parking before glancing over at you. Your eyes closed, mouth slightly opened, high heels in your lap while you’re curled up in the passenger seat. Tom unbuckles, reaching his hand over to softly shake your shoulder in an attempt to wake you gently. You continue your slumber, unphased by his disturbance.

“Y/N,” he calls softly. You’re still sleeping soundly, and you look so peaceful that Tom can’t help but reach over and tuck your hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger there.

Out of all the ways you could wake up, this could very well be the creepiest way to, Tom thinks. His thought must have manifested it because your eyes flutter open slowly. While he thinks to withdraw his hand and pretend he wasn’t just thinking about how breathtaking his best friend is (and how in love with her he is), you instead lean into his hand.

“Mm, hello,” you mumble, blinking to adjust to the darkness of the car. The few streetlights lining the parking lot let in just enough light for you to see his lovely face. Tom hasn’t shut off the car yet so heat is still on and his (really, your) playlist continues playing at a low volume.

“We’re home,” he says gently, trying not to be too loud as you shake off the effects of sleep.

The words make you feel warm, hearing him say ‘home’, despite the fact that you’ve definitely referred to the general complex as ‘home’ before. Maybe it’s just the circumstances; him waking you up tenderly from a night spent out together, like you’re lovers and he’s waking you so you can go inside to the bed you both share.

“Oh, okay,” you reply, rubbing at your eyes despite the presence of makeup.

“Want me to carry you up?” He asks, innocently enough. Except that it just furthers that fantasy of being together: being carried up to your home together.

“I mean, because you’re tired and you’ve had a bit to drink everything,” he quickly adds, “and I know they’re the lace up ones and you hate doing them up.” He points to the heels in your lap.

Of course, he’s just being his usual sweet self. He’s heard you complain about these shoes enough and knows the only reason you wear them is because you say the way they look is worth the effort. But he also knows when you’re drunk and the shoes come off, you’re past the point of no return and you’ll only ever get less put together, not more. Because he remembers things like that.

The thudding in your chest quiets a little, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He turns off the car and gets out to walk around to your side. He opens the passenger door and grabs your shoes from you and allows you to wrap your hands around his neck. He adjusts his hold on you so he’s carrying you bridal style (great, that helps your romantic mindset) and you bury your face into his chest, telling yourself its only to shield your eyes from the change in lighting. He places you on the floor, since you’re safe from the slushy snow outside now. While he wishes he could have you in his arms the whole way up, there’s no reason for it and it would look strange since you’re just friends.

You walk barefoot beside him to the elevator, both of you silent on your way up. You’ve managed to make it home before 2 AM, but the hall and the whole complex is peacefully silent. When you reach your apartment, you both begin talking at the same time.

“I just wanted to say—”

“I hope you know—”

“Oh sorry, you go.”

“No, it’s okay, you go.”

You both laugh quietly as not to wake any of your neighbors, until Tom gestures for you to go ahead first.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For talking to me about everything tonight. And for not thinking I was absolutely awful to be thinking about myself during Gwen and George’s happy night,” you glance down at your bare feet, shy at tonight’s actions.

“You don’t have to apologize,” and he continues before you can interrupt, “you really don’t. I know you and so I know it wasn’t something you did out of selfishness.”

He reaches for your hand and holds it between you two, while the other reaches up to stroke your cheek, which you lean into again. It’s an intimate gesture he doesn’t usually do, but has managed twice tonight, and it feels like walking the line of friendship and lovers.

“You deserve so much better than anything he ever gave you, or anything anyone has ever given you. You deserve the world and I can’t believe you would ever think otherwise. I will always fight for your fairytale ending, even if you give up or think you don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swells and you want to thank him for all that he’s saying, but he only continues.

“I always want you to feel like you can talk to me, because I will always be here because I, I lo-“ he stops himself and your heart begins thudding again, because maybe he feels the same way you do.

“I-I look out for you. And you look out for me, right?” he finishes, his voice unsteady and you’re beyond disappointed.

You rest your hand atop the hand of his that cups your face.

Despite how nervous you feel, and how clammy your hands are getting and the thumping in your chest, you look into his eyes bravely and ask, “Tom, do you love me?”

“Of course I do, you’re my—”

“No. I am asking you; do you love me?”

When he doesn’t say yes, but he also doesn’t say no you decide to make the first move. You lean in to kiss him, but quickly his hands pull out of yours, pressing gently against your shoulders. Your brain goes into full panic mode: you cannot believe you misread the signals so badly, you cannot believe you tried to kiss your best friend. You turn away from him, fumbling with your keys and shoving the apartment key into the lock, shoving it in, scrambling to escape from this mess.

Tom certainly isn’t drunk since he had to drive home but the emotion bubbling inside of his chest is far more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol could be. He’s grasping at words, trying to try to express what he’s feeling right now but his thoughts are jumbled and clouded.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, walking to follow you into your apartment, desperate to explain himself.

Your turn around, pressing your hand against his chest, leaving it there for a moment, not meeting his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to hold your hands or assure you in any way, so you turn around to enter your apartment. You close the door softly and turn the lock, and maybe that’s scarier than you slamming the door in anger. You press your forehead to the door, eyes closed and attempting not to feel all that you are right now, as deeply as you are. You could not be more thankful for Zendaya’s family trip as she is unable to see the stupid attempt at an advance. She is not here to pretend that what you did wasn’t stupid, or that you didn’t make the biggest mistake.

You’re frustrated and annoyed that you’re hurting like this. You’re frustrated that you were stupid enough to think you’re not a broken mess, that you’re deserving of him, of love. Of course he doesn’t want anything more than friendship from you, he’s seen the train wreck that is your love life. Why would he willingly dive into that mess? To soften the ache in your heart you tell yourself that it’s better this way, you tell yourself you haven’t felt this way for as long as you have, that it's just the alcohol and the influence of the romance of your friend’s engagement. You pretend that you don’t feign sleep on Saturday mornings to stay in his arms just a little bit longer. Those longing glances at him from across the room at parties or class don’t happen. Even more, the times where he catches you and smiles before joining you, and makes you laugh and nothing else matters doesn’t happen either. All those times he comforts you and says things that straddle that line of friendship, and you just so badly want to say something back or kiss him, those don’t happen either. You’re friends and that’s it. Friendship is safer, it won’t end in your heart broken, and a little bit of Tom in that way is better than all of him romantically. You’ll settle for loving him softly and quietly, like a friend would, and you ignore the way your chest hurts like you’ve just lost the love of your life as you fall asleep that night.

Tom is left outside of your door, stunned at all that has happened. You are hurt, alone and without your best friend and the fact that he is the cause of it is what hurts him the most. He may have had a few drinks (and barely slept that night), he remembers it vividly. He doesn’t for a moment question the authenticity of his memories when you pretend like nothing happened the next day.

Taglist: @averyfosterthoughts @martinafigoli

#emi writes #tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland writing #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #the one (aato)#tw: abuse mention #tw: ptsd

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holidaywishes · 4 years ago

Text

Can’t Keep It a Secret Forever

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: hey! can you write an imagine where the reader is dating nick robertson for like a year and a half but the relationship is still a secret and the reader is a senior in high school maybe in atlanta or somewhere in the usa and their graduation is coming up and he surprises her there and some of her classmates take pictures of them and their relationship becomes public via the media the next day. then nick like posts a couple pictures of them confirming the relationship. thank you so much!!!

Warning: Fluff but that’s it?

Author’s Note: First, this is super short, not my favourite writing and a little different than the request but it’s kind of cute, so I’m not mad at it. Second, Look at that face! He’s adorable! However, he’s also a child (baby boy was born on September 11, 2001. So, that’s rough) and I’m almost 10 years older than he is so, therefore, I will not be writing smut for him. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. If you request smut for him, I will have to pass. Anyway! I’m happy to write some fluffy stuff and I hope you enjoy this short little request!

*EDIT* I’M SO SORRY GUYS! I realize now that the orginal GIF was not actually Nick Robertson so I’ve changed it. I was hoping to find a GIF of him not on the ice and in an interview so you could see his face but, alas, I couldn’t find one.

masterlist

the other masterlist

Nick and you had met as Juniors in high school, before he was drafted to the Maple Leafs. He was a shy guy, a little goofy, but sweet. You were part of the drama club to which your friends teased you endlessly about by saying you could never get enough drama in your life so you had to join a club for it, you’d laugh and shrug them off. But Nick never teased you, even if it was just for play. A year later, you had developed feelings for him, started a relationship with him and were basking in a state of teenage bliss but when the Toronto Maple Leafs came calling, he wanted to keep the relationship a secret.

“You’re going to Toronto. You’re going to be almost 3,000 miles away from me but you don’t want us to be public?!” you yelled as he sighed in front of you, “I don’t understand! Why?!”

“I just think it will easier. Just for a little bit, okay?” he answered

“Easier? Easier for you. Nick, we’ve only been dating for like six months. I don’t want our relationship to fail before we have a chance to even really have one!”

“It won’t!” he exclaimed, standing up suddenly to put his hands on your shoulders, “it won’t, baby. You just have to trust me. It won’t be for long.” He pulled you in for a hug and you hesitated for a moment before falling into him, letting go of a sigh you had been holding in. You went to the airport a couple weeks later to send him off with his parents who said they’d be meeting him in a couple days and you felt a sudden rush of sadness as you hugged him goodbye.

“I don’t want you to go...” you whispered while he squeezed you tighter

“I know,” he replied, kissing your cheek, “but I’ll see you soon okay?” He smiled at you before walking past the gate and toward security and his parents tapped you on the shoulder to lead you out of the airport. You went back to school and he went into Boot Camps and training with the team and you only ever saw him when he came back in the summer; even then, he’d try to spend as much time with his friends and keep you hidden away.

“Nick this is exhausting,” you said when you finally got a moment alone with him, the two of you looking up at the stars as you sat on a blanket on the beach and listened to the waves crash onto the shore, “I want to be with you. I hate hiding us, I hate not being able to tell people where I’m going in case you told people where you were going. It’s been almost a year since you left and you said that this whole secret thing was only going to be for a little while. It’s been more than a little while...”

“I have a chance at starting this year,” he replied, “Coach says I’ve really been improving.”

“Babe, the season is already well underway. If you were going to start, you’d have started already.” He scoffed at your words and you smiled timidly at him, raising your eyebrows in defence

“I could be put on a different line, a starting line. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Why can’t we just tell people we’re dating?” you asked and he sighed

“What happens if we tell people we’re dating and everyone makes comments about you? Start saying that you’re only dating me because I’m in the NHL?”

“Then we’ll make it very obvious that we started dating before all of that” you argued

“And if they don’t believe it?”

“Then who cares?!” you pushed, “It’s our relationship, not theirs.”

“I just think we have to play it safe.”

“What about my graduation?”

“What about it?”

“Are you going to be there?”

“I don’t know my schedule babe...”

“I don’t graduate for like eight months.”

“I will be there”

“Will we be public by then?”

“Maybe,” he said, “I don’t know. Let’s not worry about that right now. Look at how beautiful this night is. The cool, California breeze just drifting across us. The sound of the waves and a clear sky. It’s perfect.”

“Mhm...” you hummed and he laughed, kissing your temple before turning back to look up at the stars.

Nick’s P.O.V.

You had finished your training camp with the Leafs and Keefe said he was really impressed with you. It was looking like you would have a real chance at starting a regular season game, when the statement came out:

"In light of ongoing developments resulting from the coronavirus, and after consulting with medical experts and convening a conference call of the Board of Governors, the National Hockey League is announcing today that it will pause the 2019-20 season beginning with tonight's games. We will continue to monitor all the appropriate medical advice, and we will encourage our players and other members of the NHL community to take all reasonable precautions -- including by self-quarantine, where appropriate. Our goal is to resume play as soon as it is appropriate and prudent, so that we will be able to complete the season and award the Stanley Cup. Until then, we thank NHL fans for your patience and hope you stay healthy.”

It hit you like a glass door that you didn’t see and you weren’t sure how to feel. The only thing you could do was what everyone else was doing: self-isolate back home. On one hand, you were happy that you’d be able to spend time with your family and with (Y/N) but on the other hand, you hated that the season was cut short. When you landed in Arcadia, your first stop was to see your girlfriend to see how she was doing

“Nick?” she said when she opened the door, shock covering her face, “what are you doing here?”

“The season’s been postponed...” you answered

“Right.. yeah, no. I heard that. I just meant here, here.”

“I wanted to see you. I know this is your Senior year and I know how much it must suck to not have your Prom and the graduation ceremony...”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping out of her house, “it’s a weird feeling to know that I won’t be going back to school on Monday or that all the work that I was preparing to do for SATs won’t really matter in a couple months.” You hugged her tightly when her head dropped

“I’m sorry” was all you could muster but when she stepped back

“I’m glad you’re here... but I’m confused...” she said, “we’re still not public...”

“I know...” you replied, “but I wanted to spend time with you.” She smiled before inviting you inside. By the time her prom came around, you had set up the most cliché Prom theme you could think of; starry night. You covered the ceiling in glow in the dark stars, ordered card stock stars from Party City to hang from the ceiling, grabbed a few Christmas decorations from your parents garage that gave that “romantic” vibe that you were looking for and led a blind-folded (Y/N) into the room as “The Starry Night” by Dylan Saunders played. You marvelled at her in her dress before you took the blindfold off so she could look at the room in front of her.

“Oh my god! Nicky...” she gasped, looking at all the details you’d put into the room, “this is amazing. How.. when did you do all this?”

“I had some help from your parents” you laughed

“Does anyone else know about this?” she asked hesitantly and you frowned before giving your response

“No”

“Oh...” she sighed

“This is just for us.” You tried, taking her hand and leading her into the middle of the room to dance. She rested her head on your shoulder as the two of you swayed to the slow songs that shuffled on the Prom playlist you’d created. You took a few pictures of her, her parents took a few pictures of the two of you, she danced with her dad, you danced with her mom, her parents captured pictures of it all, it was a sweet night but you knew that not being able to share them with her friends or on her social media was upsetting her so you tried to think of the best time to really go public.

It was time to graduate. It didn’t feel like it was because your Principal had arranged for each of you to stand outside your houses while he rode by in his car and handed you your diplomas. But you still made it. You still graduated. Technically.

“This is so weird. I was so looking forward to walking across the stage,” you sighed just as Nick walked through the door, “leaving this place behind and moving on with my life. But now it’s going to feel like I graduated on a technicality.”

“Hey!” Nick shouted, forcing you to turn your body and the tassel on your cap to swing into your face, “don’t think like that! You’re brilliant. Your graduation may suck but you’re not graduating on a technicality. You worked hard for this.”

“It’s just high school, Nicky...”

“But he’s right, sweetheart,” your dad added, “you worked hard for this. You put in the effort and the time. This is not a technicality. Not even one little bit.” Nick smiled at how your dad agreed with him and you rolled your eyes at both of them.

“Come here,” your mom directed, “everyone cuddle close for a picture.” You all did as she asked and you were surprised when Nick leaned in and kissed you on the cheek for the picture, “Alright, I think it’s time. You should get outside, (Y/N)”

“Okay... I’m on my way...” you sighed, “to get my diploma... To graduate...”

“Good luck!” your dad teased as you opened the door to walk outside, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. You were joined shortly by all of them, with your mom constantly taking pictures and Nick going live shortly before your Principal showed up with what looked like a camcorder strapped to the top of his car.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” He yelled from his car and you laughed at the absurdity of this situation, “come grab your diploma!” You jogged lightly to the car, your heels clicking against the concrete and you grabbed your diploma, “Congratulations!” Your Principal said before whispering his apologies for the scenario

“Thank you,” you replied, “it’s... memorable.” You laughed and he waved goodbye as you made your way up your driveway with your mom taking pictures and Nick still live, “guys, stop!”

“We need records of this wondrous occasion” your mom joked and Nick rushed up to you, all smiles

“YOU’VE DONE IT!” he shouted, making sure the camera could see the two of you together, before beginning an interview process, “you’ve graduated high school. How do you feel?”

“The exact same.” you said plainly, a small smile on your face when you realized Nick hadn’t taken his arm back from around your shoulders

“What are your plans now?!” he asked

“I don’t know. I haven’t.. really thought about it”

“Well...” he started, “what about your boyfriend? Are you going to celebrate with him?”

“Nick, what are you doing?”

“We can’t keep it a secret forever, can we?”

“No.. are you sure?” He smiled as his eyes danced across your face before he kissed you gently

“Of course I’m sure. I love you.” He said, cutting his live video there, kissing you more purposefully this time and you finally felt like you could breathe. You were finally allowed to spam your friends feeds with pictures of you and Nick, flooding your social media accounts with videos and posts and stories with the two of you; you were never happier than that. Being able to share your love for him with the people in your world was a wild feeling and one you would never give up for anything.

#Nick Robertson #Nick Robertson imagine #it's like...#kinda cute #but also kinda all over the place

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sundove88 · 4 years ago

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1-A and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas: Chapter Three: Decking It Up

Soon, everyone was in the grand hall, making sure that all the decorations were in place. “Alrighty, Everyone!” Shoji said, supervising the gang. “Ready to start decorating?” He asked. “Yeah!” Cheered everyone. They were ready to get the place decked up!

Soon, Present Mic and Mr. Aizawa were helping everyone make a Christmas tree all out of kitchen appliances. They hung ornaments, added holly, and put Mirko on the very tippy top of the tree. Eri could hardly contain her excitement. “We’re gonna have the greatest Christmas ever!” she cried.

“We hope so as well.” Tsuyu said as she picked up the yarn doll in her hands. “Remember, everyone! Toshinori must not find out!” Mr. Aizawa demanded everybody, who was helping pick up the pieces of the prototype Christmas tree.

But the surprise didn’t last that long, as Sir Nighteye, who had been watching the whole thing, overheard the commotion and hopped up to the West Wing. “Oh, yes!” he said, hopping up to All Might’s chambers. “CHRISTMAS?! THEY’RE PLANNING CHRISTMAS?!?!” All Might exclaimed at the news.

“Yes. Awful, isn’t it?” Wolfram said. “Perhaps the kids don’t know what we have to do with Christmas.” All Might said. “Oh, they do know. They just don’t even care, like I do. They’re actually trying to bring Christmas back to the castle, and you know how much we hate Christmas.” Wolfram replied.

“The day my life changed forever.” All Might said.

Ten years earlier, Toshinori had been a handsome young man, and was very naive and good hearted at the time. But there was just one flaw- he thought everyone and everything in the world was goodhearted.

“Presents, please!” he demanded Present Mic and the other servants, with Present Mic giving him a book. “Well, it’s decent enough.” he said, giving the book to his mentor Nana Shimura, who stood by his side. “Hopefully, your present is good enough, Wolfram.” Toshinori said.

“Yeah, sire- er, I mean, of course, Toshinori.” Wolfram said, playing a tune on the keyboard that sounded melancholic. “What was that?”he cried out in shock. “A piece in your honor, Toshinori.” Wolfram said.

“Well, it’s decent enough.” Toshinori replied. Just then, a knock was heard at the door, but Nana Shimura ignored it. Then, the visitor burst in. “Who is it?” Toshinori said, heading to the hallway to answer it. It was an old man, carrying a book and in a dark purple cloak.

“Sir! I demand shelter, now! Take the book and give me shelter this instant!” he yelled. But despite Nana’s attempts to restrain him, Toshinori welcomed in the man anyways- but this was a big mistake. Because after the man ate his fill, he revealed his true form- All For One, the evil sorcerer who had a void of darkness where his heart should’ve been.

“Well, well, well. It seems you’ve fallen for my tricks.” he said, slyly while holding the book. “No- spare us, please!” Nana Shimura said. “No one escapes my tricks, and for that a curse upon your estate and all within!” He said, having a bright light shoot out of the book and reflect across the room like a bullet.

“Until you have found one to love you as you are- the beast you are you shall remain forever!” All For One said, followed by an evil laugh as he watched Toshinori and his fellow villagers transform, all the while laughing at their suffering. “But we’ve come oh so far since then. We’ve put the past behind us.” Wolfram said, with a sly smile.

Meanwhile, in the boiler room, the kids were looking for a Yule log. “Okay- we’ve gotta find one that’s just right.” said Kirishima as he and the others went through the logs. “Nah. Too big.” Aoyama said. “Too small.” Mina said as she tossed it back into the pile. “Just right!” Denki said as he held up the perfect log. It was the best size, best color, and the best shape!

But just as the kids were going to head back upstairs... All Might stormed in! “What are you kids hiding?” He asked. “Hey!” Kirishima said as All Might swatted the log out of his hands like a gadfly. “That’s a yule log. It’s a pretty cool tradition. Everyone in the house touches it and makes a Christmas wish before it’s burned in the fireplace.” Momo said.

“There’s no such thing as Christmas. I’m the master here!” He said, and stormed off. “Aw, man!” Mineta cried out. 1-A was upset, but they were determined to give All Might a Christmas he would never forget. Izuku looked out the window, and saw some trees outside. “We’re still gonna have a perfectly perfect Christmas, you guys.” Todoroki said.

“Yay! Can we get the tree? It’s the only thing we have left on the list!” Eri cried. Yep. After all, the tree was his favorite part of the season before the curse, you know. Nana Shimura wrote down. “Okay, okay. We’re gonna get the tree.” Melissa said. “But first, a special delivery!” Uraraka replied as she and the others crept into the West Wing, put the book near Nana’s glass case, and scurried out.

“Now we look for a tree.” Iida said as he, the others, and Buster the footstool hurried out into the snow. But the only trees the team could find- they were small!

But in the West Wing, All Might was looking out the window at the kids... then he noticed it. The present they had left for him moments earlier. “What the heck is this?” he said, pointing to the present they had made for him.

“Well, it’s a Christmas present.” Present Mic said, stating the obvious. All Might stormed out. “Well, technically it’s for you, Toshinori. It’s from... some kids!” Present Mic said. “Eri?” All Might said. “Nah. It’s from 1-A!” Present Mic said, with All Might hurrying over to open the present.

“No no no. It says do not open until Christmas. Can you even read?!” Present Mic said. “I guess I could get them a little something.” He said, and ran off to Wolfram’s chamber. “Look. I want you to compose a song for 1-A- and make it really joyful for them.” All Might asked Wolfram.

Wolfram didn’t want to be bossed around, so he didn’t take that kindly. But Sir Nighteye saw the kids outside on the grounds, bringing in a small tree. It would have to do, considering that they couldn’t find anything else at the moment. “NIGHTEYE!” Wolfram roared, playing a tune that got the guitar’s attention.

He then told Nighteye on how evil the kids were, and that how that he should get rid of them, so that All Might would be by his side all the time. “Yes, Wolfram!” Sir Nighteye said. They were ready to put their plan in action. “Dude, what’s that nice sounding music?” Bakugo asked as he peered up at the castle.

“Come on. Lets go find out.” Mashirao said as he and the others followed Buster up the stairs and into the West Wing. “Wow. That’s one demented organ.” Koji said as he and Sero pointed at Wolfram. “Excuse me?!” he said. “I am Maestro Wolfram. And you imbeciles?” he continued. “We’re 1-A. Pleased to meet you, buddy.” Sato said as he bowed down.

The group listed off the things they needed for Christmas... except for a tree. “The reason is because all the tress outside are really small!” Eri exclaimed. “Did you, like, check the Black Forest? You’ll find your tree there.” Wolfram said slyly. He knew it wasn’t safe at all, but he recommended the kids to go there anyways.

“Please, guys?!” Eri cried out. “Okay, okay.” Jiro said as she headed out the chamber with her friends, with Tokoyami and Hakagure following behind. “Oh, and by the way, Nighteye- make sure they don’t. Come. Back.” Wolfram commanded the guitar. “Yes! I’m going!” Nighteye said, hopping out the door. The plan was being set in action...

#batb AU #mha #my hero academia #fanfic #1-a #the enchanted christmas #9 days to christmas...#and two more chapters to go!#Hope you enjoy the story!

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ollieofthebeholder · 5 years ago

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If I Knew From the Start

Also on AO3.

It's been a couple weeks since Armageddoff, and things are almost back to normal. Almost.

Certainly Crowley is spending more time at the bookstore than he used to, and Aziraphale's been over to the flat more often than he had before, i.e. ever. They're a bit more comfortable, a bit freer to communicate, now that they don't have the specter of their respective departments hanging over their heads. Some nights Crowley doesn't go back to his place at all. It's a new normal, but a normal that's barely to the side of the normal they had before.

Crowley is still pining, by the way. He thought for a brief moment, during what they thought was the end of the world...but it turns out that was probably just him projecting and it's back to what it was before. Except now it's a bit worse, because now he's got to face up to the fact that this really is one-sided, that it's not just fear of what Heaven will do that's keeping Aziraphale from saying that he feels the same way. Aziraphale really doesn't feel that way and it's not fair, but honestly, the way the last six thousand years or so have gone Crowley can't be surprised. The universe is stacked against him and it doesn't matter what cards he's holding, the universe has all trumps.

Still, he's a glutton for punishment. Or maybe he's just willing to take whatever he can get. He'd rather have Aziraphale in his life as nothing more than a friend than not have him at all, so here he is in the bookstore, sprawled across a chair and watching the rain lash at the windows.

Crowley hates storms. At least rainstorms. He's never said anything to Aziraphale, but they always remind him of the storm, the one that led to the Great Flood, and that's something that still haunts him. He shifts restlessly in his seat, fidgets with the stem of his wine glass, debates nudging Aziraphale with his toes to get some kind of reaction out of the angel, and finally gets up to go poke through something he shouldn't touch.

Aziraphale looks at him briefly over the tops of his glasses as he ambles over to a table in the back, well away from the windows, although that's absolutely not why he's heading that way. “What are you up to, dear?”

Crowley gestures vaguely at the old-fashioned Victrola and the box next to it, both pristine and virtually untouched. “I'd like to listen to something other than Queen for a change.”

“I thought you liked Queen.”

“I do, but—you wouldn't want to only read one book all the time, would you?” Crowley points to the book in Aziraphale's hand. “Imagine if any book you left in your office for more than two weeks turned into—into—into something by that Christie woman.”

Aziraphale purses his lips thoughtfully. “I do like her works,” he says slowly. “But a constant diet of them—” He shakes his head and gestures vaguely at the box. “Please yourself.”

Crowley smirks. Usually, getting permission to do something he's planning to do out of mischief takes some of the fun out of it, but somehow, he likes knowing that Aziraphale isn't possessive about his things, or at least doesn't mind him touching them. He begins flicking through the neatly-stacked cardboard sleeves.

It's more or less what Crowley would have expected. Bach, Handel, Mozart, a little Debussy, something with a red cover that shows a silhouette of what looks like two people dancing on the beach that Crowley skips over hurriedly because he can only take so much torture in a single day, three or four Christmas albums, and—wait, this is odd.

He stops at an album that looks very different than the others. It's black, mostly, with what looks like a checkerboard falling to pieces—no, he realizes, glancing at the album title, not a checkerboard. A chessboard. Same thing, technically, but it's got a different feel to it.

“What's this, then?” he asks, pulling it out.

There's a pause just long enough to be noticeable. Crowley looks over his shoulder to see Aziraphale staring at the album. He can't read the look on his face, and that's a bit disconcerting, because usually his angel wears his heart on his sleeve.

“A rock opera,” he says at last.

Crowley remembers now. He saw the posters hanging up in the West End, actually considered asking Aziraphale if he wanted to go see it (It's opera, which you like, and it's rock, which I like, which means there's a fifty-fifty chance of us both liking it. Or both hating it. Want to take bets? Loser buys dinner), but the week it opened Aziraphale was awfully quiet and distant and he let the idea go. He never ended up seeing it. Going to the movies by himself is fine, especially since Aziraphale's never quite got the hang of them, but the theater? He can't do that alone.

“Just bought it because it says opera, eh?” Crowley turns the album over to squint at the track list.

Aziraphale clears his throat. “No...well, I went to see it. On opening night, actually. I thought...well, I do like opera, and you're a fan of—of rock music, so I thought I would see if it might be something we could both enjoy.”

Crowley stills. The fact that they'd both had the same thought almost makes him hope...but no, he tells himself firmly, he won't go down that road again. Not today. His heart can't take it. “Reckon it wasn't, then, since you never mentioned it to me.”

“No,” Aziraphale says, almost as if to himself. Crowley's about to say something else when Aziraphale continues, “I'm sure you'd have loved it, dear, but I—I didn't think I could watch it with you and not...I wasn't ready for a second viewing, and then it wasn't playing anymore and...” He waves his hands vaguely, conveying everything and nothing in that maddening way of his.

Crowley hesitates for a moment, then decides, to hell with it. (Possibly, although hopefully not, literally.) Aziraphale obviously enjoyed seeing it enough to buy the soundtrack. And if he thinks Crowley will like it, he's probably not wrong; he hasn't been wrong often in their acquaintance. He slips the first disc from its sleeve and pops it into the Victrola.

“What's it about, anyway?” he asks idly as the overture begins and he settles onto a chair—one closer to the music (and further from the window) than the one he was in before.

Again, there's that short pause, and Crowley looks up to see that indescribable look on Aziraphale's face.

“Chess,” he says shortly.

Which...it is. It's in English (obviously) and since it's an opera, the whole story is in the singing, they don't have to piece together bits left out in dialogue like they would with the soundtrack to a musical, so Crowley can follow the plot well enough. A chess prodigy from America, facing off against a champion from the USSR during the Cold War. It's upbeat and catchy, at least at first.

He finds himself identifying more than he'd like with the Russian character. He seems to be trapped in a situation he'd rather not be part of, like he enjoys playing chess but wishes he didn't have to do it for his government. Crowley can empathize with that.

“How long was this running, anyway?” he asks idly as they hit the end of the first side and he gets up to flip it over.

“Three years, I believe,” Aziraphale replies. He doesn't look up from his book. Must be pretty good, for him to be that intent on it. “It had a run on Broadway as well, but I hear they changed it substantially for that.”

“This is the original, though.”

“Well, it's the concept album. The actual musical had the songs in a different order. But yes, it's the original cast.”

Crowley settles back down for the rest of the first half—he's pretty sure Act One is on this disc and Act Two is on the other, that's how these things usually go—but then the woman who's been trying to ride herd on the American begins her solo and the lyrics grab Crowley's attention.

Maybe I'm on nobody's side...

He sits up straighter and listens intently. She might be singing about herself, her situation, but Crowley hears himself arguing with Aziraphale, trying to convince him to run away, to avoid the entire Apocalypse situation. To acknowledge that they don't have to decide between Heaven and Hell, that both sides are horrifying and it's the two of them that matter. Or maybe not. Maybe it's more that the woman is trying to convince herself to choose.

Like Aziraphale might have done after their argument.

He forces himself to sound casual as the music shifts to another song, mostly instrumental. “Whose idea was that anyway?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looks up from his book. He schools his emotions as he does so, but not quickly enough, and Crowley catches the glimpse of pain. He wants to ask about it, but backs down, a coward as usual. At least when it comes to this.

“The USSR,” he says instead. “Communism. All that nonsense. Was it m—you think it was Hell who came up with the idea, or did humanity do that on its own?”

Aziraphale doesn't answer for a moment, but that look of pain comes back and stays this time, and Crowley wonders if he actually changed the subject all that well. “It—actually, I think Michael got a commendation for that. At first. I mean, it sounds wonderful, doesn't it? Everyone equal, everyone cared for, no one better than anyone else? It's exactly the sort of thing She wanted. Until, of course, they denounced all religion and...well.” He sighs heavily. “Humans have always got to take everything just that bit too far, haven't they.” It's not really a question.

“Yeah,” Crowley says softly. He wants to smooth out the frown wrinkling Aziraphale's forehead, to kiss away the pain in his eyes, to hold and comfort him. But he also knows Aziraphale will fuss at him about it, so he doesn't.

The next song is a duet between the Russian and the woman—Florence, if the album is to be believed—and Crowley finds himself falling into it. He doesn't say anything else, too wrapped up in the music as Florence fights with the American and quits. There's a funny interlude as people who apparently work at an embassy of some kind fuss over the Russian's paperwork, and then a surprisingly heartfelt song where the Russian insists he's not leaving his country behind because my land's only borders lie around my heart, and then the needle clicks as the disc ends.

Partly out of morbid curiosity and partly because he can't just leave it there, Crowley gets up and lifts the record off the Victrola, then pulls out the second disc. To his surprise, it shows more signs of wear than the other. It's still in nearly pristine condition, of course—Aziraphale's always been careful with his things, even more so than Crowley who mostly keeps things together by force of will—but still, there are a few scratches, the normal sort of thing you find on vinyl records that have been listened to more often than not.

“You're supposed to listen to the whole musical, angel, not just one act,” Crowley chides as he checks the sides and puts the correct one face up.

Aziraphale mumbles something, but he doesn't look up from his book. Crowley decides not to ask and instead simply starts the record.

The first song is...nothing like the sort of thing Aziraphale usually listens to. It's almost more hip-hop than rock, and Crowley's not sure he likes it, although he does note that the last line of the chorus alternates between I can feel an angel sliding up to me and I can feel the devil walking next to me. Interesting.

The next song is slower, with more piano, sounding almost like something Bette Midler might've sung. Crowley stills as the lyrics begin, and he almost stops breathing altogether when he hears something soft and barely audible underneath the music.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale is singing along to Florence's solo.

Heaven help my heart...

Desperately, Crowley tries to focus on the song. It sounds like Florence and the Russian are having an affair, and Florence is already fearing that he won't love her once she no longer has any mysteries for him to solve. It's almost like pre-heartbreak. And Aziraphale seems to identify with it.

He swallows hard when it ends, but doesn't dare look over at Aziraphale. He guesses the angel has listened to this album more than a few times, and has most of the songs memorized. Still, Crowley can't help but notice that he's not singing along to the argument Florence has with the Russian afterwards. Maybe it's just too hard for him to follow.

Then the next song starts up, and oh, hell, Crowley knows this one. He knows it. It made the Top Ten lists on the radio in the mid-eighties. The first time he heard it, he almost wrecked the Bentley, and he cried for almost twelve minutes straight after it finished and never admitted it to anyone. For about the next two weeks, it was the only song that ever played on any radio station he tried to listen to, thus reaffirming Crowley's long-held theory that the universe is out to get him specifically.

He sits up, holding his breath so he won't say anything stupid, as the words start. Then his brain catches up to the fact that it's not just the record playing and he turns his head sharply. Aziraphale isn't reading his book anymore. He's on his feet, head bowed as he fixes himself another cup of cocoa, and he's singing along softly to the music.

Crowley has to look away.

The music is horribly unfair. It's a duet, between two women, and now that he's been listening to the whole soundtrack he can identify the singer of the first verse as Florence, and he can also guess that she's talking about the Russian. Crowley finds himself whispering along with the second part when the song hits the first chorus and the actual duet starts.

And then the second verse starts, and Crowley can't help himself. He's always identified with that part, and he memorized it even though he didn't mean to, so he sings along, huddled in his chair with his knees pressed to his chest, eyes closed as he thinks back, or more like overthinks, on the last six thousand years. On Eden and Mesopotamia and Golgotha, on Rome and Turkey and Paris. On all those years of knowing, or at least suspecting, that he was the only one feeling this way. The line towards the end of the verse, where the woman says she'd have learned about the man before I fell, has always been darkly ironic to him.

Looking back, sure, he could have played it differently. But would he have?

He loses track of the rest of the world, wrapped up as he is in the song and the way it makes him feel. It is madness, utter madness, that he can't be mine...

He suddenly becomes aware of the music getting closer, and he looks up and makes eye contact with Aziraphale, who's right there all of a sudden, and both of them forget to sing the last line.

I know him so well...

Aziraphale's eyes are wide and soft with all kinds of emotion Crowley can't quite figure out, and they're extremely wet. He's staring at Crowley like he's seeing him for the first time, his hand hovering inches from Crowley's arm. Crowley desperately wants to close that gap, but he can't bring himself to do it, especially as he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice small and filled with pain, and Crowley responds to that pain because nothing in him says to do anything else. He untangles his arms from around his knees and reaches up to take Aziraphale's hand like he wanted to do before, and they clutch each other's hands in a way they haven't since the moment they realized they were about to face one of the few beings in the universe with the ability to destroy them both and everything they hold dear. The moment Crowley knew, with utter certainty, that Aziraphale is at the top of that list and let himself hope he was at the top of Aziraphale's.

“Angel,” he whispers, and he's not sure what he's trying to say with it, but he knows it doesn't come out right and he's not sure how to fix it.

Aziraphale licks his lips and shakes his head slowly, not really in denial of what Crowley's saying or trying to say, he thinks, just clearing it a little. “I...that's why I didn't ask you to go,” he says softly. “I couldn't...I didn't think I could sit next to you during that song and not...” He bites his lip and doesn't finish.

“You remember—” Crowley begins, and then he stops, because he's pretty sure Aziraphale doesn't remember. Why would he, after all? But Aziraphale is looking at him again, and Crowley decides to just go with it. He plunges ahead. “Do you remember—there was a while where I refused to listen to the radio, where I'd turn it off as soon as we got in the Bentley?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies, surprising Crowley. “You got very...grumpy when I asked about it. I thought I'd done something wrong, but...well, that wasn't long after I saw the play, and I'm afraid I wasn't entirely myself.”

Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale's hand before he can stop himself, then eases back so he doesn't hurt him. “No, you didn't. It's just—that song was on the radio constantly, every bloody time I turned the thing on, and I couldn't—I had a hard enough time dealing with it on my own and I definitely couldn't have handled it if you'd been sitting there.” He pauses. “Didn't realize it was from a musical, though.”

Aziraphale nods slowly. There's a vacant look in his eyes. “It's...I know in the context of the show, they're both singing about Anatoly. The Russian. Florence is his mistress and Svetlana is his wife. But I—the first time I heard it, all I could think about was—” He breaks off and looks away, and his hand slides out of Crowley's.

Crowley lets him go, although he doesn't want to. Something about this moment feels important, like he's just missing something. But he's following Aziraphale's lead, like he always has, letting him set the pace of things. Any time he tries to rush things, he ends up inevitably disappointed.

He ends up disappointed when he doesn't rush things, too, but at least then it's not his fault.

The music is still playing, and it sounds like there's an argument going on. Crowley forces himself to tune back into it, partly to distract himself from saying something stupid to Aziraphale and partly because now he needs to know how this thing ends, and it sounds like someone's trying to make a deal of some kind. In a voice that suddenly feels rusty, he asks, “What are they trying to do now?”

“They want Anatoly to throw the chess match,” Aziraphale says quietly. “He's defected—he's playing for the United States now—and they're trying to convince him to lose on purpose.”

“Why would he agree to that?” Crowley demands.

Aziraphale pauses. Crowley looks back at him and suddenly realizes that he hasn't gone anywhere—he's still crouching in front of Crowley's chair, one hand resting lightly on the arm, looking down at the floor.

“They're baiting him,” he says at last. “Florence's father was...he was captured by the Russians when she was a child. They tell him—and her, come to think of it—that if Anatoly loses the match and goes back to Russia, they'll set her father free. They think he might lose for her sake.”

Crowley swallows hard. “He will, of course.”

But Aziraphale shakes his head, firmly. “Never. Florence won't let him, for one thing. The game is more important to either of them than either of their...'sides'. And quite apart from that, he doesn't trust the Russians enough to accept a deal with them.” He looks up at Crowley with a sad smile. “After all, a deal with the devil only benefits the devil.”

Crowley knows that only too well. He wants to reach for Aziraphale's hand again, especially as the American starts singing about his terrible childhood. Instead, he swallows and tries for nonchalant. “So he stands up to the Russians, wins the match, gets the girl...”

“He wins, certainly,” Aziraphale agrees. His eyes slide away from Crowley's.

Suddenly, Crowley remembers a cartoon rabbit dramatically draped in the arms of a metal-clad hunter, raising his head to look briefly at the screen. What did you expect in an opera, a happy ending?

They sit silently through the next bit. It's obviously the final chess game, and there's a lot of arguing going on and some names being mentioned, and then the light, tinkling music that Crowley assumes is the actual game being played. After a few minutes, the Russian starts singing again, and Crowley finds himself empathizing with him once more. He glances at Aziraphale and finds that he really hopes he's wrong about how it ends, because if Aziraphale is Florence and he's the Russian...

And then the Russian and Florence begin singing a duet, and Crowley chokes back a sob, because the heartbreak is unmistakable even before they get to the chorus. But we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings...

“Is he—he's going back to Russia, isn't he,” he says softly. It's not a question.

“Florence convinces him that it's where he belongs,” Aziraphale says, and his voice isn't any louder. “With his wife and children. But...”

He breaks off as the next line sings out: both the Russian and Florence claiming they're still devoted to this affair. It's the worst kind of heartbreak—both of them still loving each other, but forcing themselves to give one another up for the other's good. Aziraphale closes his eyes.

“S'ppose I can understand that,” Crowley says. He hates it, but he can understand it.

“You can,” Aziraphale says flatly.

Crowley nods slowly, his mind only half on the present and half on the past—the fairly recent past, but still the past. “If we hadn't known both sides were coming for us—if it'd just been Hell coming for me—I'd have gone back to them and let them do what they wanted, so long as they promised to let you alone. So I reckon I'd have given it up, if it meant you'd be happy.”

Aziraphale looks up sharply, and the combination of fear and anguish in his eyes would knock Crowley back a step or two if he was standing. As it is, he flinches back against the chair in surprise. There's a hitch in Aziraphale's voice as he asks, “And what makes you think I'd—my dear boy, they'd have destroyed you utterly. And you think I could have been happy if—?” He breaks off and looks away, but not before Crowley sees the glint of tears in his eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley begins, reaching for his hand, and then he suddenly realizes why it's not working and says, “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looks back up, his face open and vulnerable, and he meets Crowley's hand halfway and holds it tightly. “Crowley,” he whispers.

In his name, Crowley hears everything he's wanted to hear for years, everything he thought he'd never hear, and he sees it in Aziraphale's eyes and feels it in his touch, and he grips his hand like a lifeline. He really doesn't think he's imagining it this time, but there's still the whisper of doubt in the back of his mind—the part of him that thinks he doesn't deserve it to be true.

“What if they'd given you a concession, too?” he asks. “Like Florence. If they told you they wouldn't hurt me, that I just wouldn't be allowed back—would you have let me go then? If it meant we were both safe?”

“No,” Aziraphale says, promptly and decidedly, startling Crowley. “Absolutely not. After what happened that day? I wouldn't have agreed to let you walk away from me if it was the only way to save the rest of the world.”

Crowley blinks at Aziraphale, because that's absolutely not something he'd ever expect to hear from the angel. “I thought you angels were supposed to be for the good of humanity or whatever.”

Aziraphale's lips tighten briefly. “First of all, most of the angels are no more for the good of humanity than most demons are. They're for the good of Heaven, and if that just so happens to be good for humans, fine, but if not, I doubt Michael or Gabriel would lose much sleep over that, so to speak. And second, while I am for the good of humanity...” His expression softens, and he tightens his grip on Crowley's hand. “I'm also very, unabashedly selfish. And up to that point, I had always convinced myself that I had time, that there was no need to upset the Arrangement, that everything was going along fine. And then, suddenly, it wasn't, and the end was coming, and I almost lost you. I told myself that if we survived that, I wasn't going to waste another minute.” He sighs. “And then I've rather wasted a lot of them, I'm afraid.”

The record clicks off and the shop goes silent, except for the rain, which Crowley's still trying to ignore. He tries to think what Aziraphale might consider wasting time. “Why, what do you think you ought to have been doing with them then?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He gets up off of his knees and lets go of Crowley's hand, but in the split second between losing the contact and Crowley's panic starting, he leans over and braces himself against the armchair, one hand on each arm, and bends down so that his face is level with Crowley's. Very deliberately, he reaches up and pulls Crowley's dark glasses off of his face and sets them on the table next to him without taking his eyes away, so there's nothing between blue eyes and yellow. Crowley ought to be anxious about losing that filter, about being so open and vulnerable, but it's Aziraphale, the one being he's always wanted to let himself be vulnerable around but never thought he could.

“I ought to have told you the moment the world didn't end that I love you,” he says.

“Ngk,” Crowley replies, which isn't really an answer, but his brain has just short-circuited. He's been dreaming of a moment like this for centuries—millennia, really—but he's always expected it to be more dramatic, more like in the movies. And more to the point, he's always assumed he would be the one to say it. He's never really expected Aziraphale to say it back, except in his wildest fantasies.

“I don't know if you ever knew,” Aziraphale continues. “Certainly I went out of my way not to let you know, but...honestly, Crowley, you're so intelligent, I rather thought you'd figure it out sooner or later. Still, I ought to have told you sooner, and I hope you can forgive me for not.”

“You—wait!” Crowley flails a little, more mentally than physically, but he also doesn't break eye contact with Aziraphale. “I—I honestly had no idea, angel, I thought you—you don't mean that, do you?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says. “With everything I have in me. I love you, Anthony J. Crowley. I've loved you since I saw you on the ark, surrounded by children and trying to pretend you were just thwarting the Plan. I loved you at Golgotha and I loved you in Rome and I loved you in Paris. I loved you when we first came to London and I loved you during the Blitz and I loved you in the Dowlings' garden. I loved you two weeks ago and I love you now, Crowley, and I will love you long after the world stops turning and the final battle does come about.”

Crowley tries to come up with an excuse for all of this, another explanation besides reciprocation of the feelings he's always believed were one-sided. The thing is, he can't. For as smart as Aziraphale seems to think he is, he cannot for the life of him come up with a single reason why Aziraphale might not mean exactly what he's saying, except for the sheer, inescapable fact that nothing good ever happens to Crowley. He stares at Aziraphale, mouth hanging open slightly, at a total loss for words.

Aziraphale stares back. There are a few emotions on his face and Crowley can't quite read any of them, at first. After a moment, though, he recognizes one of them.

Fear.

Oh. Oh. No, that isn't happening. Not on Crowley's watch. Not now, not when he has this chance. He won't blow it like he's blown everything else.

“I love you, too,” he blurts out. “I think I've loved you from the beginning, really, from that moment at the Garden wall when you said you'd given up your sword, but I didn't really realize it until later, I thought—I don't know what I thought, but it's been there, all these centuries, and I—I thought it was just me or I'd've said something sooner and—”

“—And I'd have hurt you dreadfully by pretending I didn't love you, so perhaps it's best that you didn't, sweetheart,” Aziraphale breaks in gently.

Crowley gets hung up on the sweetheart for a minute, so it takes him a bit to catch up with what Aziraphale actually said before that word. “You were pretending that anyway,” he accuses.

“Yes, but so long as I didn't say it...” Aziraphale sighs. “It took me longer than I'd like to admit to realize you felt this way, too. Once I did, I rather hoped you knew how I felt but were sensible enough to keep things quiet.”

“So you wouldn't be seen to be consorting with a demon,” Crowley guesses. Heaven's always been so sanctimonious, and so bloody smug about it. Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, but he still bought into all that nonsense a lot longer than someone as intelligent as he is ought to have.

Aziraphale takes Crowley's hands in his and straightens, pulling him to his feet as he does so, and they stand toe-to-toe, facing one another, holding hands in a way Crowley's always wanted. He so rarely gets to touch Aziraphale and he's wanted it for centuries, and now here they are. He relaxes into it, even though he's dreading what's coming next. Aziraphale's eyes are so serious as they bore into Crowley's.

“Crowley,” he says quietly, “do you know what Heaven would have done if they had known?”

“They'd have kept us apart,” Crowley says. He's thought of very little else. “Called you back Upstairs. Like they tried that one time, back in the 1800s. You remember?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, and Crowley's going to describe the incident in more detail when Aziraphale says, “No, nothing like that. I was never worried about what they would do to me. Much, anyway. But you...Crowley, they'd have accused you of seducing me. Tempting me away from righteousness or some nonsense like that. That's not something they would have ever forgiven. So I kept it to myself, and I thought...well, the Arrangement worked well, neither of us got bothered very much, so they certainly wouldn't think we were friends and I could at least keep you in my life. And then I realized you felt the same, and I...I got frightened. Because I know well enough that if you ever said it out loud...”

“Heaven would know,” Crowley completes.

“And so would Hell.”

Crowley hisses. “I'd never have let them touch you.” The very idea of it makes his blood boil. Crowley would fight a lot worse than the forces of Hell for Aziraphale.

“It wasn't me they'd have come for,” Aziraphale says softly, and Crowley remembers again just how intelligent the angel really is—and how intuitive. “Heaven would have seen you doing what demons do—tempting and leading astray—and punished you for targeting an angel. Hell would have seen you getting distracted, going soft. They'd have gone after you, dearest, not me. And the very thought terrified me beyond reason. Hell would have destroyed you utterly, but Heaven would have made you suffer first.”

Crowley shudders, remembering the look on Michael's face, the punishment he'd had in store for Aziraphale. He was able to stand up to it because he was doing it for Aziraphale—and because he knew that it wouldn't hurt him really—but the look of contempt and sadistic glee still haunts him. That expression didn't belong to someone big on mercy.

“Either way, wouldn't have been good,” he manages. “For me, at any rate.”

“Or for me. I never would have forgiven myself if I'd been the reason something happened to you. And I wouldn't have been able to survive without you.” Aziraphale tightens his grip on Crowley's hands. “After six thousand years...I cannot lose you, Crowley.”

Crowley's chest constricts, and it's hard for him to catch his breath. He never expected to hear such a heartfelt declaration from his angel—can he actually say that now, his angel? Yes, he supposes he can. That's what all this is boiling down to, isn't it? Aziraphale loves him. He loves Aziraphale. That makes Aziraphale his. And—he'd swallow if he had the air to do it—it makes him Aziraphale's in return.

Aziraphale looks at him for a moment, his expression as serious as Crowley's ever seen it. Finally, he says, “I would very much like to kiss you now, dearest, if you'll let me.”

What Crowley wants to say is I would very much like to kiss you back. What he wants to say is I've been wanting that for at least five millennia. What he wants to say is What are you waiting for?

What he actually says is, “Wg.”

His eyes must convey what he wants to say, though, because Aziraphale lets go of his hands and cups his face gently and tilts it towards him, and Crowley closes his eyes and oh...

The touch of Aziraphale's lips against his is everything he's imagined and more. They're soft and warm and pliant, like the rest of him, and so gentle and tender. Crowley finds himself grabbing desperately at the lapels of Aziraphale's jacket, frantic for something to hold onto lest he find himself floating away into space. Aziraphale slides one hand to the back of Crowley's head, threading it through his hair, and shifts the angle.

Crowley whimpers slightly, and Aziraphale evidently takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, which it absolutely would have been if Crowley had known before this moment that was possible. He gasps and tightens his grip on Aziraphale, then melts under the combination of heat and tenderness the angel is pouring into their kiss.

When at last Aziraphale breaks away—slowly, ever so slowly—Crowley finds himself gasping for air and reluctant to open his eyes. He's also vaguely aware that he's trembling all over.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale sounds worried. “Are you all right, dearest?”

“Fine,” Crowley manages, and it's only partly a lie. He's better than fine, actually, he feels fantastic, but at the same time he feels open and vulnerable and known for the first time since he became a demon, and it's a bit much to handle. He forces his eyes open and tries to smile, but he's still a little shaky. “Is it always like that?”

“Is it—have you never kissed anyone before?” Aziraphale asks, obviously startled.

Crowley wonders, for a brief moment, if he wants to be able to say yes, of course I have, or if he should want that. Instead, he decides to be honest. “No. Never wanted to, really.” He hesitates. “Well, except you.”

He sees Aziraphale's expression, interprets it as shock or disbelief or skepticism or some combination of all three, and he does what he often does in these situations: babble. “I know, I know, it's proper demonic activity and all that rot, seducing and luring with sexual wiles and whatnot, but that's not me, angel, that's never been how I work. And I never met anyone that seemed worth wanting to kiss. Never met anyone who was a patch on you, and that's the big thing, I think, is that I compared every person who ever even flirted with me to you—”

“Been that many, then?” Aziraphale interrupts, and Crowley misses the flash in his eyes.

“Yeah, a few,” he says distractedly. “Mostly before we came to England for good, but one or two since then. Parts of the city get a bit—”

He's cut off abruptly by Aziraphale tugging him sharply forward and kissing him again. It's not like the first time at all. Crowley can feel all the emotions in it: passion and a bit of lust and a hefty dose of what feels like possessiveness, and all he can really do is hold on and ride the tide of heat. In a distant part of his mind, he registers that he's being claimed, that Aziraphale is staking his territory and damn anyone who says otherwise. It occurs to him, with a rush of surprise, that Aziraphale might be jealous, even though he's got no reason to be.

He's panting for air when Aziraphale finally lets him up, and he's definitely shaking again. “Yeah, okay, that answers that question then,” he says, a bit dizzy.

Aziraphale, damn him, smirks, rubbing his thumb against Crowley's cheekbone. “I've admittedly had a bit of practice. I'll be happy to show you.”

Crowley definitely feels jealous himself at the thought of the angel kissing anyone else like that. It must show in his face, because Aziraphale's expression softens, and he plants a brief, gentle kiss on the corner of Crowley's mouth. “Only once or twice, while you were taking that long nap of yours. I...I think I was trying to banish the memory of the way I treated you.”

“'S not your fault,” Crowley protests. Now that he knows how Aziraphale's always felt about him—and that Aziraphale knew how he felt in return—a lot of things make more sense. “You know I've never looked at anyone but you, yeah?”

Aziraphale blushes. It's unfairly adorable. “Crowley,” he murmurs. “Will you stay?”

Crowley's heart flutters, and he clutches Aziraphale a little tighter. He's never wanted anything more. “As long as you like, angel.”

“Forever,” Aziraphale whispers.

At that single word, something inside of Crowley rights itself and snaps into place. For the first time in six thousand years, he's right where he belongs. He's home.

“Yes, Aziraphale,” he whispers back, wrapping his arms around the angel's neck and pressing his face into his shoulder. “And even longer.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #azicrow #ollie writes fanfic

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Someone Special - Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 3)

Part 2

The Next Day

When you woke up the next morning, you made yourself a cup of tea and picked up your guitar. You started strumming the chords you had previously wrote down. After a few minutes of playing, you grabbed your notebook. At first, you got that blank stare feeling, but the next thing you knew your hand took the pen to paper and you started writing.

A good half hour or so later, you had an entire skeleton of a song finished. Something you hadn’t had in weeks. Hm, maybe the scenery change was working. Once you were happy with what you had for the song, you decided you would get ready to head out for some breakfast. As you showered, your thoughts went back to last night and what you were doing.

You still couldn’t believe you spent hours with someone you had just met in a bar in the middle of the night. However, what you couldn’t believe even more was that you actually had a great time. Honestly, you didn’t know why you are questioning yourself with it. Just because you were enjoying his company, and getting know him, didn’t mean anything romantic would happen. You had plenty of friends that were men, so why would this be any different.

That was it. You were just getting know someone as a friend. You got out of the shower, drying off, and getting dressed. You dried your hair and put on just a little bit of makeup before heading out to the cafe a few blocks away. When you sat down with your food, you looked at your phone to catch up on what you might have missed. And missed something you did.

A text from Harry.

Hi. Hope you’re having a wonderful morning. I wanted to see if you’d maybe want to go out for coffee or ice cream tonight after rehearsals. I was thinking you could give me some more pointers on being host and all.

You read over the text a few times. Again, you weren’t sure what to think, but given what you told yourself just a little bit ago. Of course, you don’t know why your brain kept even second guessing over it when you literally just met him and there was not even a hint of romantic indication from him, so you were literally just overreaching here.

Now, what makes you think I’d share my secrets with you, but I’ll take you up on the ice cream though. ;)

You placed your phone back on the table while you finished up your breakfast. Harry didn’t respond to your text until you had already made your way to central park.

Because as a veteran host, you’d love nothing more than to help a newbie out. And plus, I’m sure after a few bites of ice cream I can get them out of you.

You laughed.

What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?

Honestly, no fucking clue. It sounded better in my head.

Hahaha.

Since you’re interested in getting ice cream, I get out of rehearsals around eightish. You could meet me at the studio and we could go from there?

Yeah, sounds good. See you then.

Harry finished reading your reply before putting his phone back into his pocket as he looked over the script for the next skit they would be rehearsing.

“How was the show last night?” Jeff asked sitting next to him.

“Oh, it was great,” he answered.

He nodded, “Want to get dinner after rehearsals?”

“Um, actually, I’ve got plans,” Harry said looking up.

“You do?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m meeting someone,” he said.

“Interesting,” Jeff stated.

“Just go ahead and say it,” Harry groaned.

“Say what?” Jeff asked.

“Asking me who it is,” he said.

“You act like I’m trying to pry,” he rolled his eyes.

“Well, you kinda are,” Harry said. “But if you must know it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? Like, Y/N, Y/N?” Jeff asked.

“That one,” Harry nodded.

“Since when is this a thing?” Jeff asked.

“It’s not really a thing,” Harry said. “We were at the same show last night and we met afterward. We went out for a drink and I enjoy talking to her, so we’re going to get ice cream.”

“Aww, that’s so fucking cute,” Jeff smirked.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date besides I literally just met the girl.”

“And you’re already seeing her again... and it’s been what not even twelve hours?” Jeff asked. “You’ve got an infatuation.”

“I do not,” Harry scoffed. “Besides, even if I did, I wouldn’t act on it. You know I’m not focusing on that anytime soon. I’ve got other things to worry about.”

“I know, I know,” Jeff said. “But if this does end up being something you want to pursue, don’t let that stop you from being happy.”

“Again, I’ve only met her last night, so don’t go and plan a wedding anytime soon, yeah?” Harry said.

By the time you made it to the studio, Harry was walking out of the doors, right on time.

“Oh, hey,” he smiled. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” you laughed. “How did today go?”

“It went great,” he smiled. “I think it’s going to be a really fun show.”

“I’m sure it will be,” you smiled.

“Ready to go get some ice cream?” He asked.

“More than ready,” you joked.

He laughed and you both headed down the street.

“How was your day?” Harry asked looking over at you as you walked.

“It was productive,” you smiled. “I woke up and wrote a song. It just sort of poured out onto the paper and then I had breakfast and went for a walk around central park before going back to the hotel. And now I’m here.”

“That’s amazing you wrote something,” he said. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. “I feel really good about it. I’ll feel even better about it once I get in the studio and get it recorded it.”

Harry opened the door to the ice cream shop when you two had arrived. You smiled walking in first as he followed behind you.

“Wow, so many choices,” you said looking a the rows of ice cream through the glass.

“Let me guess... your favorite is rocky road or strawberry?” He asked.

“False,” you laughed. “My favorites differ on what mood I’m in, but neither of them are ever options. But tonight I’m feeling cookies ‘n cream.”

“That was my next guess,” he pointed out.

“I’m sure it was” you smirked. “Let me guess, mint chocolate chip?”

“How’d you know?” He asked.

“Just a hunch,” you smirked.

He laughed before you both ordered and took a seat at a table.

“Now, about those tips,” Harry smirked after a few bites of ice cream.

“I’m starting to feel a little used, is that what this about? You’re trying to learn my secrets?” You raised an eyebrow.

You were not expecting him to blush, “Oh, uh, no, not at all,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I was joking,” you laughed.

“Good, you had me worried for a second,” he laughed.

You laughed taking another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

Once you both were finished with your ice cream, it was still early enough that you two decided to have a walk around the city. You mostly chatted about random things, the normal getting to know you small talk with a few jokes added in. After walking for a bit, you felt a little chilly, so you both ducked into a coffee shop.

He ordered tea, while you ordered hot chocolate.

“Can I get that with a sprinkle of cinnamon?” you asked.

“Cinnamon?” Harry asked. “Interesting.”

“What? You’ve never had cinnamon in your hot chocolate?” You asked.

“Can’t say that I have?” He laughed.

“Well, you’re missing out,” you said.

“Am I though?” He joked.

“Yes, you are,” you said. “Here, have a taste.”

You held out your cup to him. He gave you a skeptical look before taking a quick sip.

“And?” You asked.

“Eh, it’s not bad, but it’s not great either,” he joked.

“Oh, whatever,” you laughed taking a sip of your own.

“So, you mentioned last night that your trying to make this Christmas more special and uh, better than last year,” Harry said. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, if you don’t want, but I’d love to hear what you’ve got planned.”

“Oh, um, it’s fine, to ask,” you said. “I uh, my boyfriend, well I guess technically my ex-boyfriend broke up with at Christmas Eve dinner. I stupidly thought he was going to propose.”

“I’m sorry, that’s uh, really wow,” he said looking over at you.

“Yeah, but that’s not even the worst part about it,” you said. “About a week or so later, I found out he had actually been cheating on me for at least two or three months before that. I saw he had liked this girl’s picture on instagram after we broke up and I clicked on her profile where I saw all these pictures of him and her together.”

“Okay, that’s really fucked up,” he said.

“Just a bit, yeah,” you sighed. “So, of course, I was constantly second guessing myself, blaming myself for being on tour and not really seeing the signs. I mean looking back at it now, or even a few months ago, he was distancing himself from the relationship, and I guess in a way so was I. I can’t believe the thought of us getting engaged even crossed my mind, to be honest.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s one of those in the moment, things,” he said. “Again, I’m really sorry that happened to you. I went through my own sort of breakup last year, but it was no where as serious as yours.”

“A breakup is a breakup, though isn’t it?” you asked. “It still sucks for a little bit of time, even if it’s for the best.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said sipping the last little bit of his tea as you two sat down on a bench in the park. “I’ve been through a lot of them over the years.”

“And they never get any easier, right?” You stated.

“Nope, but they do bring out some great songs,” he joked.

“Very true,” you laughed.

“Now, back to your Christmas plans,” he said.

“Oh, right,” you laughed. “Um, basically, I want to do all the cheesy Christmas things you see in all the movies, but I know it’s not all realistic. But what I’ve got written down is ice skating or skiing, decorating, Christmas movie marathons, Ugly Sweater parties, Christmas karaoke, Christmas with my family, etc...”

“You’ve got quite the list,” he laughed. “But you’ve failed to mention one thing on the list that’s always in cheesy Christmas movies...”

“And what’s that?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“The part where you meet some guy in a small town and you fall madly in love within like four days,” he joked.

“Right! That one,” you giggled. “Yeah, falling in love is not a priority on that list or any of my lists right now.”

“Same here,” he said. “I’ve got a lot on my plate coming up and it’s not like me falling in love or attempting to fall in love as every worked out anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly,” you said. “Shall we cheers to that then?”

“To what?” He laughed.

“To not falling in love this Christmas,” you said.

“I would, but I don't have any tea left,” he said shaking his empty cup.

“Oh, well, I still have a little of my not bad, but not great hot chocolate,” you laughed. “We could share the last bit.”

“Bloody hell, why not,” he laughed taking the lid off his cup for you to pour some of your drink in there.

You turned to face him on the bench and he did the same to you. You held out your cup and smiled, “Here’s to not falling in love this Christmas.”

“To not falling in love this Christmas,” he smiled bringing his cup to meet yours before both took a drink.

“So, still think the hot chocolate isn’t that great?” You asked when you both threw away your empty cups in a nearby trash bin.

“I think it’s growing on me actually,” he smiled.

“I knew it,” you smirked.

Due to it getting late, the two of you started heading back towards your hotel, laughing and enjoying your conversation along the way.

So, that toast to not falling in love? Who do you think will cave first? Or will they?

#One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles Imagines #12 Days of Christmas - Harry #Someone Special

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