#now i might not get to see taylor which like yeah whatever there are bigger problems in the world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marmolady · 3 years ago

Text

Homecoming: Part Three

Continued from PART ONE and PART TWO

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister, Variego

Summary: Endless Ending. It's the final leg of Taylor and Estela's journey; taking them to Northbridge and old friends... but leaving others behind.

Word Count: 5905

Chronology: After ’The New Taylor’ and ’A Ride to Remember’, sort of midway through ’Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

The echoey halls of the long-since abandoned Celestial rang with grunts and the deafening blows of metal against concrete, marble and glass. The figure of one Estela Montoya-- sledgehammer in hand-- emerged from the billowing clouds of dust, pausing her onslaught only to check in with her wife, who’d been exerting herself more than Estela was completely comfortable with.

Taylor stood up straight, panting, and wiped sweat from her brow. The slight tremble to her knees did not go unnoticed.

“Mi amor, I think you’re done.”

“Done?” Taylor heaved. “I’m no-- yeah, I’m done. I am officially….” She leaned against a wall, and let her baseball bat clatter to the fall. “I’m officially… all emotionally-released out.”

“I’m happy to hear that, cariña.” Estela put her free arm around Taylor, steadying her. “How about I pull up a chair for you so you can keep me company until I’m done?”

“I would like that a lot.”

Soon, Taylor was peacefully reclining on a deck chair brought from the poolside, and sipping a drink from a coconut, while Estela kept up her demolition crusade around her.

Taking down the old resort was a laborious process, one that had begun many months ago when the Catalysts first began stripping the hotel of anything that could be utilised in the small village that had become their sanctuary at the end of the world. Soon after Taylor, Estela, Jake, Grace and Aleister returned to the island, the resort had been gone over with a fine-toothed comb, with anything to be saved carefully removed for safe keeping. Now, what remained of the resort was ripe for a smashing, and once Iris had identified load-bearing structures to be careful of, the bare bones of the once grand Celestial was the site of a purge of a thousand pent-up emotions. There had never been any doubt to Taylor that such an opportunity for catharsis would do the world of good for Estela… but she hadn’t anticipated just how much she herself had needed to expel from her body in screaming blow after screaming blow. She could not begin to count how many times she’d closed her eyes and seen the people she loved murdered at the hands of Everett Rourke… to set fire to every last piece of trace of his awful smug face had the effect of leaving her feeling about ten tonnes lighter. It was everything she’d needed, and as she laid back and watched Estela smash through her own demons, she had to hope… this would be a corner turned for them both.

“Hey….”

Taylor turned her head, and grinned at the sight of Diego cautiously coming towards her.

“Hey!”

“There’s no, uh… debris flying around here is there?”

“Ha. I think you’re safe for now. Estela would have me in a hard-hat if there was any danger.”

Unable to argue with that logic, Diego sat down in the space Taylor made for him beside her.

“I’m just, you know… watching ‘Stel catharting.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Your eyes are bugging right out your head.”

Taylor shrugged and relaxed back in her chair, her gaze still following Estela as she flexed her muscles… which were on fine display beneath a thin tank top. “It’s a nice view; what of it?”

Diego chuckled. “Oh, nothing; nothing at all. Your face is just an absolute picture.”

Every now and then, Estela would glance over her shoulder, and-- sure enough-- Taylor would still be looking at her with the most ridiculous exaggerated heart eyes. God, how Estela loved that dork. Happy that Taylor was taking a well-earned rest, she could focus on her renewed onslaught; slamming into walls, structures… and any little thing that carried that cursed name.

A gargantuan crash had Estela rush to the vast kitchens. The air was thick with dust, already coating the once sparkling bench-tops.

“Grace?”

She needn’t have worried. The woman who emerged from the dust clouds carried a look of determined strength and fierce confidence.

Grace pulled down her earmuffs, her expression softening as she met eyes with Estela. “I didn’t scare you? I, um….” She chuckled bashfully. “I think I had something big and angry I had to get out my system… and it was a little bigger and angrier than I anticipated.”

Estela gave a small nod. “Fair. Things things can just… take over you.”

She knew from experience what that could do to a person. And she had an indelible mark upon her face to prove it.

“Well,” she said, “if you need to talk or anything… I’m maybe not the best at that kind of thing, but I’m here, okay?”

Grace smiled broadly, genuinely touched. “Thank you. And so you know, the offer extends the other way as well.”

It seemed pretty inevitable that old hurts are going to come up amidst all this releasing of pent-up emotion. Surrounded by support, it was a challenge that could be faced. Estela was certain that whatever poison bubbled to the surface, whatever old hurt took her by surprise, it would not be her burden to carry alone. She shook herself back into the zone, and in one fell swoop, took out the last support holding up the bar, which crumbled with a satisfying crack. It felt good. And so, she continued smashing out her demons… whilst remaining just close enough that she could run to Grace’s aid should she get in too deep.

Slowly but surely, Estela got back into her rhythm. Letting herself feel, and hurt… and then letting everything come pouring out.

With a guttural roar, she brought the hammer down hard. Again… and again. For everything Rourke had done…. For the hope for a safe future the bastard had dangled in front of Estela’s mother. For how callously he’d brutally ended that kind, intelligent, beautiful life, then turned around and talked of love. How even when his own demise was inevitable, the sadistic determination he’d had to make his last act the one of killing Taylor. For all those terrible nights Estela had been woken up by her poor wife screaming over deaths at his hands playing out before her, again and again. That demon had blighted every single person he touched. Lies… cruelty… and in his wake a bloody trail. Oh, but if he could see his precious Celestial now… that wicked smug satisfaction would be wiped clean off his disgusting face. Faster, harder, Estela threw herself behind every blow, letting out everything… the hatred gushing forth deep and profound, an all-encompassing whirl that her straining body could barely keep up with.

Her chest heaved. Her arms ached. As Estela watched the last rubble fall around her, a deep exhale took with her breath the emotional torment that had for so long existed in her like a sickness. She closed her eyes, and lay down the sledgehammer. She’d yelled her voice hoarse; her throat burned, and she had no screams left to yell. Slowly, panting heavily while tears and sweat still dripped from her face, she collected herself... taking in the sounds of water spraying from a burst pipe, and the aggressive grunts coming from the kitchen, where Grace was clearly still working through some stuff.

“Stupid… blasted… counter…!”

“Are you okay in there, Grace?”

There was a pause in the frustrated bellowing, then came the voice that seemed too absurdly gentle to have come from the very same person.

“I think I’ve discovered the limit to my own strength.”

Thinking she might as well lend a hand, Estela picked up her hammer and-- carefully maneuvering herself over the mess she’d wrought-- made her way back to the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Furball snuffling around through the debris-- more than likely, he’d come in with Fenix, who’d been following Taylor around. Estela gave a low whistle.

“Are you going to be helpful? I’m sure Grace will appreciate it.”

“Mrrp!” Furball cocked his head, looking worriedly at the tear-tracks upon Estela’s face. “Prr?”

Well, that’s kinda sweet. Estela knelt down and gave the little blue fox a reassuring scritch behind the ears, then pulled up her singlet to wipe her face. “It’s all right. I’m all right. Sometimes feeling things is good for you, you know?” Then she stood up, again all action. “Come on, then.”

“You’re, uh, having a little trouble, then?” she asked as she rounded the door.

Grace, taken by surprise, jumped about a foot in the air.

“Oh!” She laughed. “You just about gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry. I’ve been told I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad habit. I’ve had much worse surprises, I can tell you.” Grace tapped a sturdy steel counter with the hammer she’d been using to smash up the kitchen. “You caught me trying and failing to take out my feelings on this hapless counter. But it looks like even my feelings about my mother aren’t cutting the mustard-- and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t calculated the most efficient angle of attack.”

Estela couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “You do always think things through. Here,” she said, offering her heavy sledgehammer. “Between you, this baby, and Furball, I think you should be able to smash out a few more feelings.”

Grace took a moment to study her sister-in-law’s face, and it didn’t take long to ascertain that Estela wasn’t just doing fine… she looked really… very well. Lighter maybe. She grinned. This little foray into demolition had been exactly what the doctor ordered.

“I’ll certainly try.”

It was getting dark by the time Estela and Grace-- and Furball-- retreated back to the entrance foyer, ready to leave behind The Celestial for good. Aleister was having a nasty cut on his forehead seen to by Taylor, who had with her the miracle ointment made from the healing leaves.

This, Estela supposed, was what happened when you weren’t quite careful enough about where you directed a lifetime’s worth of anger. And exactly why she’d kept a close eye on Grace… some people just don’t have the competence to throw around a heavy bludgeon.

“Oh, Al, sweetheart!”

Estela forced herself not to roll her eyes, no matter how excessive the fuss. A bit of care and affection had done wonders for Aleister’s disposition, and she was not about to challenge it… especially when she was pretty sure she acted a damn fool herself when the love-goggles were on.

“I, uh,” he muttered, his cheeks pinkening with unmissable delight as Grace took him in her arms, “seem to have clocked myself about the head in an attempt at putting a poker through one of my father’s portraits. The mind boggles… how many images he needed of his own smug face in here….”

“I’m guessing Jake’s still off making sure we got them all?” The absence of the final member of the group had struck Estela-- the lack of snarky remarks and stupid nicknames was glaring. With his intended surrender to authorities looming, and along with it the inevitable facing up to Mike’s family, Jake would be feeling… a lot. If he needed space, his friends would give it, no questions asked.

Diego’s eyes were puffy, and Taylor’s soft with clear concern for her friend. But, of course, how could Diego be even remotely all right? That Estela was seeing him at all was something of a surprise; time with the one he loved was running out fast.

Perhaps he’d seen the question in her eyes, for he said; “I wanted to take one last look at the place before it’s all torn down.” He gave a weak laugh. “Take a moment to remember the poor fish from my beautiful old aquarium room… which became a lot less cool once they’d all gone belly-up. It now looks like Finding Nemo: The Horror Cut, and the smell is… pretty bad.”

“I could have told you that choosing a room with live decorations isn’t the best idea in an abandoned hotel.”

Aleister chuckled, giving his sister an appreciative glance. She might have been something of a brute, but he’d long since conceded that she did in fact hold a few of the family brain cells.

“Trust me,” Diego said, “I’m keeping it in mind for next time.”

It was a long and quiet trek back to Elyys’tel and Catalyst Village; each member of the group was lost in their own thoughts. Varyyn had only just made the journey himself-- he’d given his husband space to say goodbye to a piece of his life that he could never understand, but had returned for him. They strode side by side at the back of the pack… always touching. It was those little touches… the ones they both knew were always offered in a heartbeat, that would perhaps be missed most.

“Hey,” Taylor said gently, slowing so she could walk beside her best friend. “If you want to, you’re welcome to crash at our place tonight. I’m sure we can snag a mattress from someone else’s house so you’ve got plenty of snuggle space.”

“I don’t wanna disturb you, you know? You’d be just upstairs… and there will be crying. Besides, just camping out under the stars together… it might be nice.”

When they reached the village, Diego and Varyyn peeled off from the rest of the group, quietly settling on a secluded stretch of the cove where, for a time, it could be as though there were not a soul in the world but for the two of them.

“I feel like I’m wasting the time we have,” Diego mumbled guiltily. “You’re right here with me, and I can’t even make the most of it because it’s like I’m drowning in… in feeling sad.”

“We are together, my beloved,” Varyyn said gently. “That is, ‘the most’ of any time. The most there ever can be. You always give me the truth of you, and now, that is very, very sad.” He trailed off. “…As am I.”

Diego exhaled deeply, pressing himself against Varyyn’s larger frame and feeling safe. There was no shame in his emotions; he was understood, and cherished in all his raw edges. Varyyn had never asked for anything more of him. It was the reason he had to courage to follow his passion and give himself a chance to grow into what he knew was his truest self… but the road to get there would be testing.

“I will see you every day-- I have become very proficient at the ‘phone’. And we can talk many, many hours. Being elyyshar has some benefits. If I am with you, the council can wait.”

“Even if Seraxa has steam coming out her ears?”

Chuckling in spite of his deep sadness, for he had to do whatever he could to give his beloved what strength he could offer, Varyyn nodded. “Even if.” He squeezed Diego closer, and let his eyes flutter shut, focusing on the very feel of him there in his arms… the way it was meant to be. The way it would be again, for their spirits were irrevocably entwined. “And it will not be long before we are together again. You have heard Taylor talking; she is not going to rest until she finds a way for me to visit you, and in the meantime….”

“I’m just a call away.” Diego wiped away his tears, then brought his hand to Varyyn’s face and guided him into a slow and tender kiss. Just a call away. Just a call away….

Further up the beach, Jake had taken himself for a walk along the sand-- cold beer in hand, and looking up at a wide open night sky for the last time for… well, he didn’t really want to get up on how long.

“Do you want company?”

How long Estela had been lurking behind him, Jake didn’t have the foggiest idea… nor did he know how she managed to sneak up silently on such soft shifting sand. He shrugged.

“Be my guest. Might be a nice distraction from my own thoughts. It ain’t as if I won’t have plenty of time alone with those in the near future….”

“It’s a pity Aleister’s already gone to bed. There’s nothing quite like getting up his nose to keep you out of your own head.”

Jake smirked. Old Malfoy had his weird ways of expressing friendship. Guy would call you an imbecile on one hand and throw tens of thousands at bulking up your legal defense on the other. Something told him that the fights they’d get in over the stupidest goddamn things was just another one of Aleister’s wonky emotionally-repressed attempts at building bonds. And for what it was worth, it actually worked-- with Jake anyway. Any excuse to give Daddy Issues a well-aimed friendly jab.

Estela, on the other hand, didn’t dance around the point with petty jibes and pedantic exchanges. Straight to the point, as she knew Jake had come to expect.

“Look. You are going to clear your names. And Mike is gonna be remembered for the hero he was. We’ll make it happen, all right?” She held his gaze, fierce with resolve, and saw that same fire reflected back at her. “I swear to you… if I have to make it happen my goddamn self. When we’re done, people will be wishing Lundgren had a grave so they could dance on it.”

Jake clapped Estela on the shoulder. “Aw, Katniss. I know we always said Princess was queen of the pep talk, but between you and me, she ain’t got nothing on you.”

“Then make it worth my breath.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m not fucking losing you, you hear?”

“Crystal, Ripley. Crystal damn clear.”

Her face buried in his unkempt hair, Estela fought back the tears that stung her eyes. “Good.”

Pulling away, Jake discretely wiped his own eyes, disguising the movement by running a hand over his stubble. He looked out over the world that had become his home and felt peace.

“You know what? I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Estela followed his gaze across the island, the towers of The Celestial just visible in the distance, and Atropo gently puffing smoke out into the night air.

“Yes. I think I’ll always come back. Maybe we could come here together for like… reunions. All of us,” she made a point of specifying, letting any doubt of her faith in their ability to bring Jake home be put paid to. “We should never forget what happened here.” Nor what we all meant to one another. Her eyes wandered back to her own home in the village, where she knew Taylor was waiting, already going through her bedtime routine. Estela’s heart thrummed with affection. How could they ever stay away?

“I guess, Katniss... I’ll be seeing ya at the reunion.”

Again, she found herself choked up. Enough of this. It was time for bed… before she was a complete mess.

“You bet your ass I will,” she growled.

___________________________

God, it’s cold; Taylor’s first thought as she stepped into the gate from the massive aeroplane. Straight from the tropical climes that had been her normal, even the Massachusetts summer hit her as distinctly chilly. The very novelty of the crisp night air and the lack of her usual permanent layer of humidity-induced sweat was wonderfully exhilarating. This really was something new.

The flight, coming off the five hour journey to Costa Rica and a three hour stop-over, had been utterly draining for most of the group; Taylor was for once grateful for her recently-acquired ability to fall asleep at the drop of the hat. She’d spent most of the duration snuggled up with her head on Estela’s shoulder-- Estela never slept on planes-- and her legs tucked beside Diego’s while he distracted himself from his thoughts with the in-flight entertainment. Aside from the discomfort of sitting in a confined space for hours on end, the emotional onslaught took its toll. Jake had stayed with the group as far as Costa Rica, then left the others to take their flight to Northbridge. Public interest in ‘The Hartfeld Ten’ had waned somewhat, but if they turned up back in the country with a wanted man, an unnecessary hoo-ha seemed inevitable. At any rate, Jake had been adamant that he hit American soil as close to his home as he could swing it, which had put him on a plane to Dallas that left an hour after the Northbridge flight. There had, of course, been tears, but when Jake waved them onto their last leg home, he hadn’t been saying goodbye as someone dreading what lay ahead, so much as a man ready and determined to finally put everything right. For Mike, and for himself.

Through customs and baggage claim, Taylor took in everything; it was utterly bizarre that she’d never set foot in this country before, but so many of her friends’ life experiences-- the memories that had informed her very creation-- had created an impossible feeling of familiarity. It was as if she were seeing simple things for both the first time and the hundredth, simultaneously. She stayed close to Diego, who had been quiet from the moment the plane took off in La Huerta.

“That’s everything, right?” she checked in with him as she hauled a duffle bag off the carousel, only to have it promptly commandeered by Estela. That’s still too much for me to be lugging around? Point taken.

“Well, unless you’re intending to leave Madam and Fenix behind the Animal Arrivals desk in their pet-packs indefinitely….”

“I’ll have you know, wise-guy, that I haven’t forgotten them. Just… putting off having to deal with the foul mood we can expect from Madam Mierdita.”

Estela turned back to her wife with a smirk. “Her I’ll let you carry.”

“Gee, thanks.” Taylor caught Diego’s little snort of laughter at her expense. Okay, a laugh out of Diego is definitely worth incurring the wrath of the little monster.

Finally, they stepped out the Arrivals doors, trolleys loaded up with heavy luggage and two very curious furry travelers.

“Do you think they’re here ye--” Grace had been wondering out loud before-- “Sean! Michelle!”

Even in a bustling crowd, Sean was easy to spot, head and shoulders over most of the people surrounding him. An effusive Michelle darted into the walkway, sweeping both Taylor and Estela into an embrace, and guiding her small band of weary friends out the way of the rush.

“You wouldn’t believe how good it is to see you all!” She held Taylor at arms length, giving a quick appraisal and then going back in for a hug, satisfied. “You look amazing. Death’s door is all in the past.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor choked out, “it’s not even been a minute and my face is already aching from smiling so much!”

“I’ve been trying to convince Michelle not to worry about you too much,” Sean said as he came out of a hug with Grace to give Taylor’s shoulder a squeeze, “if there’s anyone who can pull a miracle comeback, it’s our Taylor.”

Perhaps it was guilt, but Taylor felt a violent swing of emotion. This wasn’t a victory yet. “We’ve just got to keep that lucky streak going a little while longer… bring us all home.”

A cloud of sadness passed over Sean’s eyes, but his warm smile remained. “No one’s throwing the towel in. Not by a long shot. But my Momma always taught me to savour the wins along the way… and seeing what it was you came back from, this is a big one.”

Taylor exhaled heavily. You’ve got to let it go… just for now. Letting yourself by happy is going to make you stronger when it matters. But it sure was hard. She could see that guilt reflected in Estela’s eyes… which she caught and was met with a tender smile that told her it would all, somehow, be okay.

“Right!” Michelle said. “We were thinking, Diego, Taylor, Estela in the big car with me-- there’s room for the pet carriers in the back. I am dying to show you the house! Aleister and Grace, if you want to go with Sean, he could either take you straight to your place or you can swing by and say ‘hi’ to the masses.”

Grace beamed. “Oh, we will most definitely be swinging round to say ‘hi’!”

“Please tell me Raj hasn’t thrown us some raucous, moronic homecoming party…,” Aleister muttered under his breath.

“You were joking when you said there might be something party-like waiting for us, yeah?” Taylor queried from the back seat of Michelle’s car as they turned onto the freeway.

“The ‘might be’ was only because I wanted to break it to Aleister gently. You’re going home to a party. Period.”

“They do know that we’ve been travelling non-stop for more hours than I care to count, right?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started!” Michelle huffed. “Before you completely panic, I’ve already laid down the law that whenever you’re done, it is done.”

Taylor chuckled nervously, exchanging a glance with an equally trepidatious Diego through the mirror. “I’m going to give Al all of five minutes before he high-tails it out of there.”

Michelle sighed. “The Raj party train is fairly unstoppable. But,” she added with a little twinkle in her eye, “no one is brave or stupid enough to stir up a sleep-deprived Estela, so I’ve been assured it will all be low-key.”

“You’re welcome,” said Estela.

The car pulled up a short while later in front of a big timber-clad house. A really big timber-clad house. Two storeys and --from what Taylor could see-- a window looking out of a loft space as well.

“Wow…,” she breathed.

“Damn,” said Diego, who’d been quiet for most of the journey. “You weren’t kidding when you said you splashed out….”

Michelle shrugged, but her delight in her friends’ reactions couldn’t be hidden. “You do remember that there’s going to be eight of us living there? Including one Craig Hsiao. We were getting a house with space, or we wouldn’t be doing this at all. Again, all credit to Estela for funding this. I’m still not convinced you’re not a little crazy, but there’s no way I’m complaining. This place is gorgeous.”

As she unloaded Madam in her pet-pack, Estela kept glancing up at the house, a curious expression on her face.

“Hey…,” Taylor said, giving her wife’s fingers a squeeze. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah, it’s just… weird. I don’t feel comfortable with thanks, I guess. We needed somewhere to stay, I’ve got money now… it’s not like it’s some noble deed or anything.”

Michelle gave a dry laugh. “I saved your life, you gave me money to buy a big-ass house… don’t worry, we’re even.”

Just then, the front door swung open and Quinn bounded out, the broadest of smiles across her face. “You guys! Welcome home!”

“Quinn!” Taylor put Fenix’s crate on the ground and leaped into a waiting hug… and by the time she lifted her head, she was completely surrounded.

“You made it, brah!”

“Dude-- du-u-uude!”

Suddenly, the hugs were coming from all directions.

Okay, I’m definitely home.

The three new arrivals were quickly roped into a brief house tour, starting with the main lounge, which to everyone’s relief, was not in fact set up for a rager. A few streamers and a ‘welcome home’ banner was the extent of visible party. As Raj explained, the main housewarming shindig would be happening once everyone was actually awake enough to enjoy it. Maybe in a day or two.

“And this,” Quinn announced, after having left a wide-eyed and stuttering Diego to explore his new digs, complete with a enormous screen from which to call Varyyn and digital copies of what appeared to be every major movie and television release from the eighteen months he was away on La Huerta, “is yours.”

She opened a door to a staircase up to the loft-space.

“We really hope you like it.”

Again, Estela’s expression twisted to one of poorly hidden discomfort. Taylor gently took her hand and led the way, understanding. That strange mixture of what she was adjusting to… feeling part of a close group of friends who wanted to look after her and that awareness, now pretty hard to ignore, that she now had money to her name… it was all rather a lot, especially after a long day’s travel.

Quinn, either by reading her friend like a book or by plain instinct, gave the couple some space. “You just take all the time you need. If you want, I can bring Madam up here so you can settle her in? We’ll all be downstairs with hot cocoa waiting whenever you’re ready.”

Taylor turned and gave a slow nod. The emotions rolling through her were overwhelming-- to be once again surrounded by almost the entirety of her family was more wonderful than she could say, and yet, it made the ache of Jake’s fate hanging in the balance all the more obvious. She was excited, and drained, and so fucking grateful for the love she was receiving in spades. That was how she was going to get through. That was how they were all going to get through.

“Thanks, Quinn-- you’re the best. I think Madam will be really happy to get out of that box.”

They reached the top of the stairs and switched on the light.

“Wow,” Estela said softly, her cheeks flushing a little. “This is really nice.”

After what had been put together for Diego, neither of them had known what to expect, but Estela and Taylor’s huge room was wonderfully simple and homey. A big comfy armchair in the corner, a wooden bookcase to match the bed, and a lovely soft rug underfoot… all the essentials for their private bolthole. Two arched windows tilted up to a beautiful view of a starry night. They had their own ensuite bathroom, which both regarded as a definite plus with six other people sharing the house-- including one Michelle Nguyen who did have a reputation for taking her time in front of the mirror. What struck Taylor most, though, were the small thoughtful touches scattered around the whole place. The many, many photographs that had been hung on the walls… a brand new knitting basket for all of her bits and bobs… fancy lotions that had come from The Elysian… the beautiful painting Quinn had gifted them upon their first anniversary… and perhaps Taylor’s favourite, a little plush dragon that had been propped up on the pillows.

Estela flopped backwards onto the luxurious mattress and exhaled, long and deep. Letting the feeling sink in… the feeling of being welcomed home with open arms. Known, and accepted, and loved. Without opening her eyes, she extended an arm, which Taylor wriggled under to be brought into a soft embrace. They were one more step closer to ‘happily ever after’. On their way to peace and healing.

Taylor saw it there already. Her sweet warrior, at ease with the world… and making her thrum with devotion.

They’d made it this far… so very far. Time for the next chapter.

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #estela x mc #diego soto #jake mckenzie #grace hall #varyyn #variego

30 notes · View notes

anip-ocs · 3 years ago

Text

NaNoWriMo 2021 Excerpt 1 - Pumpkin Fight

Behold, I am Writing this year!!!! Here's a lil bitty!

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

“Hey, Alana? No offense, but… what are we supposed to do?” Maddi asked.

The backyard wasn’t very big at all. This was without the added burden of a vegetable garden, a stack of bricks, and a hammock. It certainly didn’t seem big enough to do any sort of training in. Not that Alana seemed to realize.

“What do you mean? We’re gonna train,” she said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, but I mean, there’s not much space in here. And if our energy is supposedly nuclear or whatever, I don’t wanna destroy your dad’s veggies.”

“Oh! Yeah, I guess it is kinda small for that…”

“Y'know. If our energy is nuclear, how come people aren’t disintegrating whenever we use our powers?” CJ asked.

“Uh. Y’know. I don’t--I don’t know. This is all new to all of us. Maybe the reading categorized it wrong or something. Not sure if anything like this has ever happened enough to be able to compare it to something accurately anyways, y’know?” Brian mumbled.

“Maybe if we hit someone directly they’d disintegrate?” Taylor asked.

“Let’s avoid finding out for sure.”

“Anyways! Training! What are we gonna do for training?” CJ asked.

“Well, uhm… I mean, we can practice other things! Long range attacks won’t work all the time! Like, you never see a character in a book or a movie who only uses long range attacks, right?”

“Snipers,” Brian interjected.

“None of us are snipers, Brian.”

“Alana has a good point! Heroes have to be well-balanced, be able to handle a lot of different kinds of enemies!” CJ grinned.

“Exactly! So, we can work on our short-range tactics here. Smaller attacks, hand to hand combat, stuff like that.”

“That’s a reasonable plan--we should work on that. Not like we’re all blackbelts in karate.” Ken shrugged.

“You’re a blackbelt in karate?” Taylor asked, eyes wide.

Ken shook his head. “I am not. Which is my point. Ah, I also believe we should maybe work on our team coordination--”

“Okay! Random attack from a monster, what do you do?!” Alana suddenly exclaimed.

“What are you even--hey!” CJ shouted as his foot was snagged from under him. He quickly found himself hanging upside-down in the air. Everyone else giggled at his misfortune before they were grabbed too. Alana was the only one not hanging… because it was her vines that had snagged them.

“No fair! What happened to our warning?!” Brian shouted, trying to wriggle his way out of her clutches.

“Monsters won’t give you a warning! They just do what they can to kill and survive! If we’re going to be getting in the way of their survival, they might use us as their next meal!”

“She has a point,” Ken said, letting his arms hang down even as his shirt fell over his face.

“So, now, uh, pretend that my vines are a giant octopus monster or something! Try to escape!”

“I’m having a hard time imagining the monster? It’s just you and some vines right now, where are we aiming, where’s its body at?” Maddi asked. Alana smirked, her eyes glowing green suddenly, and for a brief moment Maddi wished she hadn’t fucking asked.

“You want a monster? You’ll get one!”

“Okay, hang on a second, ‘Lana--” one of the pumpkins in the garden began to swell, quickly growing as big as a person and then even bigger. It towered over the group of teens, casting a shadow over part of the house.

Then it grew a face, and its vines ripped out of the ground and writhed about, ready to grab at them. The trees around them jerked wildly a moment as the beast moved. The rest of Alana’s team fell from her clutches as she stepped back, shaking.

“Frick.” she muttered.

“Change of heart, or is there an issue?” Ken asked, dusting himself off as he returned to his feet. “I felt that surge of energy.”

Alana shook her head, instinctively drawing near Maddi.”I-I-I, uhm, I didn’t intend for--for that…” she murmured. The pumpkin opened its Jack-O-Lantern like mouth and roared, eyes glowing like fire. Inside its mouth, strands of pumpkin brains stretched across its maw, collecting into a large mass of orange gunk.

“Well, I’ve been eaten enough times this year. I’m not letting it happen again.”

“Any helpful hints about pumpkins?” Taylor shifted into a fighting stance, sending Alana a glance.

“W-well, the top layer’s tough to prevent insects and diseases from getting in, so--so it's probably really really tough now.” Alana racked her brain, not even noticing the pumpkin beginning to advance. “And they have hundreds of seeds--oh, god, how big are those now? And--”

“Look out!” Ken seemed to practically fly at her, pinning her to the ground. An instant later, the pumpkin spat out hundreds upon hundreds of seeds like a homegrown machine gun. They just passed over their heads, and it started aiming for the others instead.

“How do we stop it?!” Brian asked frantically, ducking as the pumpkin’s fury was directed his way.

“Maybe we can smash it?” Taylor asked.

“Leave it to me!” CJ exclaimed. He held his hands out before him, the pumpkin beginning to glow blue and float into the air as he used his powers. But suddenly, the tendrils extended and grabbed him, swinging him around before throwing him into the side of the house. He didn’t smash through the walls, fortunately, but he didn’t get back up either.

“CJ?!” Maddi shouted, eyes wide.

“Holy shit!!” Taylor gaped.

“No, no, no, no, this is all my fault!!” Alana wailed.

“S-Stay calm!! It m-might smell fear…” Brian said. The pumpkin roared again, directing its attention to Maddi. “Looks like it does,”

“So clearly smashing is not the route to take. What’s our next option?” Ken helped Alana up to her feet, sending the pumpkin a glare as he tried to come up with an attack plan.

Alana squeezed his hand tight and bit her lip, pausing a moment as she felt just how cold Ken’s hand was. “Uh, uh--hard frosts! They go bad and mushy if we get a bad frost!” she held up Ken’s hand and shook it around as if to prove her point before dropping it. “O-or, if we can reach its stem--”

“Okay, frost it over, cut the stem. I can--gaah--!” Ken leaped into the air to avoid a tendril about to ram him in the side. Instead, he was grabbed around the neck by another tendril and lifted into the air, to Alana’s ever-growing horror. He tried to kick his way free, but to no avail--especially as it began constricting. His swords were in its scabbards, but his scabbards were in Alana’s sister’s bedroom, out of his reach. He couldn’t cast the spell to summon them--he could barely get any air into his lungs. He couldn’t think of another plan--black dots were already dancing along his vision, his head was spinning, he felt like his chest would explode if this kept up any longer.

Suddenly, whatever wind was left in his lungs was knocked out of him as he fell to the ground. Part of the tendril was still around his neck, but it was limp and easy to tear off even with shaking hands. Ken laid thee a moment, gasping for air as the clear blue sky burned away at the black dots.

Brian had found some garden tools, which were fortunately sharp enough to slice through the vines, while Maddi distracted the pumpkin with jets of flame. But the Jack-O-Lantern wasn’t so easily occupied--even as it shot another round of seeds at Maddi, more tendrils grew back and reached for Brian and Taylor.

“Hey! I can’t keep doing this forever!” Brian shouted, still slicing through the tendrils one by one.

Ken summoned his swords and got to his feet, sneaking his way to the backside of the pumpkin while Maddi dodged its bullets and set the grass before it on fire. As it focused its attention on Maddi and Alana, it didn’t even notice Ken until he had sliced through its main stem and pierced his sword through its back. It roared and tried to turn and face him with a hail of seeds, but Ken placed his hand on its back. Immediately, ice began to crawl around its bumpy orange skin, slowing it down. Thin at first, the layer of frost quickly thickened, until the gourd was suspended in a giant ice cube.

“Okay, that was rad.” Brian said.

“CJ!” Maddi gasped, turning around and running over to where CJ was still slumped over against the house. Everyone hurried over as Alana knelt down and put a hand to his wrist. She looked up at them with a horrified expression.

“I can’t feel anything!” she said.

“What?! Move!” Maddi took the wrist and held it a moment, before moving to put two fingers to CJ’s neck. She let out a breath. “Oh thank fucking god here it is.”

“Oh my god, Alana, you’re a healer who can’t take a fucking pulse?!” Taylor pouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be having to tell if my friend was dead or not when we went over it in gym class in the fifth grade!” Alana whined.

“We can work on that later, guys, what matters is CJ is alive! And unconscious in an ant bed,” Brian huffed as he scuffed his shoes in the grass. “We need to move him.”

Ken snapped his fingers, and a cool gust of wind set out the flames in the grass. “We need to get rid of this monster and clean up before Alana’s father gets back.”

“And how do we do that?” Taylor asked.

“...we will need a lot of rope.”

“I have some at my place! Be right back!” Brian exclaimed, running back into the house and out onto the street.

“So, what are you wanting to do with it then? Drop it into the Pacific Ocean?” Alana asked with a short laugh.

Location: Somewhere Above the Pacific Ocean

Time: Friday, October 18th, 4:30 PM

“I didn’t expect you to take me seriously!” Alana exclaimed.

Ken let out a chuckle, even as he fumbled with the ropes and bungee cords. “I’m aware. This was actually my intention the entire time,” he let out a groan as the weight of the ice got to the best of him, and he struggled to keep it upright. Who knew a giant pumpkin in a giant ice cube could be so heavy? It was hard to stay flying with this ting weighing him down, especially when holding it by some ropes and bungee cords alone. If he lost his grip, it might fall onto something. And that would be disastrous.

“Need some help?” CJ offered, speeding up a bit to float alongside the 8th grader. When his friend let out a strained nod, he took a few of the ropes in his own hands and suddenly understood why he was struggling so much. But at least, together, each of their loads were just a little bit lighter. Even if it was a bit difficult--Ken was flying so fast. Alana shifted from a sparrow to an eagle and still struggled to keep up.

“So, Alana, what have we learned today?”

“Not to make giant monsters for training sessions?” she said sheepishly.

“How about ‘don’t make giant monsters,’ period! That was almost your Frankenstein!” CJ exclaimed.

“Actually, Frankenstein is the name of the scientist. The monster is never named, he’s just ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ Unless we’re considering Doctor Frankenstein to be the true monster of the tale, and the monster a victim.” Ken said. His two companions sent him a look. “Th-that’s besides the point! CJ’s point still stands, you can’t just put yourself in danger like that, little fledgeling.”

“I’ve noticed. Where are we going to drop this thing off at?” Alana asked.

“I’m hoping to get it far enough from the shore that the waves won’t just push it back. We also need to make sure no one sees us, either.”

“So just a bit farther--I can’t imagine any fishing boats going out much further than this.” CJ said. “Granted, I don’t know too much about fishing boats, but--well, y’know. It’s getting late.”

“It’s literally not. It’s not even five yet, I don’t think.” Alana said.

“Either way, I’m hoping to set it down soon. I don’t know how much longer we can carry this.” Ken said.

“Well, at that note, we just passed the last few boats that are around down here.” Alana said.

“Great. Let’s drop down a bit,” Ken and CJ let the weight of the ice lower them down until they hovered just above the water, Alana flying circles around them. “Help me untie the ropes please?”

Alana landed on top of the ice cube and began untying as Ken and CJ held the ice steady. Within a few minutes, she held a tangle of ropes and bungee cords, standing atop a precariously-rocking iceberg. CJ took the ropes, and Alana shifted back into a bird. The three watched as the pumpkin-berg bobbed around on the waves, not sinking any further.

“You do realize that at least a little bit of that is going to stay sticking out of the water, right?” Alana said.

“What?” Ken blinked, turning to look at her.

“Yeah. when you see an iceberg, some of it is always above the water.”

“Right…”

“Well, this one has a giant pumpkin inside. Maybe it’ll sink all the way?” CJ suggested.

“Hopefully? I’m too tired to care. Let’s head home so I can show you guys around the house.” Alana sighed.

“Sweet!”

Ken smiled a bit. “Yeah, let’s head back to Kihiro.”

“Last one there’s a rotten egg!” Alana laughed, shooting off into the sky with a flurry of wing beats. Ken grinned and flew after her. For a second, CJ could have sworn he saw black wings, but when he blinked and rubbed his eyes he just saw the black jet trails Ken always left when he flew. With a shrug, he rushed to catch up, using his powers yet again to stay afloat.

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

Tag List!

@poore-choice-of-words @dreamswithadashofspice @ejmcmoon

#writing sneak peeks #writing sneak peek #anipwrites disillusions #disillusions anipwrites #Alana Ritroso #Ken Shinigami #Brian Hodges #Taylor Wakes #Maddi #CJ Smithson #anipwrites art #anipwritesart #anip writing #Disillusions #Disillusions Book 1: In the Beginning #Draft 3 Writing #idk if I've posted this bit before but I have changed some things between draft 2 and draft 3 #i dont even want to try and remember what draft 1 was like good god #I Want To Talk About This Series So Much But I Feel Too Awkward Doing It #also ps if anyone wants to hang out in an art server I have DM me if we're moots #mutuals. moots. yknow.#Also let it be known the entire time I was writing this I was listening to the Cody Fry mix of Eleanor Rigby. dont ask why.#it doesnt fit the scene but I've been looping it for like 2 hours now and did more writing in this 12-2am sitting than I have since like.#SINCE SEPTEMBER

7 notes · View notes

thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Somebody To Remember

Andrew (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe), slight Spoilers

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Y/N wakes up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people and with a big chunk of memories missing. She’s told she, along with her professor and classmates, was in a bus crash while passing through the town of Little Hope. From that point onward she is trying her best to contribute into the group’s efforts of finding a way out of that place and also piecing together the shards of her broken recollection.

Requested by Dot Anon! Hi there! Sorry for the long wait, but it’s finally here and I hope it makes it worth it! I love writing for Little Hope and I’m very grateful you gave me an opportunity to write for Andrew with your request! Hope you enjoy the read, looking forward to hearing more requests from you! Love, Vy ❤

My eyelids lift just barely before an intense pain takes over my entire skull. Instead of battling through it, I just shut my eyes again. I feel like my head is swimming as though I’ve been spinning in circles for the past five minutes. Speaking of the last five minutes, I don’t remember them. Actually, I can’t recall anything from...I can’t even recall how long it’s been from what I last remember. I hear voices but they aren’t clear - almost like I’m at the bottom of a lake and they are calling out to me from the shore. I make another attempt at opening my eyes, succeeding this time, despite the intense pain.

“Hey, there you are.“ Unlike the rest, this voice sounds to be closer which makes it a lot clearer and easier to understand. “Stay with me now, Y/N.“

I blink a couple times, struggling to get my eyes in focus. When I finally manage, I am met with a pair of greenish blue eyes looking back at me.

“Hi? Um, where am I?“ I utter hesitantly, letting my gaze wander all over the picture in front of me. I see a boy who appears to be in his late teens, maybe early twenties, I can’t tell. Behind him I see a shorthaired girl and an older man talking. I tap my fingers on the surface I’m sitting on - it’s no doubt gravel. And wait, did he refer to me as Y/N? “Am I Y/N?“ As I speak, I feel a sharp sting on my cheek. I lift my hand to touch the spot where the unpleasant sensation is coming from just to pull my fingers away with a wince, seeing them covered in blood. A pit of fear and panic forms in my stomach. “What happened? Why am I bleeding?“

His eyes widen. He looks border-line horrified as he backs away from me, never taking his eyes off me, though. “Professor, can you come here for a sec?” He says, his hand waving over the older man.

He walks over and crouches next to the boy. “What’s wrong? How are you feeling, Y/N?” He’s looking at me when he asks the question, so I can only assume I really am Y/N.

“She can’t remember anything.“ The boy says, his voice shaky due to what seems like panic, “What do we do?“

I switch my focus between the two, the panic growing stronger within me as well. The professor contemplates his next move carefully before calling out to the girl who is trying to catch a signal with her phone in the air. “Hey Taylor, give me your phone. I need a light.”

“Coming!“ The girl power walks to us, a smile spreading on her face when our eyes meet, “Oh thank God you’re awake, Y/N! I was terrified!“

I brave through the pain so I can return her smile, “Yeah, I’m happy to be awake too. Would be happier if I could recall anything though.”

Her expression morphs into the same one the boy had when I insinuated that I don’t remember anything. Putting her initial shock aside, she hands the professor her phone. He holds it above my face so the screen could illuminate any injuries I might have. Or the injuries I definitely have cause this headache is most certainly not the result of dehydration or lack of sleep.

“I can see some blood beyond your hairline and a cut on your temple, but that’s it. You are probably concussed. Don’t freak out, though, if you can still make sense you’ll be alright.“ He assures me. “I’m John, by the way, your professor. This is Andrew.“ he points to the boy. “I’m your professor, these two, and the other two we don’t really know the whereabouts of are your classmates. This was supposed to be our field trip for a project, but we got in a crash. That’s how you got those cuts and bruises. But, again, don’t worry we will be just fine. Your memories will come back sooner or later.“

Taylor chuckles, “I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s still got her sarcasm.”

“You bet I do.“ I choose to lift the heaviness of the situation, remove the worries from the group. I feel like I owe it to them for not remembering who they are while they obviously care about me. “Now help me up, I don’t plan on sitting here any longer. It’s quite uncomfortable.“

The professor and Andrew lifted me off the ground by my arms, steadying me on my feet. Concussed or not, I have to be prepared for a night of wandering around in a dark and foggy ghost-town. I can’t be a weakling and depend on my team the whole time.

* * *

My head hurts even more now, I didn’t know that was even possible. Whatever expectations I had for this night, they got thrown out the window the second Andrew and Angela were dragged five centuries back in time. Oh yeah, I also met the two other classmates John mentioned - Angela, who’s a very...interesting woman. She is a little high-maintenance and a little stuck up, but nothin I can’t tolerate. Unlike Taylor who I’m afraid will kill the woman just by glaring; and Daniel who is the complete opposite. He’s kind and sweet and really in love with Taylor. They are very cute together. Despite Angela’s attitude it’s clear that she deeply cares about John. I can tell the feeling’s mutual.

But demons and witches aside, my memory that’s slowly repairing is what’s bothering me most. The fragments that are coming back to me are so disconnected from each other and so far apart, it’s almost like I’m just making them all up to fill in the blanks. I’ve gathered most memories for Taylor, who I think is my best friend and some of Daniel, who is also a good friend of mine. Hell, I can even recall a bickering session I’ve had with Angela and I faintly remember arguing with John about a grade. But nothing of Andrew. Not a single memory involving him. I even pulled Taylor aside to ask her if Andrew and I were even friends before this. Her answer only made me feel worse, though. She seemed rather upset when I told her I can’t remember anything regarding him. She said she was surprised. When I asked her why she gave me a vague response that she assumed I’d remember him most.

Well thanks a lot, Taylor.

I’ve only started exhausting my brain even more now that her words are stuck in my mind.

‘That’s surprising. One would think you’d remember him first.‘

We’re currently taking a break to catch our breath. The past few hours are just a jumble of running away from these terrifying creatures and being pulled back in time. I can’t piece the logic of anything that has happened and it’s bothering me, probably more than it should.

“Hey, you ok? You’ve been cracking and biting your knuckles for a while now.“ Andrew’s voice shakes me out of my trance. He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, sitting down next to me.

That’s another thing that has been bugging me - his touch. It’s so damn familiar and so natural! I can’t explain it, but every time he touches me, it just feels like his hand belongs there. It sounds ridiculous, I’m aware, but it’s true. I feel so horrible that I can’t remember anything about him - the fact that he has been my biggest support and comfort this whole time isn’t making me feel any better either. He hasn’t left my side for even as much as a second.

“Yeah, just frustrated. And I’d be lying if I said I’m not scared right now.“ I decide to rant and just get everything off my mind, I feel like he’ll understand. “I can’t piece anything together. Not from what’s happening to us and most certainly not from my past. So many large chunks are missing and it’s driving me mad.“ I cover my face with my hands, “I wish I could understand at least 10% of this insanity. That would be enough to give me peace.”

I can no longer feel him touching my shoulder. Instead, his hands take gentle hold of my wrists, pulling them away from my face. Holding both my hands with one of his, he uses the other to lift my chin so our eyes meet. “It’s OK, Y/N. I know how hard this is for you. I understand this is taking an even bigger toll on you than it is on us. Just know that you can trust us. I mean, it’s not like we know any more than you do, but if anything attacks you, we’ll make sure you make it out alive.” He swipes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I would go through a beheading for you, believe it or not.”

I can’t help but laugh, “I believe you, Andrew. Thank you. Just know that it goes both ways.” I squeeze his hand.

I do believe him. I believe all of them. I have faith in this team and I trust it with my life. I trust Andrew with every fiber of my being.

* * *

It’s over. I can hardly believe it. I can’t believe it.

“We can leave it’s over! Oh my God, it’s over!“ Taylor excitedly engulfs me in a tight hug. Tears are streaming down her face. Tears of relief and joy.

I return the hug with the same amount of strength and tenderness, “I can’t believe it’s over. Oh my God.”

“It is. It really is.“ she whispers to me reassuringly before pulling away and giving me one final encouraging nod.

We are finally free to leave that ruin of a house and this town in its entirety. We can now leave it all behind. We can go home.

I watch as Daniel wraps his arm around Taylor’s shoulders pulling her closer to his side. I see the encouraging smiles of pure happiness that John and Angela exchange. I feel all the positivity radiating off of them.

A gentle warm hand takes hold of my frozen and bruised one. I tilt my head to see Andrew falling in step with me. The warm smile on his face confirms what Taylor told me - the nightmare is indeed over. With the horrors left far behind us and 80% of my memory having returned, I feel reborn.

“Feels amazing, doesn’t it?“ He asks, his grip on my hand is tender but firm - he’s afraid of accidentally letting me slip from his grip, but also afraid of causing me pain by touching the many cuts that litter my skin.

“Words can’t describe it.“ I say with a content sigh, instinctively intertwining our fingers together.

And that puts together the remaining 20% that are missing. That special and intimate contact makes something in my brain click.

I stop dead in my tracks, causing Andrew to stop with me. He raises a confused eyebrow at me. “What’s wrong?”

A laugh escapes my lips, a huge grin plastering itself on my face. “You’re my boyfriend.”

His eyes go even wider than when I told him I didn’t remember anything. This time it’s due to a different emotion.

He stutters, “You remember?”

I nod eagerly, “We’ve been dating for seven months now. Daniel introduced us. Taylor kept teasing us saying we should date. We went on our first date more as a joke for the amusement of two of them and then....”

He cuts me off by hugging me twice as tightly as Taylor did. He has put every last bit of his energy into this hug and I’m returning it with every last bit of mine.

“Welcome back completely, Y/N.“ He says, pulling away while still keeping his arms wrapped around me.

“Glad to be back finally.“ I can’t wipe the dopey grin off my face, not that I’m even trying to at this point.

With zero regards for our audience of four, Andrew presses his lips to mine, marking my return to our reality with a love-filled kiss.

@sparrow-gg @artlovingbre @chairtiger

67 notes · View notes

cattles-bians · 3 years ago

Text

damie vibecca exes au part 8

post directory

obsetress: now i just want fanart of damvibecca at the gym

em: well. pitch it to me comrade ghostfucker

obsetress: idk that's about as far as i got i just reread that bit about vibecca in their matching gym outfits and my brain got stuck

em: hypothetically do u have a colour palette in mind bc i associate gym outfits w like. bright loud colours and

em: idk if it works w our earth sign queens

[em note: emily is a liar and did NOT draw fanart of damvibecca at the gym]

[em note 2: we have the gym art now [x] [x]]

obsetress: i was imagining like charcoals tbh, or jewel tones

obsetress: i could see them in like jewel tone purples or that jewel tone blue green color

obsetress: yeah viola jewel tones or blacks n charcoals

obsetress: becs pastels and camels but jewel tones at the gym

em: it’s about Matching

em: And Destroying Ur Ex (platonically)

obsetress: yeah

obsetress: viola's feeling particularly smug about it but then

obsetress: dani's in an old school tshirt and shorts and jamie's in............ one of dani's old school tshirts and shorts

em: YES

obsetress: not intentionally, she just grabbed whatever was there

obsetress: dani chirps "oh you two look so cute! baby look, they have a matched set"

obsetress: viola arches an eyebrow "and so do you, it seems" and dani laughs "not on purpose, jamie just grabbed whatever was on top in the drawer"

viola: you two... share... a wardrobe?

dani: yeah?

em: god cute

obsetress: cute n dumb

em: they can share nearly everything except pants

em: well. pants as a treat

em: haha pants

em: trousers

obsetress: also rly nice rly clean smooth funny juxtaposition in my brain of vibecca being the ones who intentionally match and damie the ones for whom it just accidentally happens

obsetress: hahahah pants

obsetress: they can share pants but................ should they

em: idk miss chapter 12 danis thighs jamies pyjamas

em: should they

obsetress: PLEASE

obsetress: that's exactly what i was referring to THANKS

obsetress: anyway

obsetress: rebecca just laughs

obsetress: viola huffs and bex is like "sorry, babe, but it is kind of funny"

em: dani jamie wearing like

obsetress: YEAH

obsetress: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY

em: poor viola

obsetress: thinking about dani's ass in those

em: yeah....

em: violas huffing until jamies exercise flush lasts a little Too Long

obsetress: big blush jamie taylor

em: she’s still like ‘oi dani close ur mouth’ but then she

obsetress: yeah

obsetress: just ogling each other

obsetress: (they briefly pause to ogle vi and rebecca passing a medicine ball back and forth as they do squats and have to acknowledge that, yeah, they've all done alright by themselves)

em: funny montage of the gang doing exercise while surreptitiously taking Peaks

obsetress: omg all i want

obsetress:sometimes having friends as a lesbian means they're all your exes except one, who's your gf, and you're all checking each other out always anyway

And That’s Beautiful

obsetress

obsetress: dani: checking out viola's biceps, rebecca's abs

viola: checking out dani's thighs n ass

rebecca: minding her business

jamie: scowling n scrawny

obsetress:(n also checking out dani's thighs n ass, viola's biceps, and begrudgingly peeking at rebecca's abs)

obsetress: every other woman at the gym: checking out jamie, trying to figure out the entire dynamic here

are they a polycule? what

em: jamie probably like

em: maybe she gets really into running bc she just checks out and listens to her audiobooks but like

em: slow twitch vs fast twitch fibers so stays scrawny

obsetress: i can see that

obsetress: just gets on the treadmill and zones tf out

em: jamie ‘why don’t i have biceps’ taylor vs jamie ‘no u gotta lift w ur hips’ taylor

obsetress: she hates it but her psych told her it'll be good for her routine so you know she was like yes ma'am every day ma'am

em: cant believe safe lifting procedures screwed her over

em: ‘yes ma’am every day ma’am’ ur just Going for it arent ya anshdjdh

obsetress: sorry but don't tell me you can't hear it

obsetress: jamie's the person who takes notes in therapy

obsetress: jamie, in the locker room after their workout: do my biceps look bigger?

dani, patiently, already knowing where this is going: bigger than what, baby?

jamie: than yesterday

dani: mm, rome wasn't built in a day, you know

jamie: do they look bigger at all?

dani: well

em: i mean not to perceive her too much but mattresses scene indicates AE/jamie like. at least some muscle in the leg area

em: poor jamie

em: not playing to her strengths

obsetress: yeah she does

obsetress: i mean ae has toned af arms

obsetress: she's just wiry

em: how could i forget the benchpressing dog gif

obsetress: dani's like "jamie, baby, come do squats with me and vi" "m'good" "baby, c'mon, you'll like it" "don't wanna do squats" "it could be good for you" "don't wanna do squats with you two"

em: dani: you gotta like. eat more

jamie: i eat plenty

dani: no u graze all day and then u don’t eat dinner

obsetress: dani: five biscuits spread out across a day doesn't count as eating more

em: dani: protein jamie it’s abt protein

obsetress: dani: you need more protein, which is why i think some lentils would really––

em: jamie thinks protein shakes are Nasty

obsetress: jamie does think protein shakes are nasty but dani will make her a smoothie and sneak it in like she's a child

obsetress: viola and rebecca, with their matching monogrammed blender bottles, just staring

obsetress: becca's like "jamie, just drink it, really, it's fine"

obsetress: viola just does this haughty sniff at her and that's what finally gets jamie to start

em: jamie can deal w being a brat but the idea of viola having Anything over her drives her Insane

em: Drives Her Fuckign Nuts

obsetress: she hates it

obsetress: just the absolute fuckin worst

em: do u think dani ever like

em: like they REALLY need to clear out storage but it’s a boiling frog situation where it’s increased so gradually that

em: like jamie thinks it’s Fine storage is Clear Enough

em: it’s Not

em: danis like. should we invite rebecca and vi over

em: just be Idea of A Snide Viola Comment fills jamie w a burning rage

obsetress: oh my god

obsetress: i'm obsessed with this

obsetress: i would read a whole oneshot about this

em: eventually dani comes clean abt it n jamie thinks it’s v funny bc yknow; open and honest communication is a v important part of their dynamic

em: jamie: next time just tell me my storage looks like shite dani or i will be grumbling abt viola for a Week

obsetress: inevitably

obsetress: when they do have to come over to clean

obsetress: dani offers them takeout and wine ("step up from pizza and beer at least," jamie grumbles) and viola's like "jesus, dani, let's just go out to dinner. my treat"

obsetress: at dinner, viola's like "if you want more storage, i have some wonderful properties––"

obsetress: rebecca's mouthing "sorry" from next to her across the table

em: every time they go out rebecca takes vi aside n is like ok sweetheart so you promise you’re not gonna try convince them to sell the apartment again

em: and violas like (mock horror) of course i won’t. ye of little faith

em: and every time

em: every time she does

em: she’s tryna HELP

obsetress: she would too she'd be like

obsetress: "i'm just trying to HELP"

obsetress: "they're our FRIENDS"

em: i’m on a mission to figure out like

em: this is way way down the line

em: but i wanna believe eventually viola and jamie start to, at the v least, Tolerate each other

em: jamie might even be fond of the crazy bird but she’ll NEVER admit it

obsetress: god like vi's on business or some shit in like

obsetress: the UAE

obsetress: negotiating some Deal

obsetress: and so dani and jamie get dinner with just bex and they're driving home after and having a perfectly mundane conversation and then jamie's just blurting like

obsetress: "i think i miss vi"

em: she’s HORRIFIED

em: she tries to play it off as like um

em: she’s Too Comfortable

em: things are Too Boring

em: which is weird knowing everything we know abt jamie

em: but actually she just... maybe misses viola

em: danis like god i wish i was recording this

obsetress: jamie's passed out next to her at home later (it's ten pm) and dani's chattering happily away on the phone with vi (drinking a martini in her dubai hotel room at one am since, y'know, no bars) in bed right next to her

obsetress: "jamie, uh, said she misses you. i know. no, i KNOW. don't tell her i told you. yeah, yeah, you win, vi, we know. uh-huh. uh-huh. i'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that"

em: CUTE

em: u can’t lord it over her vi it’s a little secret

em: vi's like when have i EVER

em: she does

obsetress: once they're good again, dani and vi absolutely just. lose time (there's a metaphor in there) talking to each other still

em: this is wholesome tbh

em: i really like the damie stories where like

em: look it’s nice when damie have each other but it’s also nice when they have their own friends and stuff

em: dunno how to articulate that well

em: it’s a balance! it’s a balance

obsetress: yeah! exactly

obsetress: because that's part of the love n possession thing too yk

obsetress: not to say either of them would ever be like "no friends for you" but

obsetress: wanting to have a life outside of your partner yk

obsetress: they're meeting vi and rebecca for dinner after vi gets back and vi's just grinning and sweeping jamie into a hug "i heard you missed me"

em: she gets jamie a souvenir t-shirt

em: it’s too big

em: OR

em: child’s t-shirt

obsetress: (jamie sleeps in it that night)

obsetress: oh childs might be better

obsetress: she's like "you're a little scrawny, so..."

em: jamie sleeps in it.... soft bitch

em: she feels too much

obsetress: jamie taylor softest bitch

obsetress: dani watches her pull it on and raises an eyebrow and jamie's just like "wot"

em: jamies like (grumbles) i knew she was comin back i’m just

em: shouldn’t you be HAPPY about this development dani

em: ‘s’a gift... s’rude not t’....’

obsetress: YEAH

obsetress: dani just grins "mmhm"

em: it accidentally makes its way into jamies workout clothes pile

obsetress: oh my GOD oh my god

obsetress: viola's shit eating GRIN when jamie shows up at the gym in it

em: jamies like fok

em: mental maths tryna figure if she wants to just. work out in a sports bra

em: she Doesn’t

obsetress: she Doesn't!

obsetress: (she's shy)

em: god it’s one of those shirts that’s like

em: someone who loves me went to UAE and got me this t-shirt or something

obsetress: dani corners her in their empty row in the locker room "you could've just taken it off, you know" "dunno, not everyone needs to... see that, you know?" "i'd certainly like to see it" jamie rolls her eyes but she's grinning "you can see that any time" "well maybe i wanted to see it during my workout" "dani......."

em: jamies embarrassed bc of her gnarly farmers tan means her tummy is at least five shades lighter than the rest of her

em: crisp tan lines

obsetress: god jamie's farmers tan

em: once again i am bringing my tan lines jamie agenda

obsetress: dani loves jamies dumb farmers tan so much

obsetress: she giggles

obsetress: but it's the most loving giggle possible

em: and then when she gets into running...

em: god when i was rowing there were a couple ppl w like what i called a neapolitan icecream tan which is

em: gimme a second

obsetress: jamie gets all huffy when dani giggles at her tan but then dani's like "baby, no, i think it's cute" and jamie gives her a look and dani grins mischievously and ducks her head

obsetress: and then she's licking and kissing and nipping her way along jamie's dumb tan lines

em: there it is

obsetress: it was inevitable

em: so caught up in the joy of jamies dumb farmer tans i forgot abt her gnarly scar she keeps under wraps

em: baby

em: the most baby

obsetress: baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

em: jamie decides the only way to claim the stupid t-shirt as hers is to cut off the sleeves

em: it’s abt the ritual of the thing

obsetress: she shows up at the gym wearing it and

obsetress: that's viola's "oh no she's hot" moment

em: YEAH BABY

obsetress: literally just like

obsetress: world stops

obsetress: viola stares

em: jamie finally gets to do an exercise that shows off her sinewy manual labor grip forearms

em: viola’s probably just as horrified to find jamie hot as every time jamies like oh no

em: violas hot

em: and once again jamie CANNOT know she’s hot bc she will be insufferable

em: she will be the Worst

obsetress: viola's tugging rebecca aside "why didn't you tell me jamie was hot" "what?" viola waves a hand and rebecca just furrows her brow a little and is like "that's just... what she looks like, vi"

obsetress: viola corners dani next "why didn't you tell me jamie was hot" "i did" "oh. right" viola pauses, then "why didn't you make sure i was listening?" dani just gives her a look and walks away

obsetress: dflksdjfldaj god the way jamie and viola are. the same

obsetress: kind of incredibly, in the same ways dani and rebecca are the same

em: “hey baby, did viola seem different today? seemed off”

em: jamies like. is she mad at me. did i break another social taboo.

em: rebecca ‘jamie looks like jamie’ jessel vs dani ‘my gf is so hot i can’t stand it’ clayton

obsetress: "i tell you how hot she is at least three times a week, vi"

em: danis tryna goad her into making the damn shirt a crop top

em: jamies like yeah but isn’t that a step too far. i feel like i am destroying this shirt too much

em: she does it anyway

em: so jamies workout clothes are danis endless grey baggy school t-shirts and this one ugly souvenir shirt that like

em: psychological warfare and she doesn’t even know it

obsetress: i would........ like to see it

obsetress: also crop top jamie is one of my favorite jamies

obsetress: she is severely underrated

em: crop top jamie is

obsetress: and we do not talk about her enough

em: jamie wear More crop tops

obsetress: viola and rebecca in bed, in matching facemasks, after going to the gym post-epiphany that Jamie Is Hot

obsetress: viola: are dani and jamie hotter than us?

rebecca: what?

obsetress: and like

obsetress: viola is NOT insecure

obsetress: she is constantly confident that she's the most attractive woman in the room at any given moment, but

obsetress: she's just so staggered by this realization

em: some neutral third party (ms grose and mr sharma probably) are like well. u guys definitely have a little more of a scary thing going on

em: i’m imagining rebecca and viola at brunch w hannah and owen v seriously discussing this

em: viola brings it up and rebecca GROANS but then she gets invested in the convo

obsetress: GOD yeah

obsetress: she's leaning forward and gesturing with her fork "when you say 'scary'..........."

em: owens like scary is a compliment

em: hannah grose sips her tea knowingly

obsetress: rebecca just narrows her eyes at hannah grose and hannah raises her eyebrows and shrugs

em: after a week or so viola bursts into a room w stupid big sunglasses and a tray of take out coffees and she’s like Don’t You Worry Jamie I Have Concluded You’re Hot But I’m Not Threatened By It

em: jamies like sorry WHAT

em: you’ve been thinking about WHAT

em: viola leaves without ever following it up

obsetress: dani is entirely unfazed

obsetress: doesn't even blink

em: danis like neat she remembered the oat milk

em: everyone in this au is insane

obsetress: any lesbian in 2021 is insane

obsetress: par for the course

em: was gonna protest but

em: Yeah

obsetress: this lesbian meme account i follow on insta is doing “stop asking who’s the top and who’s the bottom. start asking...” posts

obsetress: and one of them is “start asking who’s baby and who’s fuck around and find out” and it just makes me chuckle

obsetress: jamie taylor baby

obsetress: viola lloyd also baby

em: dani is baby passing and jamie is fuck around faking

obsetress: oh my god that’s why that’s why i think we cracked it

obsetress: dani (fuck around) dated jamie (baby) and vi (baby)

obsetress: rebecca (fuck around) dated jamie (baby) and vi (baby)

obsetress: the reason they could never cross further even tho per the transitive property dani (so similar to vi) should be able to date beccs and jamie (so similar to beccs) should be able to date vi is because

obsetress: you can’t have two babies and two fuck arounds in a relationship together

em: oh of course. i see. i see

em: however in the rare rare crack ship of the ‘jamie viola hatefuck’ a similar phenomenon to ‘social anxiety mum friend ordering food’ instinct takes over and someone fucks around and finds out

em: this is just my unhinged jamie viola hatefuck bulkshit which is. it’s ironic ok it’s ironic it’s ironic it’s

em: ok one last thought bc i know it’s super late for u but

obsetress: omg i also have a last thought let’s trade

em: what if mikey is about isabels age n jamie ends up looking after him for one reason or another for a bit

em: and viola absolutely Dotes on him

obsetress: omg

obsetress: that’s what does it. jamie seeing viola w mikey

em: grumble grumble i guess she’s not that bad

em: except then she’s like god what if mikey likes her MORE than me

obsetress: “dani what if mikey gets one of those weird first crushes on vi”

obsetress: dani doesn’t even look up from the laundry “who hasn’t had a crush on vi”

obsetress: jamie’s like “mE” and dani just gives her the most withering look

em: danis like It’s Par For The Course Jamie

em: danis a teacher she’s like it happens don’t sweat it

em: anyway

em: what was. what was ur last little thought

obsetress: i was just thinking more about viola also baby and how also she’s been so privileged her whole life that sometimes there are just some things she can’t do for herself because she just doesn’t know how

obsetress: like she’s never had to learn

em: rebecca gets um

em: freeze dried coffee

em: nescafé

obsetress: but like

obsetress: rebecca genuinely loves taking care of vi for whatever reason (it’s because she loves her) when she really needs it but

obsetress: rebecca also takes no shit and is like “i’m not making the nescafé for you. you’re 36 years old, vi, you need to learn to do it for yourself”

obsetress: and she’ll stand there and watch her do it and then she makes vi do it at least three more times for posterity

obsetress: “i’ll make a plebeian of you yet, viola lloyd”

obsetress: (god only the two of them would think a line like that is funny)

#this one's fucken LONG!!!!!!!!#the dani jamie viola rebecca exes au

12 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

With bright lights and beeping machines and out-of-date magazines. Roland’s career was supposed to end with confetti. Maybe a parade. At least some sort of cheering, because if there was cheering then it wouldn’t be possible to hear how difficult it was for Matt to catch his breath and if he started crying in the waiting room he was never going to forgive himself.

Or: Roland Locksley gets hurt and Matt Jones doesn’t handle it very well.

----

Rating: Teen, but like with a heaping side of angst Word Count: 5.2K or so AN: This story has been living rent free in the back corner of my mind that I reserve for angsty hockey head canons for as long as I can remember and last week I finally sat down and typed it. Anyway, this is as angsty as advertised, is basically just original characters at this point and I had no intention of actually posting it anywhere, but I thrive on forcing hockey words at the internet so here we go. Also, probably important to remember that Roland and Lizzie are together and that Taylor is Phillip and Aurora’s kid. I was not kidding about this really being mostly original characters.

----

“Where is he? Is everything—”

Matt cut himself off. Nearly bit his tongue in half in the process too, but he also couldn’t quite come to terms with the overall circumference of Lizzie’s eyes or just how quickly Peggy had slid in the chair she was draped across.

Both of their mouths dropped open.

Audibly.

“What are you—” Lizzie breathed, shaking her head slowly and she didn’t blink. Matt wasn’t sure she was capable. That was fair. Every time he blinked he saw the play all over again. In slow motion, even. Like his brain was trying to remind him of the wholly inhuman angle Roland’s leg had taken when he slammed into the boards and no one was supposed to slam into the boards like that.

“MD,” Peggy said when the rest of Lizzie’s sentence drifted into the low hum of an exceptionally packed waiting room. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” “They do have cars, Mar.” “Was that supposed to rhyme?”

“And he doesn’t know how to drive,” Lizzie mumbled. Matt ignored that. “Where is he?”

Taking his time on every word felt like overkill, even as Matt was saying them, but he was also at least passably familiar with the accepted resting heart rate for professional athletes and his appeared close to beating out of his chest.

Someone was walking towards them.

And Lizzie still hadn’t blinked yet.

“They took him to pre-op twenty minutes ago.” Matt startled at the new voice, not entirely surprised to see Taylor turning the nearest corner with three cups of undoubtedly shitty coffee clutched in his hands. “I didn’t get you any of this. Did you fly here?” “I don’t want your garbage coffee anyway. Probably burnt.” “You’re something of a snob, you know that?” Matt shrugged, trying to ignore the exact way his stomach continued to clench. Although when that same organ had spent most of the rented car ride from New York to Philadelphia trying to lodge itself in the middle of Matt’s throat, he supposed this was a step in the right direction

Metaphorically speaking.

Now that he was in the hospital, he wasn’t doing very much literal stepping. His legs felt like they’d frozen.

Locked up. Particularly in the knee-type area.

Knees were not meant to bend like Roland’s had.

“What’s the kid doing here?” Matt nodded towards Taylor, who only grumbled a few choice words under his breath while he doled out garbage coffee and he must have bailed on his classes that afternoon. Apparently none of them could operate without at least a few of the others, because no one was entirely surprised when Taylor decided to go to school in Philadelphia and Temple didn’t have a hockey team, but that probably wasn’t really all that important.

The Mills-Locksley plastered across the back of Taylor’s t-shirt looked bigger than usual.

Peggy made a face as soon as she took her first sip of coffee, the expression quickly evolving into a glare. Directed entirely at Matt. That didn’t seem fair, honestly. He’d spent a lot of money on that car. “Does front office know you’re here? Or Henry?”

“Those two don’t go together.” She rolled her eyes. While Matt’s kept darting towards Lizzie — who, it seemed, was trying her best to bite her lip in half. Wringing her fingers together wasn’t doing much to help the anxious energy practically falling off her, the kind of pale that made it look like she hadn’t seen the outside world in several decades.

She kept tapping her right foot. Five quick movements, the bottom of her heel colliding with the tiled floor, and a sharp inhale on every third tap. Her gaze had a distinctly glazed edge to it.

“Henry didn’t have any idea Matt was going to be here,” Lizzie muttered, not taking her eyes off him. It felt like she was staring through him. Or at whatever was directly over his right shoulder.

Looked pretty interesting.

Distracting, maybe.

Matt could have used a distraction.

“Didn’t say anything, at least,” she added, “neither did Gina or Robin. But, they’re uh—I mean they’re kind of preoccupied and—” Something wasn’t right.

Less right. Than the piece of shit situation they were in now.

He really hadn’t thought when he’d left New York. Just told everyone that he wasn’t going to be at skate that morning and made a few phone calls, sent a text to his parents and his brother, and the whole thing would probably end with some sort of lengthy discussion about priorities that Matt wasn’t particularly interested in hearing, but he really had lost track of how often he watched the video and people knew.

What Roland meant. To him. To the game. To the way Matt was when he played.

So, he’d sat in the backseat of that car, twisting his phone and resisting the urge to torture himself some more and maybe he should have told someone he was coming. Seemed almost redundant though.

People knew.

Everyone knew.

Something was incredibly wrong.

“Lizzie,” Matt said, unable to stop himself from stretching the name out into some sort of reprimand. She blinked. He was suffocating.

Shaking her head slowly appeared to be the only answer she was capable of giving at the moment, which wasn’t so much frustrating as it was a little overwhelming and Matt was going to set records. For self-inflicted oxygen deprivation.

His mind raced.

Tried to understand options and recovery periods and—this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Roland. Matt licked his lips. Several times. Didn’t help. Lizzie blinked again. And he kept trying to think. Because ACL injuries were common now, the inevitable cause behind most of the NHL’s publicized “lower body injuries,” and surgeries were relatively quick, but multiple issues with the muscle that basically allowed skating couldn’t have possibly been good or healthy and—

“No,” Matt exhaled.

Lizzie closed her eyes. Lightly, as if she were giving into the feeling or everything she hadn’t said yet and it was Matt’s turn to shake his head.

In disagreement.

Of the strongest kind.

“No, no,” he chanted. “That’s—c’mon, you guys are kidding me.” Peggy’s mouth twisted, as far away from a smile as the movement could be. “No one said anything, MD. Seriously, are you going to get in trouble for this?” “Fuck that.” “An irresponsible mindset.”

Something flew out of Matt — loud and wholly inhuman, like it was scratching its way from the depths of his soul and some deep, dark part of him where disappointment lurked and unfair things festered and this wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was right.

He wanted time to freeze. To stop and give him a chance to understand, for his pulse to settle and his legs to move because he needed to move and Matt couldn’t move and there were tears on Lizzie’s cheeks.

Machines beeped at the other end of the hallway. Outdated magazines moved as other people who did not have several worlds crashing around them at that very moment looked for something interesting to read in Philadelphia’s most brightly-lit waiting room. Orthopedic shoes squeaked on the floor.

Voices drifted. Calls and pages and a slew of other words Matt couldn’t begin to think of or even pretend to care about.

Taylor downed the rest of his coffee.

“Might not be good, Mattie,” he mumbled.

And that was it. Of all the things that could do it, Matt wasn’t entirely surprised when a decades-old nickname was the thing that pushed him over that metaphorical edge. Directly into what felt like a never-ending chasm of knowing and understanding and Peggy really was very quick on her feet.

Moving into his space, her hands on his chest were most of the reason Matt didn’t fall over right there. Plus his knees. Which refused to function, still. She had to press up on her toes to curl his t-shirt into her fingers, saying things he didn’t hear and didn’t want to understand and the feeling of weightlessness on his descent into that metaphorical chasm was oddly pleasant.

He figured that would end relatively quickly.

“What—” Matt’s voice didn’t sound like his. Rasped out of him through lips that were quickly turning chapped, and that didn’t make sense either. It was April. Playoffs were just starting.

It was so goddamn sunny out.

He resented it, honestly.

“What, uh—what have the doctors said so far? That’s...I mean, I know it was shitty, but Rol’s come back from—” “—Yeah,” Henry said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with neither one of his parents nearby, “that’s not really what he wants to do anymore.”

“Be more specific, old man.” “Ah, that’s just rude.” “It wasn’t just last night,” Lizzie whispered, and Matt genuinely did not know where to look. He had to pick somewhere. He couldn’t glare at all of them at once.

He tried anyway.

“What does that mean?” “Something about a camel and last straw, I think.” “Grandma is not here, Elizabeth.” Narrowing her eyes only made the red in them more pronounced, a thin line across her face that Matt was sure had, at one point, been her mouth. “You know better than anybody, Mattie. Teams don’t disclose injuries like that. We—” Lizzie huffed, another quick shake of her head that only served to make her hair flutter against her cheeks, “He’s been playing banged up all year.” “Banged up? That’s what we’re going with?” “What would you like?” “Hurt?” Matt snarled, marginally disappointed when he couldn’t control the volume of his voice. Anger mixed with fear, manifesting itself into a weird tightening around his core and possibly the general area of his spleen.

He wasn’t ever sure what the point of his spleen was, exactly.

“It’s....it hasn’t been easy,” Lizzie explained. “This season, at least. Playing so long last year didn’t help with his knees and skating isn’t—” “—Easy?” “If you’re going to be a dick about this, you can get back in a car I know you paid way too much for and go home.”

Deflating wasn’t exactly a word Matt wanted to think about in that moment. But for as quickly as the fight had risen in him, it disappeared even faster. Leaving nothing more than a sharp emptiness in the very center of him.

None of it made sense.

“I really paid way too much to get here,” Matt admitted.

Lizzie sniffled, dragging her hands down either one of her cheeks with enough force that she left angry red streaks in her wake and it didn’t look like she’d slept in several days. Possibly this whole season.

“How bad was bad, then?” “Bad,” she echoed. “He’d kill me if he knew I said this, but getting to the Conference Finals took a lot last season. All those extra games and that triple overtime was a fucking disaster and...you know, there’s something about the way he plays. Never the biggest guy, or the most physical, but it—”

Lizzie tugged her lips behind her teeth, another inhale that affected Matt’s respiratory system and this was why. Why he didn’t waste time thinking. Why he wouldn’t look at a single newspaper article the next day. Why he had to be here for a surgery he’d spend sitting in a mass-produced plastic chair.

Because he knew. What this game meant to Roland. And what losing it would do to him.

“Spent half his mornings in PT this year, and never really said anything, but I—”

Lizzie always had exceptionally straight teeth.

When they were kids, Matt thought it was entirely unfair that she hadn’t needed braces or a retainer or anything. She simply existed and everything was great. That had been some sort of trend for most of their lives. Lizzie knew. She had a plan and a list, and she got shit done. No matter what else was going on or who else said it was impossible, and when people had started muttering and questioning, whispering about how much older Roland was than her, she’d flashed them that kind of hundred-watt smile that usually distracted opposing counsel and, quite easily, told them to go fuck themselves.

Lizzie never broke.

She never wavered. She believed and she knew and she fixed everything.

None of this could get fixed.

At least not entirely.

And every one of her perfectly straight teeth was on display when she grimaced.

“It hurt to skate,” Lizzie breathed, “every time he got on the ice. But he’s an idiot, so—” Matt chuckled, a sniffle of his own and eyes that couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him anymore. “Anyway, uh...we’d talked about it, a little. What would happen after the season, but that always seemed like such a far away thing and then there’s playoffs and that’s just another season, isn’t it? I’m rambling. Aren’t I?” “A little,” Matt agreed.

“You really came down here.” “That wasn’t a question.” “More a slightly stunned observation.” Matt’s smile felt carved onto his face, nothing more than muscles that weren’t all that inclined to move the way he wanted them to. “Was he playing on the tear?” “No, no, no,” Lizzie promised quickly, but Matt lifted his eyebrows and Taylor snickered into his empty coffee cup. “Might have been strained.” “Likely,” Peggy amended.

Widening his eyes, Matt hoped he didn’t look as deranged as he felt. “You might have been right about the camel and the straw.” “Is that two different cliches?” Lizzie asked. “Yeah, absolutely. Grandma really would be impressed.” Another less-than-impressive laugh fell out of Lizzie at the same time her chin dropped to her shirt. “You play through the pain, Mattie. As idiotic as it’s always been. That’s the game, isn’t it?”

“It’s a dumb one.” “Yeah, it is. A good one too, though. Sometimes. Most of the time, really. All those cheers and the people and every stupid opinion on TV shows and tweets. You play for that chance. To be something bigger than yourself. To leave it all behind, for people to remember you by. You play for the possibility of it all, and sometimes you forget what losing that will mean.”

Matt’s hands moved. Darted, really. Onto Peggy’s shoulders and she grit her teeth at the force of his grip, but she didn’t tell him to move and he was going to have to take her to Serendipity for that.

“You’re going to dislocate something in her,” Taylor chided lightly. He dropped into Peggy’s forgotten chair, catching one of Lizzie’s hands when she started wringing her fingers again. She didn’t pull away, either.

Matt shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was objecting to anymore. “I don’t think I have that kind of dexterity in my fingers, actually.” “Good word,” Henry murmured.

“How long have you been here?” “Since last night. There was some talking and,” he shrugged, “planning and discussion. Now, Luce and Ella are back at the apartment trying to make sure no one starves after this operation—” “—Awfully pointed,” Lizzie interrupted. Taylor squeezed her hand. Her head fell to his shoulder. Which couldn’t have been very comfortable with the armrest looking like it was poking rather prominently into her ribs.

“What have you eaten since the game?” “Uh, like...some saltines.” Peggy groaned. “Liar, you took at least two bites of my egg sandwich this morning. Please stop spreading rumors like that.”

Lizzie’s answering laugh sounded far too watery.

“And,” Henry added, “Mom and Dad are outside talking to El and Liam who just got here and had to park several miles away, or so they claimed.”

“My parents are here?” Lizzie asked. “Probably texted you several dozen times.” Without letting go of Taylor’s hand, Lizzie threatened to dislocate her own shoulder as she yanked her phone out of her back pocket. She let out a low curse at the number of messages she’d missed, and Matt was getting a little frustrated that no one had actually confirmed anything to him yet.

He also didn’t object when Peggy curled against his side.

Made it easier to rest his chin on top of her head, anyway.

And none of them flinched when the automatic doors slid open, four more sets of footsteps and muted discussion in obviously worried tones — but Lizzie wasn’t much more than a blur when she moved, launching herself into Aunt Elsa’s outstretched arms.

“It’s ok elskan, it’s ok,” Aunt Elsa said, one of her hands coming up to cup the back of Lizzie’s head as she pressed endearments into her temple. None of the words were in English. Peak Jones comforting techniques. In addition to losing track of how often he’d watched the video, Matt couldn’t even begin to guess how many times his parents had done the same thing to him, quiet assurances and guarantees that worked when he was young, but might have rung a little hollow now and maybe he was just some sort of pessimistic asshole.

No one had said the word actual yet.

He wouldn't believe it until Roland told him.

“C’mon MD,” Peggy said, tugging him back towards a pair of empty chairs on Taylor’s other side. “I can’t support your weight forever.”

He let her direct him, not sure if his lack of fight was a reaction to Lizzie or how blotchy Gina’s face was when she followed Robin into the waiting room, or how at some point in the next three hours he’d become the de facto contact point for anyone not in Philadelphia.

Dad texted him and Mom called him — another round of those quiet assurances that Matt tried desperately to believe, but the growing lump in his throat made it difficult to respond and time was going backwards, he was sure. Chris FaceTimed. Four different times.

“Nothing to report, kid,” Matt said, for at least the seventy-sixth time. Peggy was pacing a lopsided circle in front of him, Lizzie’s head resting on Aunt Elsa’s leg and her feet propped against Uncle Liam’s knee.

“That’s bullshit.” “Saying it over and over is not going to help, Toph,” Henry muttered, not bothering to open his eyes. It was the middle of the afternoon.

Matt couldn’t imagine any of them had slept the night before. What with life-changing conversations to have, and everything.

“Lizzie eat yet?”

Matt’s eyes darted towards his cousin, but she didn’t so much as move — let alone show any signs of hunger, and he very much doubted she’d even tasted those so-called bites of sandwich she’d taken that morning.

“Gets in her own head,” Chris mumbled, “can’t think about anything as human as sustenance.” Sliding down in his chair wouldn’t help the covertness of a conversation that should have had headphones, but Matt was getting more desperate the longer he sat there and he was even more convinced Lizzie wasn’t paying attention to him. “At some point, I’m pretty positive Aunt Gina’s just going to take over and start doling out rations to everyone and—”

He cut himself off.

Suddenly. Sharply. As soon as he processed the specific squeak moving towards them and how quickly it stopped in front of Lizzie.

She swung her feet back onto the floor.

“Got quite a party out here, don’t you?” the doctor asked, like that was a joke and he was allowed to smile and both Peggy and Chris clicked their tongues knowingly. At Matt. Who couldn't see his face, but knew all too well the glare it had almost immediately shifted into.

His shoulders rolled forward too.

“Like he’s going to check the goddamn medical professional,” Peggy muttered conspiratorially. Chris rolled his eyes.

“Get fined, suspended and arrested, maybe?”

“That’d be a fun distraction.” “I will kill both of you,” Matt hissed. Peggy scrunched her nose when she nodded. For added effect. And obnoxiousness.

And he was so busy doling out threats that Matt barely heard the updates. Something about feeling good and still a little groggy, but coherent and Lizzie nodded in what could only be described as understanding and possible hope while the doctor listed post-op plans and medicine schedules and then they were moving and squeaking and Matt was back to waiting.

Impatiently.

He picked up Peggy’s route, ignoring the lingering looks from Henry and Taylor and Aunt Elsa caught his hand before he was entirely ready for it.

“You’re making me dizzy,” she smiled, pulling him next to her. Still no fight. The lump in Matt’s throat was enormous.

“Sorry.” “Ridiculous.” “Is that a compliment or an observation?” “Eh, little of column A, little of column B. How’s your breathing going?” Blushing was stupid, all things considered — but Matt suddenly felt like he was ten years old and getting caught for shoving Peggy into the pool because of course the Vankald-Jones’ moved into a house outside of D.C. that had a pool. Perfect family life demanded such things.

“That’s what I thought,” Aunt Elsa nodded, “you know, sometimes you are so much like your dad it is amazing.” “Oh, that didn’t sound like a compliment either.” “It wasn’t,” Uncle Liam said, a soft laugh clinging to the words. “Nice shot the other night, by the way. When you guys start the next series?” “Once Carolina and Pittsburgh finish. They’re probably going to go seven, though.” “Carolina’s a better match for you guys, right?” Matt shrugged. “Both of ‘em have their strengths, but—” He desperately needed to finish his sentence. That proved impossible when he heard Henry’s smile stretch across his face, and Uncle Liam didn’t bother to hide his own look, a distraction that almost took root in the form of a politically correct and PR-approved answer and—“It’d be fun to fuck up Pittsburgh” Matt finished. “That center of theirs is a bastard.” “That’s the spirit.”

And, really, it didn’t take long. For Lizzie to come back and Aunt Gina to pretend like she hadn’t been crying, and Uncle Robin’s hand appeared cemented to the back of his neck, but then Matt was standing and Henry was standing and neither one of them double checked. They went in at the same time.

To a room that was also questionably bright, bouquets of flowers already dotting a variety of flat surfaces. An IV wire ran towards the bed, the same one Roland was propped up in with more pillows than the hospital could have ever provided.

“Your mom bring those?”

Roland's grin threatened to split his face. The ache returned to Matt’s chest. “Don’t act like you aren’t jealous. And it smells like a goddamn rose garden in here. They’re going to have to drag me out.” “Don’t tell Lizzie that, she might not ever forgive you.” “She likes all those sweet smells at home. Vanilla, sugar cookie, cinnamon, coffee house whatever.” “Is a coffee house inherently sweet?” “Yes,” Roland replied, “and it’s our biggest disagreement ever.” Matt stopped short, not sure when he’d crossed so much of the room or how close he was to the bed and more beeping machines. “That so?” “Huh. You want to do this now, then?” Anger really was the most ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t Matt’s knee. Wasn’t his career or his legacy — which was stupid in its own right because Roland was this team and this city and the only reason they’d even gotten to the fucking Eastern Conference Finals the season before was because he’d set up the game-winner the series before and it had been a seven-game series and if Matt actually started crying in this overly bright hospital room he was never going to forgive himself.

“Is that the reason for the face?” “You cannot hold a conversation by only asking me questions,” Matt argued.

Roland smiled. Asshole. “Can’t I, though?” “He’s going to have a coronary in front of you,” Henry chided, hooking his foot around the only chair, “and it will be your fault.” “Ah, well we’re in the right spot for it. And that wasn’t a question, Matt. Means I’m winning.” “This isn’t a competition,” Matt objected. “Are you serious about this?” And for half a second Roland almost looked like he regretted it. What could have been. What hadn’t happened. What had happened. Losing in five in the Eastern Conference Finals. But then it was gone. Replaced with something far closer to resolve and an understanding Matt couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around.

“The first time sucked,” he said. “Getting back and trying to get my speed again and—” “—You are not a fast skater,” Matt interrupted. “Yeah, well you’re some freak of genetic nature. So we can’t all be like you, can we?” “‘Nother question.” “Conversational marvel, you are.” Matt huffed, blinking quickly and biting down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep himself from unraveling over something that didn’t belong to him. “It’s ok,” Roland said, “all of it is, really. It’s—this is the end, kid. And I’m not as freaked out as I thought I’d be, honestly.” “No?” “No. My knees are fucked. Even if I came back, it’d take months. I wouldn’t be ready for the start of next season and I don’t want to be that guy, Mattie. Showing up in fucking January, like some replacement. Clinging to something that’s passed me by already. Taking a spot from some other kid. Playing fourth line.” “But that’s not—” “—I’m not playing fourth line minutes, Mattie.” Twice. He’d said it twice, that nickname and all the meaning that came with it and Matt didn’t think. Again. Thrusting his hand forward he held onto Roland’s with enough force that someone’s knuckles cracked, but he could not begin to guess whose and that was probably some sort of metaphor.

For the way they grew up and how much the game had twisted its way into both of their lives and—“Gotta be the star, huh?” Roland’s laugh echoed around them. Nothing about it was watery or disappointed, but rather certain and confident and Matt’s dad had always been his favorite player, but he’d been a kid when Killian Jones was captain of the New York Rangers and there was something different about now. About watching Roland come into his own in Philadelphia, a spotlight that was his on his own, not because of the name on his back, but because of how good his wrister was and how much those kids did look up to him. Matt included.

“Face of the franchise, Mattie Jones. So, uh,” Roland continued, “this is it, kid. Not quite perfect. But you know I hate those farewell tours anyway.” “Could have gotten some good gifts,” Henry pointed out. “Bringing home some garbage merch from a bunch of Eastern teams that hated me every other day of the year really would have driven Lizzie insane. Plus, think about all the networks that’ll be clamoring for my face on their pre-game shows. Retirement’s got it’s perks.” There it was, kind of.

One word and one decision and Matt was briefly worried about the blood flow to Roland’s hand, but he figured one of the machines would alert them to any problem before it happened and— “I’m going to retire,” Roland said, like he knew Matt needed to hear it. “Announcement coming in the next couple of days, probably. I’m almost looking forward to the tearful goodbye videos.” “God, you’re an ass,” Matt grumbled. “One who’s going to rake in that TV money.”

Smiling continued to feel more than a little unnatural, but it was some sort of innate reaction in that moment and Matt didn’t have to say anything. Roland didn’t expect it either, which felt like a bit of a twisted reward, but then he was walking and moving and Henry was still in the room.

No one was in the hallway.

Made it easier, that way.

To quickly and completely go to pieces.

Sliding down the wall, Matt’s legs tangled in front of him, tears on his cheeks and oxygen staging some sort of revolt in his body and he wished his girlfriend was there and he wished his dad was there and Peggy still had his phone and— “Hey, hey, hey, at least get your hands out of your hair.” The words didn’t connect immediately, another noticeable knuckle crack as Matt’s fingers dug into the strands he’d started gripping at some point. Uncle Liam groaned when he crouched, stymying the threat to Matt’s scalp as he ducked into his eye line.

“If you tell me it’s going to be ok, you don’t have to. I—” Matt’s inconsistent breathing was even more annoying than his sentence structure. “I know it’ll be fine. Rol’s choice and for the best and...God, fuck, shit, damnit.” “Last one wasn’t very impressive.” “I ran out.” “Ah, don’t lie to me, kid. I know we taught you way more creative words.” “Mostly use that on the ice.” Uncle Liam hummed knowingly, finally letting go of Matt’s hands when it seemed he trusted him not to start yanking on his own hair again. “It absolutely isn’t fine. None of it. It’s bullshit and unfair and knees are worthless joints anyway.” Matt blinked.

His neck ached with the force of his head jerk, gaping and staring and Uncle Liam’s smile shifted slightly. Into something almost like understanding. He knew.

He knew.

“Game like this, it...it sinks into you, doesn’t it? Has to, that’s the only way you can get through it. Because it’s not like other ones. No grass, no court, no sunshine. Fuck, any sunshine just makes it even harder to see on the ice. And that makes it worse and even better. Because for every time you’ve managed to sweat through your pads while shivering at a shitty rink, there are game winners and brekaways and hitting some bastard who thought he was better at faceoffs than you.” “They measure things like faceoffs now, y’know?” “I’m giving you a motivational speech.” Matt nodded.

“Point is, a sport like this, it...for as much as it gives, it takes a little bit too. Because you’ve got to give yourself to it. Understand that the bumps and the bruises and the incessant cracking of your joints is payment in kind.” “For?” “For the way it felt. The way it’ll always feel, even when it doesn’t end the way you planned.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Matt barely felt his head when it dropped against the wall. “He never won. That’s—of all the things, that’s the worst.” “Sure he did. You don’t think so?” “Unless I forgot about a parade.”

“That’s not how this stuff works, kid,” Liam sighed. “All those runs when you were growing up, even before you were born, those were Rol’s as much as they were Locksley’s. As much as they were your dad’s. And anything you do, that’s his too. Not just because you stole his wrister. Which is kind theft four-times removed, actually.” “How you figure?” “Well, Rol stole it from your dad who ripped it off me, so. You’re welcome.” He might need oxygen sooner rather than later. And a tissue. More than one tissue. “The point I’m getting at,” Uncle Liam said, “is that there’s no perfect way for this to go. Happily ever after isn’t guaranteed, but it doesn’t wipe out everything else that happened. Doesn’t change how good this game is or how good it will keep being. You play with a team, right?” “Sounds like a cliche.” “You grow up in that house, some things become entrenched.” “Yeah, I get that.” “I know you do. Your sister was talking to your parents before, I’m sure they’re waiting for you to get back out there.” It wasn’t the dismissal it sounded like, especially when it came with a hand clasped on his shoulder — but Matt nodded all the same, muttering a quiet thanks and Uncle Liam had been right. Mom had totally been crying too.

And it wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the ending that Roland deserved, but eventually Matt started to wonder if it was actually the end and as the years went on he started to know it wasn’t. Not with weddings and kids and a whole subsection of the internet that was decidedly preoccupied with the cut of Roland’s suits on postgame television spots.

They kept going. Games and hits and a few more injuries, and, eventually, when the Stanley Cup came back to New York and back to that brownstone downtown, Matt didn’t hesitate. He handed it to Roland.

And took a picture.

With both of their kid sitting in the goddamn thing.

#blue line one shots #HELLO THIS IS VERY ANGSTY AND ALMOST MADE ME CRY WHILE I WAS WRITING IT #operation: write all the things about roland locksley has been going really well the last few weeks #anyway sports emotions are the only emotions that matter

26 notes · View notes

ginnympotter · 5 years ago

Text

I Think He Knows

A/N: Yes, this fanfiction was inspired by the line "I think he knows his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it's mine" from "I Think He Knows" by Taylor Swift; then it kind of just took on a life of its own. Hope you enjoy :) You can also read it on AO3!

Had she never realized how strong and tan his hands were before?

For the life of her, she could not stop staring at them.

Well, most of the time. Her eyes occasionally flickered to his face. But he was talking to Marlene about strategy or whatnot, and she knew if Marlene caught her staring at his face for too long she would embarrass her. His hands were safe, because for all they knew she could just be zoning out. But, lord, was she zoning in.

His fingers were long and his nails were surprisingly clean considering he had just played a two-hour Quidditch match. She wondered how many blisters and calluses were on his palm. His hands must be twice the size of her own, because her hand barely fits halfway around her glass, while his grasp fully encircled it. She saw droplets from the condensation dripping under his fingers, but he kept his grip firm, so much so that his veins were becoming more and more defined.

Someone cleared their throat above her.

Before she could will herself to look away and up, they plopped down on the couch next to her.

“You might need some lessons in subtlety, Evans.”

She forced herself to turn to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius snorted, placing his empty butterbeer bottle on the table. “You were staring, for the seventieth time, the past hour alone. Day by day you are losing tact, my friend.”

“I was zoning out,” she defended herself automatically, trying to maintain eye contact with Sirius without breaking.

“More like daydreaming.”

“Zoning out, daydreaming, whatever you want to call it-“

“-All right, fantasizing more like it.”

“Excuse me-“

“I was standing here for a solid minute before I made my presence known. You were practically drooling looking at his hands,” he laughed, taking the glass from her and taking a sip for himself.

“Definitely fantasizing. Wishing that instead of his hand being around that glass it was around your thro-“

Lily clapped her hand over his mouth. “There are people around,” she muttered through gritted teeth as he continued to snicker. She noticed Sirius’s eyes flicker towards James and she allowed herself permission to look momentarily too, and both he and Marlene were giving them a curious glance.

“Ooh, making him jealous?” Sirius mumbled against her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “Smart, smart. Never knew you were devious though, but you both have been playing at this for months to no avail so I guess desperate times call for desperate measures-“

She removed her hand and used it to punch his arm instead. “Oh, shut it.”

“I won’t say anything to him,” he assured her, not even flinching at her attempts to harm him. "I mean, I don't have to. At this point, your subtlety is so far gone that I think he knows."

“I still have no clue what you’re talking about, Sirius,” she shrugged, failing to be nonchalant. “So, great match today. Saw you hit that bludger right at Rosier. Very satisfying.”

Sirius downed the rest of Lily’s drink before placing it next to his empty butterbeer bottle. “Of course you saw that play.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Of course I saw it, I watched the entire match.”

Sirius smirked as he patted her shoulder sympathetically. “That particular bludger hit was when I saved it from nearly crushing your boyfriend’s skull-“

“He’s not my boyfriend-“

“Not yet, at least,” he retorted, ruffling her hair. “You’re blushing.”

She groaned, closing her eyes and covering her face as she dramatically fell onto her back on the red sofa. “Maybe if I blush enough it’ll match my hair and the couch and then I’ll just blend in and no one will remember I exist, including you.”

“He won’t forget,” Sirius said quietly, and she could feel him standing up. He patted her knee before she heard him begin to walk away.

“Good, leave me!” she shouted after him. She thought she heard his footsteps dying away, but then she heard more approaching her again. “I thought I just told you-“

She opened her eyes and saw James Potter standing above her, his glasses a bit askew, still holding his drink.

“Oh,” she said, feeling her face heat up again.

“Huh,” James surveyed her. “Looks like you could blend in with the couch.”

She attempted a smile, now her entire body heating up. “That was the goal.”

He gazed at her for a moment, smiling back. Lily quickly sat up- perhaps too quickly, as she suddenly became lightheaded, although maybe that was just being so close to James- and made some room for him. “Thanks,” he said quietly and sat so close to her that their legs would be touching if she moved just a centimeter closer. “You enjoy the match?”

“Of course I did. You were brilliant as always,” she said automatically, and then felt her stomach drop. Sirius was right; she was not subtle at all.

But maybe James did not notice, because he responded, “It was a team effort, really,” all bashful.

“Pft. James Potter? Being modest?” she laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugged. “Miracles happen all the time.”

“C’mon, Potter,” she said as she turned to face him properly and folded her legs into a pretzel. “You got more than half of Gryffindor’s goals, and that interception between Regulus and Mulciber? Top-notch.”

He smiled, and oh no, that gleam of confidence sparked in his eye, always a dangerous sign. One that she unwillingly brought back on, but, dear god, was it attractive. “Keeping tabs on me, Evans?”

“It’s just called paying attention,” she played off, picking at a piece of lint on her trousers. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

“I know a lot about paying attention,” he countered, and Lily could see through her peripherals James leaning back more comfortably into the sofa and stretching his free arm out over the top of it, his hand resting quite close to her shoulder. His other was still gripping his glass, Lily knew, but she continued to pick at any stray lint on her clothing. She could feel him staring at her. “Maybe not in class,” he amended, “but I don’t need to, anyway.”

“Ah, there he is,” she said, looking back up at him. “We get it, you’re so naturally talented in everything you do, all hail Head Boy Potter, we are not worthy.”

“Can’t argue with the truth,” he sighed. “Although, the Head Girl could give him a run for his money.”

“Hell yeah, I could.”

James laughed, ruffling his hair. “In charms and potions, sure. But Transfiguration? Good luck.”

Lily scoffed, jabbing one of her feet at the side of his thigh. “That’s only because you have favoritism on your side. You see McGonagall practically crying tears of joy in the stands before? All in the name of Quidditch.”

“Oh, and you don’t have old Sluggy in the palm of your hands? Please-“

“But that’s because of my innovative potion-making and my vibrant personality, not because I’m helping Slytherin win the cup-“

“It’s not all about Quidditch-“

Lily gasped dramatically. “Not all about Quidditch? Potter…are you alright?”

“Oh, boy. That’s not what I-“

She reached a hand out and put it against his forehead. “You must be ill. Maybe you should go to Pomfrey-“

James’s smile then lit up his face, and as his dimples emerged Lily suddenly felt like the heat from his forehead shot through her hand into her body. She attempted to bring her hand back into her lap, but James moved his arm from the top of the couch and caught it, held her hand firmly in his own, and kept speaking, as if the gesture was nothing at all. “What I meant was,” he said as he interlaced their fingers casually, and dear Lord, his hand was so much bigger than hers. “I have achieved Transfiguration feats that well exceed N.E.W.T. level.”

Lily became momentarily distracted, as she marveled at how utterly natural it felt for them to be holding hands. Why had they never held hands before? She exhaled pleasantly as the warmth from his fingers spread over hers, trying to stop herself from closing her eyes to just revel in it. And then she tuned back in, realizing what James was implying. The only reason she even knew James was an Animagus was because Remus told her last year once she finally admitted to him that she figured out he was a werewolf in fourth year. She cocked her head to the side, giving James an accusatory look. “And illegal,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, illegal? You must’ve meant to say admirable. They kind of sound similar, I can see how you might mix them up.”

Lily snorted, despite the fact that she did find it admirable, sickeningly so - and then gulped as James squeezed her hand tighter right before she spoke. “And what was that Sirius said when we talked about it last? Something about if Peter could pull it off anyone could? Which was mean, by the way.”

“I didn’t say it!”

“You agreed!”

“Not everyone is as lucky as Peter to have two transfiguration masters as their best mates, so he had significant help, I’d say.”

“It’s not too tough to chew a leaf, I would think.”

“You are completely oversimplifying the entire process,” James accused her. “And if it’s as easy as that, why don’t you become one?”

“It’s illegal.”

“Not if you register.”

“I have no need for it,” she said and, on a delayed reflex, squeezed his hand back before she could stop herself. “You lot had good reason, I’ll give you that.”

“Admirable reasons, one might say!” he reminded her. “Let’s say you did: what do you think you’d be?”

Lily pondered the question for a moment. “I just thought of something. Aren’t all three of your Animagus forms the same as your corporeal patronuses?”

“Correct,” James confirmed.

“So I guess mine would be a doe, then, wouldn’t it?”

“Not definitely, but probably, yes,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet and raspy. “And mine is a stag, the doe’s mate for life. So we’re a perfect fit in all forms. Fancy that, huh?”

Despite the fact that, yes, she did quite fancy that, she rolled her eyes at him as he raised his glass with his other hand to his smirking lips and took a sip. Lily felt like she was going mad; his hand and his lips in one frame? And the other hand holding hers? Through the glass she could see James eyeing her curiously. He lowered it slowly, surveying her. “You want some?” he offered, holding it out to her.

Maybe Sirius was right; they’d been playing at this for too long. And too often, really. Ever since the Easter holidays in sixth year when she confided in him and he comforted her and they became actual mates and then she found herself disgustingly obsessed. And then ever since they got those badges she’s used every excuse to be near him, and they began waiting for each other every morning in the common room to go down to breakfast together, an unspoken agreement that started about two weeks into term. And they’d spent the majority of the time on their rounds eating food James nicked from the kitchen and talking about the war and family but then eventually laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, and she valued their friendship so much but man she did not want to do to her friends the things she was imagining doing to him.

She needed some courage, so she took James’s glass out of his stupidly large hand and chugged what was left of it.

“Whoa, there, Evans!” he said, taking the glass from her as she drank the last drop, and then placed it on the table beside them. And then, leaning in a bit, he whispered in a mocking tone, “You’re supposed to be setting an example!”

Lily ignored this as she let the aftertaste of the firewhiskey settle and admired the closeness of James’s face to hers, examining his features. He was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Something you want to say?”

She shook her head, rubbing her thumb gently across the back of his hand. She looked at him determinedly. “The All Powerful Potter can’t master legilimency?”

“I’m an amateur legilimens,” he joked. “What rank of occlumens are you?”

“You tell me.”

“Hm,” he started as he looked at her quizzically. She wanted him to read her mind to save her the embarrassment of actually initiating this thing, and if Sirius’s word meant anything, and if her longing for him was as obvious as it felt, she thought he might already know that she wanted to jump his bones, anyway. He was studying her, and as her eyes strayed from his face back to his hands, one entangled with hers, the other one free on his lap, he followed her gaze. And before she knew it, his hand was on her thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and she looked up at him. The expression on his face was as if he was waiting for an answer, or permission. She nodded and bit her lip, and he chuckled, causing her heart to skip several beats and leap up into her throat. “Not too bad of an occlumens,” he mumbled, still leaning closer. “But I don’t think you’re trying too hard.”

“Nope,” she replied honestly, offering a smile.

He returned a nervous smile to her, breathed in sharply as if trying to restrain himself, and then eventually said, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Okay,” she said, and without letting go of his hand, released her leg from James’s grasp and stood up. “Where we gonna go?”

James sat there, rooted to the couch cushion for a moment. At first it seemed as if he thought she was joking, but then he gulped, and stood up too, tightening his hold on her hand even more so. His eyes quickly darted from her face towards the boys’ staircase and back. “If that’s ok,” he added when she didn’t respond but instead looked as if she was searching the room intently.

She nodded. “I just want to make sure Sirius is distracted before he catches us and announces our whereabouts to the entire school.”

“Good thinking,” he told her, and began to search as well. He spotted him quickly. He nudged Lily gently, and jerked his head towards the far right corner so that Lily could see Sirius pouring butterbeer down Peter’s throat as Remus sat there shaking his head while rubbing his temples and Marlene and Mary counted loudly. “I think we’re safe.”

Lily found herself torn between giggling and groaning at the sight, but ultimately either option was wasting time she could be using dragging James up the boys’ staircase. So she marched towards it, doing just that. With one final check behind them, they began climbing the stairs until they reached the fourth floor with the door that said Seventh Years.

James smiled at her nervously as he held the door open, and Lily did not hesitate. She let her eyes scan the beds, and it was easier than she thought. She pointed towards the second bed to the left, completely unmade with 3 pillows and a Puddlemore United poster above the headboard. “That one, innit?”

She heard James make some vague noise of confirmation after he closed the door, although maybe trying to disguise the fact that he also clicked in the lock. She kicked off her trainers and lied down right in the middle. She was smart enough to know it wasn’t the little firewhiskey she had a few minutes before making her do this, but something definitely came over her to the point where she no longer cared what she did or how it was perceived. It could have been the lack of audience, but she preferred not to think too hard about it as she stretched out and inhaled deeply, thoroughly overwhelmed and pleased by James’s scent all over the sheets.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” James said, amused, still standing by the door.

“I have, thank you,” she replied. “Why don’t you?”

James rolled his eyes and kicked off his own trainers. He walked over to his four-poster and stood by the frame. “How’d you know this one was mine?”

“Easy,” she started. “For one thing, you seem like an unmade-bed type of guy.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Yes. We’re seventeen, not seven.”

“I mean, what’s the point of making it if I’m just going to go right back under the covers anyway?”

“Two,” she continued, ignoring him, “the Puddlemore United poster was a dead giveaway.”

James crossed his arms, and although she felt temporarily distracted by this, as his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, she did hear him say, “Peter supports them too. He has two posters.”

“But here’s the thing,” Lily said, and she sat up slowly, pushing herself backward towards the headboard and away from his tempting forearms. “Yours was the only bed with three pillows.”

“I- excuse me?” James looked at her in disbelief. “How did you- huh?”

“Just the other week, the four of you were having such a heated debate about it at lunch, remember?” James’s stare was intense, and she felt as if it was burning through her cheeks. She gestured to the other beds as a means of looking away and regaining her composure, but her voice sounded compromised as she spoke. “Peter and Remus are both normal, so they sleep with two pillows. You went on to call Sirius a madman for only sleeping with one pillow, and then he expanded saying he pushes the pillow away right as he is about to fall asleep, so he practically sleeps with none.”

“Which is mad!” James interjected, his arms loose and flailing in exasperation. “And he claims it’s better for your back, but that’s bullocks because he complains about his back at least twice a day. At least!”

Lily laughed at James’s indignation. “I didn’t say I necessarily disagree with you. But I don’t disagree with Sirius either about your way. I mean, are three pillows really necessary?”

“Yes, they are, in fact!”

Lily turned her head, made sure the 3 pillows were stacked nicely, fluffled them a bit, then situated herself as she was going to sleep, putting the covers over her legs and laying her head against the pillows. She closed her eyes, lying there for a moment, but it was only moments later that her eyes flew open and she groaned. “This is absolutely awful for your neck, and extremely uncomfortable.”

“You’re just not using them right,” he murmured.

Lily shifted herself forward and to the right side of the bed, took all 3 pillows in her arms, and held them out for James. “So show me.”

He surveyed her, then put a hand through his hair. He sighed. “Alright, Evans. But don’t make fun.”

“Oh, I will.”

He took a few steps forward and plopped down on the vacant side of the bed. Without speaking, he lied down on his side to face Lily. He took the first pillow and put it between his knees. He took the second pillow and put it under his head. The last pillow he held in his own arms, hugging it.

“That’s it?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “But your head is only on one pillow, anyway! Your criticism towards Sirius is completely hypocritical!”

“But he still pushes his away, basically sleeping with none!” he fought back. “And the other pillows are necessary.”

“How so?”

“Pillow between the knees is good for a bad back,” he explained.

Lily laughed, grabbing the pillow James was holding from him. “And this one?”

James cleared his throat, his cheeks turned pink. “You really can’t make fun.”

“I already told you I will. So tough. Tell me,” she said, hugging it to her chest.

He nudged his head forward. “For that.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking from his face to the pillow in her arms. “To....cuddle it?”

“Listen, I just hate sleeping alone,” he said quickly, looking away from her, now. “And at home I always have our cat, but Mum and Dad don’t let me bring him here, so I’m forced to use a pillow. Happy?”

Lily tried her best to suppress a giggle, she really did. But it bubbled out, and the pink in James’s face was turning three shades darker as he took the pillow out from between his legs and stacked it on top of the one under his head before turning to lie flat on his back again. “No, it’s sweet, James.”

“You’re laughing.”

“It can be sweet and laughable at the same time,” she told him, and she suddenly realized how close they were, and that they were lying in his bed. You’re a Gryffindor, she reminded herself, it’s now or never. “But let me ask you something.”

“What?”

“Does Sirius get jealous?”

He turned his gaze back to her, puzzled. “Of…?”

“Of your cat! I mean, why doesn’t he just transform into a dog and cuddle you at night while you’re here? I’d think when you’re both at the Potter residence there’d be a rivalry, no?”

James laughed heartily. “There is, but believe it or not Sirius likes cats. When he transforms into Padfoot at my house he and my cat have the best time together, it’s mental. And besides, Sirius is not really a physical affection kind of bloke.”

“So all you’ve got is your pillow to hold here, huh.”

“Sadly,” he sighed dramatically.

Lily casually dropped the pillow she was holding in her arms over her shoulder and off the edge of the bed. “That can be remedied, I think.”

And before James could have the time to process her words, she scooted over to him, put her head on his chest, draped a leg over one of his and an arm around his torso, burying her face into his shirt, letting herself do something she so desperately wanted to for ages.

At first it felt like James’s entire body went rigid, but after about three seconds, it relaxed completely, as his legs locked with hers and he brought one arm around her and the other towards her head, his fingers gently combing through her hair. Lily shivered at his touch, moving her face up into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, as if she was about to run out of air for good.

After a few still and precious moments, Lily let herself exhale. “Better than the pillows?” she asked meekly.

James’s chest shook as he chuckled lightly. “Much.”

“Good,” she said, satisfied but now paralyzed. This was good. Almost too good. And she didn’t want to risk moving a single limb and losing it all, despite the ache throughout her body pleading for more of him.

Luckily for her, James was a risk taker. He stopped running his fingers through her hair and instead cradled her head, pulling it back so that her face would lift, and she could see him. And he looked excitedly determined, the same way he looked on the Quidditch pitch, a golden sparkle in his hazel eyes behind his spectacles. She suddenly felt the need to say something to him. She didn’t know what, exactly, and he most likely knew whatever she was feeling, but she tried anyway. “James-”

She barely got his full name out before he swooped down, his lips pressing urgently against hers. And all attempts at speaking were suddenly forgotten as she pushed her face upward and threw herself into the kiss. She didn’t even care that she might break his glasses from trying to close any amount of space left between their faces, nor did he. His lips were chapped but they felt electric against hers, and she moved a hand up to cup his face, pressing kiss after kiss to his eager mouth. She felt her heart swell bigger with each one, unable to fully believe that this was actually, finally happening, and she knew it couldn’t be a dream this time, because this was far better than how it felt in her dreams. He shifted under her so that he was back on his side and they were facing each other again. No kiss was ever enough, but after a minute or so the urgency settled down, and James began to kiss her more softly yet firm, one hand still in her hair, the other resting on her hip. He suddenly moved his mouth over her cheek, her jaw, down to her neck, staying there for quite a bit, but Lily still felt like they weren’t close enough.

James must have been a better legilimens than he let on, because he then moved his lips back to hers, and opened his mouth slightly, as she did too, and their tongues met, and Lily thought that her entire body must have been on fire by now, as she moaned at the feel of him, and James let out a soft moan almost simultaneously. And they both laughed, and then James pulled away to properly laugh.

“Stop laughing,” she choked out, though she was unsure how she even found words, and she leaned back into him, kissing his laughing mouth. He kissed her back briefly before pulling away again. She groaned. “Would you quit-”

“Just give me a second,” he said gruffly, but she opened her eyes and found him grinning. “Trying to preserve this moment in my brain forever.”

“Well, I’m trying to make new moments over here, if you’d please.”

But that just made James laugh even harder. But now looking at him laughing, well, she supposed he didn’t have to stop yet. His laugh was almost as glorious as his kiss. She smiled, and he looked at her in a way no one had ever looked at her before.

“As you wish,” he responded, flashing a wicked smile back before crushing his mouth back to hers, and she shortly learned how much glory of his kiss was left to be discovered as she parted her lips again and allowed his tongue to enter her mouth, and they both moaned again, all laughs left behind.

As they continued to kiss for the next few minutes, James slowly began to let his hand on her hip wander the small of her back beneath her shirt, and she took that as a green light for her hands to wander too. She put one hand on his chest, and moved the one on his face to his hair instead, allowing herself to feel his hair through her fingers like she’d so often see him do when ruffling his hair to look like he’d just gotten off his broom, or when he did just get off his broom. Her nails lightly grazed his scalp and she felt him shiver as he let out a sound of approval against her. She giggled now, and pulled away briefly to let him in on the secret. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she whispered triumphantly.

She opened her eyes again to see an unreadable expression on James’s face. “Not always,” he replied as he exhaled, and then looked at her- really looked at her. And she knew what she wanted to say now.

“James,” she said, gripping the collar of his shirt, trying to regain breath control. “You must know how I…how I feel about you...I mean, I practically dragged you up here to seduce you. I don’t do that with just anyone.”

“I know,” he answered with a hint of a smile. “But it’s hard to just...forget sometimes.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you were a conceited git in fifth year,” she responded, and she did not let herself feel guilty saying it. “Sorry, but that’s just the truth.”

“I know it is,” he muttered, looking a bit ashamed of himself. He looked away from her and past her shoulder, thinking hard. She let the silence sit until he spoke again. “I guess I’m worried that...that perception of me you had- or the memory of who I once was- might always be there.”

“Well, it will be,” she responded bluntly, taking hold of his chin and making him face her again. “But that’s not a bad thing-”

“Sorry,” he interrupted her, rubbing her back. “I didn’t mean to bring this up tonight. I didn’t mean to say this at all ever, actually. I don’t know why I’d remind you of it, anyway-”

She cut him off by pulling his face towards hers and kissing him again, though she forced herself to pull away in order to finish her thought. “Shut up and just listen. I was saying that it’s not a bad thing because some people never change- I mean, we all have the capacity to, but so few actually take a good look at themselves and actually do it, and knowing that you have is....it’s just something special.”

“But there’s still some of those parts of me that haven’t changed, you know?” He sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “And what if when you see those, you…” he drifted off, threading his fingers through her hair again.

Lily closed her eyes at the feel of his touch. “But I’ve seen them already,” she told him, letting go of his chin and placing her hand on his shoulder. “Both now and then. I mean...I’m a bit obsessed with you, really.” James snorted, but she kept going. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you that. I thought you knew.”

“I knew a bit,” he admitted, and though her eyes were closed, she could feel him smiling now. “Sirius said as much, anyway.”

“Of course he did.”

“But it seemed too good to be true,” he almost whispered. “So thanks for telling me.”

Lily opened her eyes and kissed his forehead. “You’re welcome. My point being, I know all the good and the bad. And I still want you. Ergo, the seducing bit.”

James’s smile was positively dazzling at those words. “You sure it’s not just the firewhiskey talking?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she scoffed. “I barely had any.”

“Well, it’s not like you were the only unsubtle one here. I’ve never once bothered hiding it. Couldn’t if I tried. So why didn’t you try the seducing bit before now? ”

She raised her eyebrows at him as the hand on her back moved lower down towards her waist. “I think the real question is why hadn’t you?”

He attempted a frown at her and reminded her, “I mean, I was the one who held your hand tonight first.” The smile quickly returned. “And I initiated the first kiss. And we are here in my bed. Maybe the seduction efforts were equal and we’re giving you too much credit here. I’d like an equal share.”

Lily rolled her eyes, feeling impatient. She wanted answers, too. “Before tonight, then.”

James pulled her closer to him and maneuvered them so that he was on his back again, and she was cradled against him. “I’d been rejected by you many times-“

“I mean this term! Not back then-“

“But as just revealed,” he said. “I am clearly still wounded by those rejections.”

“Boo hoo.”

He chuckled, pinching her side. “I just...wanted to be sure,” he told her. “I guess when I started to feel like you might fancy me, I tried convincing myself that it couldn’t be true… I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I started making excuses as to why it couldn’t be real, or permanent... maybe it was just the Head Boy badge, or-“

“How can you think that?” she interrupted, looking up at him, exasperated. It made her heart sink ever so slightly at the thought that he’d think her feelings were anything but sincere.

Noting the hurt in her voice, his hand found hers and he squeezed it tightly. “I didn’t truly think it. Like I said, I just was trying to convince myself of it because I… I just didn’t know how many more rejections I could take.” He smiled softly as he intertwined their fingers.

Keeping their hands linked, she (mostly) removed herself from James and sat back up. It was easier to think straight and articulate her thoughts when she wasn’t plastered up against James’s person, no matter how badly she wanted to return. James followed her lead, sitting up too and facing her, but keeping a respectable amount of space between their faces. She looked up into his, which was soft and still smiling, but she could see the shadows of doubt and fear still swimming in his eyes. “You weren’t the only one trying to avoid rejection, you know,” she whispered.

James looked at her in utter befuddlement. “What? In what world would I ever reject you?”

Lily did not answer, and instead looked down into her lap.

He waited a moment, but when she failed to respond he said her name, “Lily,” with such gentleness and fondness that she could not help but look back up at him. “You must know how I feel about you, don’t you?” he echoed her own words back to her from only moments ago. “I’ve been mental over you for ages! Years! Hell, I mean, I’m-“ but he cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

“You’re what?”

He said nothing for a moment, and the silence was heavy, but he eventually opened his eyes and shook his head again. “Nothing. I just can’t believe you’d think that. Explain your logic to me.”

She sighed reluctantly, but supposed he deserved the truth. “It’s like you said,” she started. “You’ve fancied me for ages, and for most of that time, well, you didn’t really know me, you know? Just this idea of me, prefect, top-marks Lily Evans who everyone assumed was perfect, and that her life is wrapped up in a neat bow...but that’s not all I am, that’s not even the half of it. That’s just what people see, or what they think they see...And that’s the version of me you fancied for so long. But really I’m a mess whose sister hates her and who used to be best friends with someone who is probably a Death Eater now and I have deep-rooted self-esteem issues and I’m a picky eater and you’re right, I kind of do suck at Transfiguration, and I’m stubborn and...and what if it ends up being just about the chase? What if, you know, we did date and you finally saw that I wasn’t always what you thought I was?”

He was looking at her very seriously. His eyes looked sad, half hurt, half concerned. “You’re right. You’re not always what I thought you were,” he said very softly.

“W-what?” she responded, her throat suddenly very dry.

This was a mistake, this whole night. She wanted to run out, but she felt immobile. All she knew was that she couldn’t look at his face anymore or she’d cry. It was only a millisecond after she looked down at her knee that James used his free hand to grab her face and make her look right back at him. “You’re not always what I thought you were,” he repeated. Then he smiled. “You are...so much more.”

“Oh,” Lily exhaled in relief, which made James smile harder.

“Yeah, oh,” he said back. He lifted up their linked hands and kissed the back of hers, and then let go, so that both of his hands could be on either side of her face. “It’s just like you said about me. I’ve been lucky enough to have seen a lot of those parts of you now. Actually being your friend and getting to really know you, the good and the not-so-good...well, it made me want you even more. Everyday.”

“Me too,” Lily said.

He grazed his thumb gently across her cheek. “And that’s not going to go away. It’s not about the chase. It’s not about this picture-perfect idea of you. It’s about you. I promise you that. So no more doubts, ok?”

“No more doubts,” she agreed, and before she could stop herself she moved forward and kissed him, kissed him with everything she had, trying to convey what she couldn’t quite say. His hands moved into her hair as he kissed her back, taking control of the kiss, slowing it down, making Lily feel much more intoxicated than the firewhiskey could.

She moved herself on top of his lap, and his hands moved to her back as he pulled her closer to him. He deepened the kiss, and just after Lily responded he broke it off, putting his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. “You alright?” she asked, scratching the back of his neck lightly.

“Mhm,” he responded, lifting his head up, looking a bit dazed behind his fogged spectacles. He kissed her cheek, then put his chin back on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly. She hugged him back, and she felt warm and whole. “I’m just happy,” he whispered.

“Me too.” She closed her eyes and leaned her face against his neck.

They sat there, holding one another in silence for a while. Lily felt like she was in a trance, until James’s voice pulled her out of it. “Thank you.”

She lifted her head and pulled back a bit, though James’s arms were still firmly around her, but she was able to move just enough to be face-to-face again. “For what?”

And then he smiled brightly, and that boyish look she knew far too well shined through. “For seducing me.”

She laughed, and he laughed too, and the laughter was so infectious that she couldn’t stop, even when James shouted, “I’m serious!” which just made her laugh harder. He removed her from his lap and feigned offense as she lied down on her back, trying to recover.

“You done?”

“Nearly,” she choked out. “I do have one question, though.”

“And what is that?”

She beckoned him over to her, and he obliged, lying on his side and facing her. She turned to him, and the warmth behind his features lit a fire inside her. “Can I be your girlfriend?”

James stared at her in amazement. “Can you?! Of-”

“Shit, sorry. May I be your girlfriend?” she amended.

There was a brief pause, and then James threw his head back, laughing freely. “You are unbelievable, Evans,” he observed, looking back at her and shaking his head. “Yes, of course you may. As long as I get to be your boyfriend.”

“Reasonable condition,” she said, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Alright, sounds like a deal. Shake on it?”

Letting out a (fake) exasperated sigh, he shook her outstretched hand.

“I look forward to doing business with you, Potter,” she said in her best impression of a professional, suppressing a giggle.

James’s smile in return felt almost lyrical; it said so much with so little. He moved in quickly, leaning his forehead against hers. “Why don’t we get started immediately, yeah?”

#harry potter #fanfiction #fan fiction #jily #james potter #lily evans #lily evans potter #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #hogwarts #seventh year #james/lily #hp #hp fanfic #ao3

246 notes · View notes

luvdsc · 4 years ago

Note

Misss cat hii how are you doing?? Here are some questions for you if you don't mind answering they're just for fun 😅- 1. What's your favourite hobby? 2. What is something you did ritualistically with your friends pre-covid but cannot now? 3. In HS, what did you do with your free summers, or just time off in general? How has that changed over time? 4. If you could dedicate one song as the soundtrack to your life, what would it be? 5. Fictional characters you related to the most?

also I wanted to say when I was new to your blog I saw you writing letters to some of your friends and I thought they were very pretty your handwriting is lovely 💌💕

hi, honey bee!! 💓 I’m doing good, thank you for asking :’) how are you doing? 💕 and omg yeah, of course I don’t mind, lovebug 💘

1. What’s your favorite hobby?

mmm I have several! I love painting, writing pen pal letters, visiting art museums, and going out with my friends 🌼 anything art would be #1! oh, and I really love watching crime shows and baking 🍰

2. What is something you did ritualistically with your friends pre-covid but cannot now?

i went on sunday brunches, boba runs, and shopping with them every week! i also went on daily breakfast/lunch/dinner outings with them too :’) basically, i always ate any meal with my friends, and i miss that 🤧 i also really miss partying and clubbing with them at least twice a week, and i miss having netflix marathons with my roomie where we drink wine and get uber eats together and paint 💕 i miss seeing my friends in my classes everyday..... i miss my weekly shopping and dinner trips with my best friend after work every friday... i miss walking to the farmer’s market and visiting the local art museum with my other best friend every saturday... i miss doing drunk tinder swipes with my best friends on a thursday night..... i miss doing city weekend trips with them... i just miss my friends a lot 😭

3. In HS, what did you do with your free summers, or just time off in general? How has that changed over time?

in hs, my mom made me study math with her every summer for like 6 hours a day, so i was basically three math levels ahead of my grade every year. and in whatever free time i had left, i slept in super late or watched crime shows, or my sister drove me to the mall or movies so that i can hang out with my friends (bless my sister for not ratting me out to my parents that i had friends that were boys or went on dates). but besides that, i had to practice piano daily for 2 hours year round. in my free time, i was a dedicated member of the robotics team, volunteering club, art club, and school ambassadors club amongst others, but those four took up most of my time! i worked on robotics after school and on saturdays. on sundays, i always volunteered at the hospital and during my other free time, i would sign up for other volunteering opportunities, like community gardening or soup kitchens. i did a lot of art in between that and volunteered for school things, like open house, giving tours, and speaking to younger students.

nowadays, my family likes to take out of country summer trips for 2-3 weeks where we visit 2 different countries. of course, we had to skip that last year because of covid and possibly this year as well. i like to occupy my time by watching crime shows, facetiming friends, painting, writing pen pal letters, doing any sort of art, baking, catching up on sleep, and writing, of course :’) i’ve been writing a lot more now since i’m stuck at home and we can’t be out and about socializing anymore. but !!! my sister and i go out for outdoor dining on saturdays to get out of the house, and i just got tickets to an art exhibit (on hyuck’s bday coincidentally!!) with one of my best friends, which i’m so sooo excited about 💓

4. If you could dedicate one song as the soundtrack to your life, what would it be?

oh man.... can i say the entire fearless (taylor’s version) album??? 🤧 okay, so the way i loved you is my absolute favorite song out of all songs hands down, but i think fifteen might be it for my soundtrack. there’s these two lines that get me every time: “in your life, you’ll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team, i didn’t know it at fifteen” and “back then i swore i was gonna marry him someday, but i realized some bigger dreams of mine.” and i feel like that’s really encompassed my life so far??? like my god, i remember thinking during my elementary/middle school days after seeing all those movies and my sister in hs that hs was it. i thought hs was everything like i’d go on dates, meet my hs sweetheart, and prom would be this magical moment - but it’s not. life is so much bigger than that, so much bigger than meeting a boy and getting your first kiss and going to prom (thanks for the memories tho, james, nathan, austin, and jacob). that’s such a miniscule part of my life, and romance isn’t even on my radar anymore like if it’s there, it happens, but i’m so focused on myself and loving myself and that’s all i need tbh

5. Fictional characters you related to the most?

mulan and elle woods from legally blonde !! 💕

and omg thank you so much for liking my pen pal letters, honey bee!!! 🥺🌸 and thank you for complimenting my handwriting 🤧💖💖💖 this was really fun, thank you for sending in these questions, lovebug 💟

#asks #anonymous

4 notes · View notes

nothingunrealistic · 4 years ago

Note

71, tayston?

71. “You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

When Mase Cap was first forcibly relocated to Axe Capital’s empty side office, Winston had gotten the second choice of where to sit at their new trading desk. (First pick was Mafee’s; with private offices in short supply, one went to Taylor and the other got split between Sara and Lauren.) He’d elected to sit at the end furthest from the door, the better to avoid Axe Cappers with, for all the good that strategy’s done him. And he’d picked the seat that faced Taylor’s office — which, in this glass monolith, means a seat looking directly into Taylor’s office, and at this particular moment, means a clear view of Taylor themself, the only other person left in Mase Cap’s fraction of the building, sitting unmoving at their desk and staring at their open laptop.

Winston gets up from that carefully selected seat to cross the floor. Knocking on their door strikes him as a bit pointless when Taylor could easily see him standing here, and could have watched his every step from point A to point B, but he knocks nonetheless, and their faint surprise when they look up and give him the nod to enter makes him glad he didn’t try to exercise walk-in privileges.

They don’t speak as he sits; he has to fumble for a way into his pitch without them asking him what’s on his mind. “You know sentiment analysis?”

“Yes,” Taylor says. “NLP application. Pull attitudinal keywords from unstructured text to gauge the emotions expressed in Yelp reviews or Twitter blowback.”

“Those are the typical uses, yeah,” Winston says. “One modality — text. But multimodal sentiment analysis is gaining traction. Works on images, audio, video — it processes visual and acoustic cues in conjunction with breaking down the accompanying text, so you get a complete emotional picture.”

“What’s the relevance of this?”

Winston blinks, thrown. “I’m getting to it.”

“Please do.”

This brusqueness isn’t like them. Not in their better interactions with him, at least, which leaves Winston wondering where he’s misstepped. The MSA toolset he’s been running tests with is pretty damn sophisticated, but even if it could detect the signs of taut exhaustion under Taylor’s terseness — audio extraction picking out the low volume and narrow pitch range of their voice, expression recognition spotting their lips pressed tight — it couldn’t tell him the cause.

“Did something happen today?” he ventures, and Taylor looks away, swallowing hard.

“You know I went to Mike Prince’s conference to speak with Oscar,” they say. “As he’d been failing to respond to me in any of our other channels of communication.”

“I’d heard.” If the first-name basis is any indication, whatever they discussed wasn’t just business. “How much of a shitshow was it?”

“He did everything but answer my question of whether or not he was going to pull his money. And today, he pulled it. A loss of half a billion on Mase Cap’s balance sheet.”

“Fuck.” The fund’s taken bigger losses, back when Axe Cap was beating on them rather than bolstering them, but this one feels worse. Maybe because he knows it’s personal for Taylor, or maybe it’s that this time he’s in the room to see them grapple with it, rather than finding out secondhand when it’s already been solved. “Why’d he redeem?”

“He doesn’t want to be tied to Axe. Unsurprisingly. And, to use his words —” Taylor unfolds their hands and slackens their jaw, eyes going exaggeratedly wide. “‘If you are, I don’t want to be associated with you.’”

They say it in a condescending singsong unmistakably like Langstraat’s lilt (and Winston’s only met the guy once), shot through start to finish with surprising bitterness. “You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

“Not yet,” Taylor says darkly, posture tightening again. That doesn’t bode well for… anything, really.

“Spot-on imitation of him, though. Academy Award-worthy. An Oscar for an Oscar.”

Taylor’s mouth twitches in some attempt at a smile. Encouragement enough for him. “Thank you.”

“And if you’re looking for a win,” Winston adds, hoping to steer away from dangerous territory and back toward his reason for intruding on Taylor’s ennui, “I’ve found one. Or at least figured out where to look.”

“Let me guess. It’s related to multimodal sentiment analysis.”

“Yes and no. The typical training and testing datasets for these tools are pulled from product and media reviews, where people are giving their honest opinions.” Winston leans in, daring to set his hands on the edge of Taylor’s desk. “But I ran tests on some videos where opinions aren’t right at the surface — press conferences, scripted speeches, anything with a speaker who’s trying to balance what they need their audience to think and what they really believe. And those tests drew interesting conclusions about a certain university with an endowment that’s coming under fire and a chancellor who’s trying to defend it.”

“Interesting, as in potentially profitable?”

“Interesting like Sutter’s Mill was interesting.”

Taylor stands. “Show me.”

There’s a light in their eyes now that Winston knows he’s seen before but can’t remember when, and that he sure doesn’t recall seeing in this building; it fuels him as he gets up from his own chair and heads back to his desk, Taylor only a step behind.

“Lawrenceburg,” he says, shaking the mouse by his Bloomberg and tapping the space bar on his laptop until both screens light up. “Students are pushing for them to ditch fossil fuels and take their endowment somewhere else. And their chancellor’s giving all the usual speeches about why they can’t do that, telling protestors to shove it with a smile. But MSA suggests even if he does want to tell the kids to fuck off, he doesn’t think they’re wrong.”

He pulls up the program and hits replay on the last video he’d tested. Taylor leans in to see the live analysis running, watching the bit-by-bit breakdown of the chancellor’s word choice and tone and syntax over Winston’s shoulder, and the source of his déjà vu finally springs to mind — this reminds him of the earliest days, when Mase Cap was just a name and a logo in a few empty floors of an old warehouse, when he and Taylor huddled over glowing monitors in a dark office and both knew they were standing on the precipice of something that would change the game.

“How many of the chancellor’s speeches have you analyzed with this?”

“Four or five, maybe, going back a couple years.”

Taylor nods, half-present, half-focused on the screen still. He can tell their mind’s already whirring, deciphering the deeper patterns that the program can only scratch the surface of, lightyears ahead of him. “Run these tests on as many of his statements as you can find, over the broadest range of time possible, and note the dates. If we compare any shifts in sentiment with the timeline of collegiate fossil fuel divestment, we might find that he’s reacting to external pressure as well as internal protests.”

“Got it.” Winston drops into his swivel chair, but he’s barely taken the mouse back before there’s a touch on his shoulder, there and gone.

“Starting tomorrow, I think,” Taylor says. “It’s late. And this will be just as valuable a play in a day’s time.”

#inbox #anonymous #billions #taylor mason #winston billions #tayston #sometimes i write

19 notes · View notes

fanfiction4thesoul · 5 years ago

Text

What I See Part 3

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~1.9

Warnings: None

Summary: You’re headed back home to London after a few years in America. You’ve got a new job at EMI, thanks to your best friend Freddie and you’re ready to start the next chapter of your life. But navigating life is far more interesting when you see far more than anyone else.

A/N: You guys. I did homework the entirety of my spring break. And there’s still some stuff that I’m procrastinating on soooo I hope you’re not too upset that I took so long. This chapter is like, the final set up before Reader and Roger can really start to get to know each other so I hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone still sticking with me as well as every single one of you that likes/comments/reblogs!!

Part 2

You stared up at the quaint library in front of you, admittedly a little nervous. Roger had tossed you his keys to the van this morning with a wink, reminding you not to explore anywhere else without him. You got directions from the owners of the studio and made the journey into town. The library was bigger than you expected for a small town like this one though you supposed that was a good thing.

The inside was just as quaint as the outside and almost empty. The stern looking woman behind the information desk gave you a look as you entered but otherwise didn’t say anything.

You took your time looking through the shelves trying to find what you needed. But it felt like looking through a needle in a haystack. You weren’t familiar with the Dewey Decimal system enough to know where your small, niche topic would be hiding. It took you 20 minutes to admit defeat and go to the front desk to ask the woman.

If anything, her face got even more pinched when you told her what you were looking for, but she gave you the call number and pointed you in the right direction. When you got there, though, you practically knew it was going to be useless. Most of the titles you were looking at were things like Haunted Places, My Venture into the Afterlife, and 100 TRUE Ghost Hauntings.

There was a rather large book though that might have something. It was titled Occult: A How To Guide. You pulled it off the shelf and went to settle in a chair in the back, away from the view of the front desk. There were no chapter titles so you started skimming through. The book definitely contained some interesting information like magic and practices (which you never really believed in but hey, you talk to dead people so who knows?) and of course supernatural creatures.

You were trying to be thorough in your skimming so it definitely took you longer than expected to reach the chapter about ghosts (chapter 15, page 392). Once you got there, you took the time to actually read the chapter, not wanting to miss any information. A lot of it explained what spirits were and all the theories about the afterlife or what plane of existence they seem to live on, as well as how they communicate with the living.

Just as you were getting to the part about psychic mediums, someone spoke up behind you. “Whatcha readin’?”

You jumped in your chair, dropping the book to the floor with a dull thud. Whirling around, you were met with Richie, smirking up at you while he leaned against a bookcase.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you growled out at him. You shifted to look down the stacks to make sure no one was coming to check on the noise you just made. “Didn’t I just see you a week ago?”

“Well, yeah. But I got bored and everyone kept pestering me ‘bout you, so here I am.” He waved his arms out, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Alright, you found me. Now what do you want?”

“Well I wanted to know what you’re reading.”

You felt your face heat up a bit as you looked down at the occult book. “Uhh, just researching, you know.” Was it weird to tell a ghost you were reading about their… species? Being? Whatever they are?

You tried to pick the book up quick enough but Richie was already reading the cover. “Occult? (Y/N), you’re reading about magic?” He seemed confused, brushing his hair out of his face as he looked at you.

“Not… not really no. I’m--I have a bit of a problem,” you confessed.

“What do you mean?”

You explained to Richie the spirit that’s attached to Roger, from his outburst the first night to the continued negativity that he spreads around wherever he goes. “And, I don’t know. I was hoping there might have been a book here that would have, like, remedies? Kind of? To… ward him off or keep him away or just do something. So, yeah… occult.” You lifted the book awkwardly as if to prove your point.

Richie was silent during your explanation, brows pinched together as he focused on your words. “(Y/N), you're telling me that you’ve gone your whole life not knowing about--about anything? How have you been protecting yourself?” He seemed irritated as he started pacing in front of the stacks.

You just gaped at him. “Wha--what--how was I supposed to know about protection? I’ve never needed protection.”

Richie stopped his pacing to stare at you. “You’ve never met a negative spirit before? Never?”

“No!” You said, a little too loudly. You glanced down the stacks again before answering. “No. Every spirit I ever met was nice. Well maybe not nice-nice. Some of them did like friendly pranks or whatever, but no one was ever mean.”

Richie stared at you a moment longer before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “First off, that’s crazy. Secondly, you need sage.”

“Sage,” you repeated dumbly.

“Yes, sage. You burn it around the area you want to cleanse and tell the spirit to leave. That should do the trick.”

“Where… do I buy sage?”

Richie sighed, “Jeez (Y/N). At the apothecary. Or any herbal store.”

“Right…” You felt your face heat up again. “Is it… is it weird that I never met a negative spirit?” You felt so dumb at the moment on a topic that you thought you knew so much about.

Richie must have sensed your hesitation because his face immediately softened. “It’s… odd. There’s a lot of them out there and with you so intune to spirits, it’s a little unusual that you’ve never seen one. Doesn’t make it bad. But someone should have told you how to protect yourself. Or you should have learned more yourself. Before you actually met one. You didn’t know though, so it’s okay.” He smirked at you, the twinkle back in his eye, “This is just a nice piece of dirt to gossip about back home.”

You groaned, “Oh, Richiiee. Don’t, please?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. Now you better get going. Go buy some sage before the stores close.”

You glanced out the window, noticing for the first time the orange sky and when you glanced back, Richie was gone.

~O~

The sage was surprisingly easy to find and, since it was at a herbal store, nobody looked at you twice for purchasing it. You got back to the farm shortly after the sun had set, the lights from inside the main house guiding your way. Everyone was gathered together in the sitting room, including Paul, Ratty, Crystal and, of course, your resident ghost.

“(Y/N)! There you are. We were starting to get worried,” Freddie said, pulling you into a hug. “Rog thought you drove the van into a ditch.”

“I did not!”

Freddie winked before turning around with his hands on his hips, “Alright, but you did think she might’ve broken down.”

Roger’s face heated up slightly making you smile.

“I was worried, so sue me.”

“Are you hungry, (Y/N)? We just finished eating and saved you a plate.” John asked you quietly, moving the attention away from Roger and back to you.

“Food sounds great, yeah,”

The boys wanted to sit and chat which you participated in while you ate. You were still uncomfortable, but you were also really anxious to try out the sage. There was no way you could just pull out a bundle of sage though and waft it around without everyone thinking you were bonkers.

You left with the excuse of exhaustion, tossing Roger his keys back on your way out. As soon as you were outside, you beelined to the studio. Pulling out the sage and a match, you lit the tip and waited until it was smoking, burning away slowly.

Richie said to burn it around the area, so you walked around every inch you could, holding the burning sage out. He also said to tell the spirit to leave, but it wasn’t like he was here to listen anyway. So you took your time walking around, going over the couch, soundboard and into the studio. You even wafted it at the Red Special, just in case.

When you were finally satisfied, you used far more sage than you thought you would. Maybe you overdid it? The room didn’t feel any different, but you supposed you would find out tomorrow. You stuck the stick back into your pocket and turned to leave.

“(Y/N)?”

“Shit!” You jumped. Crystal was holding the door open, halfway through the entryway. “Shit, Crystal. You scared me.”

“Yeah, well you scared me. Thought someone broke in or something. I thought you said you were tired?”

“I am. But I wanted to make sure everything was set for tomorrow. I know the boys are anxious to do some actual recording.” You made up a lie on the spot, grateful the sage was out of sight.

But Crystal didn’t seem suspicious. He actually agreed with you.

“Ha, yeah. They’ve got so much going on in those heads of theirs that sometimes bringing it out and putting on paper can be a real challenge. God knows I want to bash their heads together sometimes.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you said, following Crystal out of the studio. You walked the short distance to your house going back and forth about the weird creative process the band does when writing.

“You’ll see,” he said, stopping before his bedroom. “Once they actually start recording, you’ll see. Then I can say ‘I told you so.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, alright. Night.”

“Night”

As you got ready for bed, you fished out the sage and put it in the bottom drawer of your dresser. You might do your house and the house the boys were staying in. That is, depending on how well it actually worked. You didn’t think Richie would lie to you, but you also didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t.

Mostly, you just wanted to be able to laugh with Freddie again and get to know Roger more without your shoulders tense and your mood sour.

~O~

The next morning, you were in the studio first thing, doing some actual tinkering before the boys came in. You had a bunch of nervous energy while you waited though.

The bang of the door opening made you jump and you watched as the boys filed in, already arguing lightly about a song. But after they all came in and the door swung shut, that was it.

No one came in behind Deaky, who was the last to enter.

No oppressive energy.

No ghost.

“What’s got you so smiley, love?” Roger was staring at you questioningly. The other boys were already in the booth area leaving you two behind.

“Nothing, I just… I just feel like I can finally breathe easy, ya know?”

“Hmm, yeah. Walking in here felt like a breath of fresh air. Just makes me more excited to start recording, yeah?” He gave you a wide smile, leaning in closer. “Ready to help us make a killer album, love?”

You matched his smile, starting to get excited “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Part 4

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @rogahs-drowse @butlegendsneverdie @the-moving-finger-writes @leghy @juliarvra

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x Y/N #Queen #queen fanfiction #fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

hockeygods14 · 5 years ago

Text

Mathew Barzal - The Story Of Us

Masterlist

This was kinda just a little bit inspired by the song The Story Of Us by Taylor Swift

Word count: 1,394

“You’re the lucky ones,”

Anthony use to say that to us all the time. That we were lucky that we had found each other. That the love that had was one in a lifetime.

When Mat moved to New York and started to play with the Islanders we meet through some mutual friends. We would always hang out in as a group go to dinner or hang out at someone's houses. The one day Mat asked me dinner just the two of us. I was shocked that he was asking me out because I didn’t think he liked me more than a friend. I had a crush on him since the first day I meet him just never did anything about my feelings.

We dated for a while then both of our lives got busy and our relationship was mainly of the phone. He was traveling for hockey and I just started as a traveling nurse. We didn’t really get to see each other, only on FaceTime. We broke up both said it was for the best and that we could still be friends.

The thing was I was still madly in love with him.

——————————————-

I was currently at a party that I knew Mat was going to be at. I thought while getting ready that it was no big deal. We said we would still be friends after we broke up but what if I saw him with someone else. What if I saw him kiss another girl. I would just have to stand there and be okay with it because we broke up.

When we use to go to parties together I knew that my place was right next to him. I knew if he was talking to his friends he would make sure I was in the conversation too. If I was talking to the girls he would either be holding my hand or have an arm around me. My place use to next to him.

Now I’m standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not even talking. I want to know if it's killing him like it's killing me seeing him across the room. He’s laughing at whatever Anthony had said to him. He didn’t look at me once, at least not that I saw.

“Y/N come on let's go get you a drink before he sees you staring at him.” One of my friends that I came with pulled my arm lightly and I followed her. She was right I probably look like a creep just standing there looking at him.

“How did we end up like this?” I say out loud. My friend turns around to look at me. “I mean I am here pulling at my clothes because I’m nervous that he will see me.” I shake my head.

“You are thinking about this way too much. Stop thinking about him.”

“That’s easy for you to say. How can I stop thinking about him if I’m still in love with the man?” My eyes went wide and I covered my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.

“Wait Y/N you're what?”

“Yeah I’m still in love with him but we broke up.” I grabbed another drink and went back to where the party was. I didn’t want to stay and hear what she was going to say about the news I just told her.

I found a group of people that I knew and stared to talk to them. I turned around for a minute and saw Mat looking at me and walk the other way. I sighed and went back to the conversation.

He’s doings best to avoid me and I don’t blame him. I would probably walk the other way too. I knew if we were close to each other I don’t know what I would do. I might tell him that I miss him. I might tell him that I want him back. I might tell him that if it means having him back I would get a normal nursing job at the hospital which I would be just fine with. Because truth be told I don’t know why I took the traveling nurse job.

“I need some air,” I told the people around me.

It broke my heart that he would just turn around when he saw me. I don’t know what I really wanted him to do. Maybe just come up and say hi I guess.

“Why don’t you just go in there and talk to her?” I heard someone say on the side of the house. The voice sounded familiar. I couldn’t point my figure on it though.

“What am I suppose to say to her? Hi, you look beautiful as always how have you been?” I knew that voice right off the bat and once I heard Mat’s voice I knew he was talking to Anthony.

“You are betting yourself up over this breakup. You either of in there and talk to her or tomorrow you call her and talk to her.” Were they talking about me?” I was about to do something I didn’t want to do but there was something in me that said ‘get over there and talk to him.’ I mean the door was right next to them too so, either way, I have to go over there.

I coughed a little letting them know that they aren’t alone. I walked out from around the corner and came into view of Mat and Anthony. Mat’s eyes go wide and Anthony smiles.

“Perfect here is your chance.” Anthony looks at Mat and then at me. “It's nice to see you Y/N.”

“Its good to see you too,” Anthony didn’t say another else he just walked back into the house and closed the door. I looked down at my feet because I didn’t want to look at Mat.

“How much of that did you hear?” Mat was the first to speak.

“Just something about you wanting to talk to me.” I looked but not at him. I don’t know what really I was looking at but I know it wasn’t at Mat.

“Well, that is true. Y/N we do need to talk.” I heard him walk closer to me. I wanted to take a step back but my feet wouldn’t move. “What are doing?” I heard him speak again.

“We are standing outside,” I look around and laugh a little bit and it made Mat laugh too which made me smile a little bigger. I have missed his laugh.

“No, I mean what were we thinking when we broke up? Because I miss the freaking hell out of you. I miss our FaceTime dates. I miss seeing you're weird snapchat faces you would send me daily. I miss you.”

“You know why we broke up Mat, we didn’t see each other as much we wanted to.”

“We could figure something out! Hell, I will quiet hockey to be with you. Y/N I love you and I don’t want to go another day without you.”

“Mathew Barzal you will not quit hockey because of me.”

“Well, I don’t want to lose you.” I finally looked right into his eyes. I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath.

“I want us back to Mat. I want to go to your games again and wear your jersey and know you are going home with me after.” Mat took my hands into his. “I have thought about this a lot and I don’t know why I didn’t think about this before. I am going to quit my job and just Geta a job at the hospital. I don’t have to travel to be a nurse I don’t have to travel to save lives I can save them right here in New York. I don’t want you to leave the thing that you love to do Mat. There are other ways for me to be a nurse. There is only one way to be in the NHL.” I wasn’t able to say anything else because Mat’s lips were placed on mine.

I don’t know how long we kissed for but I didn’t care. “So does this mean you will be my girlfriend again?” Mat asked me pulling away a little bit.

“If it means you will be my boyfriend.”

57 notes · View notes

marmolady · 4 years ago

Text

Livita: Part One

Remember this fic? I went to do a few edits on my old fic, ‘Livita’, and the whole thing ended up stretching to double the length of the original! It’s now been split into thirds, chronicling Taylor and Estela’s journey to motherhood.

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. Freed from Vaanu, Taylor has been building a life with her soulmate… but their family remains not quite complete. Read PART TWO.

Warnings: Coarse language.

Word Count: 4262

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @sceptilemasterr @saivilo @greengroove @edgydepressedchoicesthot

La Huerta, June 2021

Estela and Taylor had found their home. La Huerta had been their shelter, as it had been for Diego, and for Aleister and Grace, in a time when the wider world had been in turmoil. Some years ago, during the twelve Catalysts’ year of isolation at the end of the world, a small village had been built in the shadow of the great tree of Elyys’tel, and it was here that remained home for the small group. On La Huerta, Taylor and Estela had found their place in this world, together-- and it was there that they planned for their family’s next steps.

Taylor had invited Diego and Varyyn to join herself and Estela in the hot pools at the base of La Huerta’s snow-covered mountainous region. There were few places she knew more tranquil, more calming. She’d need that. What she and Estela were proposing was… monumental. There would be no resting until they bit the bullet and put it out there so… they would just have to take that leap.

That they’d grow their family together had always been a given, at least once it became certain that Taylor could remain with her loved ones on earth. They’d found their peace, and each had their home was in the arms of the other. The next step was the baby. Estela would carry the child; passing on a little piece of the mother who’d been so cruelly taken from her. Of course, it meant that the other grandparent would carry on through the bloodline as well… but having wrestled with it, Estela concluded that honouring Olivia Montoya was more important to her than eliminating Rourke. It was deemed the safer option; whatever Taylor was, she was not entirely human, and her reproductive capabilities and genetic contribution would be rather more of a gamble. If it came to it, they could try that path-- certainly Taylor liked the idea of being related to another person by blood-- but the simple truth was that Estela’s urge for that physical bond was far stronger.

Diego, they hoped, would be the donor-- and someday a doting tio. In Taylor’s eyes, he was ‘her side of the family’, a part of her being that she loved beyond measure. The thought of creating a person out of Diego and Estela, was just about the most beautiful thing Taylor could imagine. In every way, her family. She’d tried to remain detached and unemotional about the idea; there was no assuming that Diego would feel comfortable in being the donor in the first place-- family was a complicated thing for him, at she respected the hell out of that. But god, it was hard not to let her hopes rise.

The outing had been intended to be relaxed, but even as she soaked in the hot springs, Taylor couldn’t help but seek reassurance to soothe her near-constant attacks of nerves-- just a glance and Estela would give her a look, stoic and sure, and it was enough to get her through another few minutes of what was supposed to be easy; just hanging out with her best friend. Diego, of course, quickly became concerned. No fool, he could see something bubbling beneath the surface, clear as day.

“All right. Spill. Something’s driving you crazy right now.”

Taylor flushed-- though she was red enough from the steaming water that it made little difference to her complexion. “I’m fine. We just… want to talk to you about something. I figured if we just sat you down, all serious, you’d jump straight to ‘dear god, who’s died?’”

“Or… ‘dear god, is Estela an alien too?’”

Both girls laughed.

“I’m sure people have wondered that,” Estela said dryly.

Taylor took Diego’s hands, which helped to steady her own from shaking. Jesus, she just loved him so much. If this wasn’t what he wanted… of course, she’d respect that, but she was certain a little part of her heart would break.

“Tay, you’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. Get right into it, or you’ll just make yourself more nervous. “Well, you know that Estela and I have been thinking about having a baby together; we’ve been talking about it a lot, and we’re ready. We’re ready to grow our family… make it a little bigger. And… I really, really hoped… I…we wondered if you might like to be the donor for our baby.”

For a few moments, Diego was stunned into silence; his eyes widened as he swallowed what he’d just been told.

“You… want me to…?”

“You should both talk about it,” Estela said. “We know it’s pretty huge. I dunno… maybe you’d be like the baby’s extra special tio. Whatever you wanted the relationship to be.”

Diego hadn’t heard a whole lot of what he’d just been told. He was already falling weeping into Taylor’s arms. There was no question; no question at all. His mind flashed with an imagined future, of something closer to parenthood than he’d dare let his heart long for.

Taylor held him, blinking back tears-- a pointless endeavour. “I love you so much. It’s hard to imagine doing this without you being a big part of it. Whatever you choose, you’re gonna be our baby’s tio. But it would mean the world to me if….”

“This is the greatest honour,” Varyyn said softly, his own eyes misty.

Estela offered him a warm smile. “It means a lot to us both. Obviously, you’ll need to talk this all through-- we’re not expecting an answer right away. This is… a lot.”

“What sort of, uh, time-frame are we looking at?” Diego asked as he sat back next to Varyyn, who wiped away his tears.

“Soon,” Estela said resolutely. She glanced to Taylor, feeling the emotion just radiating off her. This meant the world to Taylor, as Diego did. “We’re both ready for this, it’s just-- if you want to do this-- how soon you’re comfortable. We know this might not happen quickly, so the sooner we can get things started…”

“...The sooner you can get through the rollercoaster of ‘trying’?”

“Yes.”

For a little while, Diego was quiet… stunned, he needed a few moments for his thoughts to catch up with his emotions. Having children was something he and Varyyn had discussed at great length, and the conclusion they’d always begrudgingly come to was that for the foreseeable future, their lives simply couldn’t accommodate that-- not in a way that would be fair to a child. Diego knew that he belonged on La Huerta, but that wasn’t the whole of his life; where his two worlds collided was a mess. There was still that lingering dream, but he knew better than to hang too tight to it. But… in Taylor in Estela’s child, he could have something beautiful; different but beautiful. Wasn’t that just the way his story was meant to be by now?

“Do you have, like, a plan worked out? I guess it’s pretty tough to travel for procedures right now….”

Taylor grinned. “Don’t I always have a plan?”

“Ha. You know I’d never doubt you.”

“Yeah, we want to stay on La Huerta if we can. Otherwise, we’d be able to get permits to go in and out of San Trobida. There’d be quarantine to deal with-- with the way things are in the States, they’re especially cautious about Americans-- but it wouldn’t be an insurmountable hurdle.”

“Have you worked out who you want to actually carry the baby?”

“Estela’s going to be the birth mother,” Taylor said, giving her wife a small smile and reaching to squeeze her fingers. It had been a tough one. She knew there was part of Estela that felt guilt over the decision they’d reached, but it was a decision they had come to together and Taylor would not let there be any doubt where she stood on the matter. “We talked about it a lot. A lot. Figuring out which oven we want to put the bun in was a huge decision, and there was so much to consider. You know how amazing it would be for me to have a blood tie with someone. I’ve longed for that. And I’ve mostly worked through it; I mean, I’m made up of my family-- of you especially. It’s who I am; it might not be about DNA, but it doesn’t mean it’s not as powerful. It’s… part of the reason why I wanted to ask you. In every way that matters to me, you represent my family.”

Again, Diego found himself choked up.

“And for Estela, it was a little different.”

Estela flushed a little, and averted Diego’s eye contact. This was so intensely personal. “If I could pass on a small piece of my mother… I don’t have anything more precious to give my baby. She would have wanted to give my baby everything. This will have to be enough.” She gathered herself, looking back to offer Diego an awkward smile as he gave her a knowing nod. “I was uneasy about what else I would be passing on, but it’s a connection to Aleister and Grace, and maybe cousins someday.”

“We did consider partner IVF,” Taylor said. “That’s where we take the embryo from one mother and implant it in the uterus of the other, but it felt like… a lot. I don’t have a big attachment to the idea of pregnancy-- definitely not as much as ‘Stel does-- and it sounded like a whole lot of intervention. Nothing about my life has been straight-forward, you know? So I got really invested in the idea of doing this as naturally as possible. Just us, at home, building our family together. I know it’s asking a lot as a same-sex couple, but I’d much rather this didn’t have to become something clinical-- not unless it turns out we can’t get pregnant a simpler way.”

Diego swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. He would represent Taylor’s family. He would be a father figure, an honour bestowed by someone who actually saw him and loved him for it all. And he was going to love his best friend’s baby with every fibre of his being.

Concerned, Taylor rushed to reassure. “Just-- take your time, okay? I know this is huge--”

“No,” Varyyn said firmly, and he gave Diego a subtle nod. He knew his husband; he knew that look on his face, that sweet certainty. He’d seen that smile after he’d asked of Diego a very important question one Niala’rei several years ago.

Diego took Taylor’s hand in one of his, and Estela’s in the other… and breathed deep. “Of course-- of course, I’ll do it. More than anything in the world, I want to do this for you.”

The air filled with joyous squeals and the splash of water as the group erupted into embraces and a few more tears. Sandwiched between the two people she loved more than anything else in all the world, Taylor knew that together, they could make this happen.

__________________________

August 2022

Taylor’s heart sank as she looked at the result. Negative. Again.

Estela sighed and looked away. Again, no baby. Even knowing she could have done nothing more, it felt as though she’d let Taylor down when it really mattered. She’d promised her a family. And for herself…. Everything she’d ever wanted… her deepest desire… it was so close, only for them to be repeatedly smacked down by some invisible barrier.

“We’ll try again,” said Taylor quietly, trying to and failing to sound like someone who hadn’t just been crushed. “This is gonna happen for us, okay?”

Despairing, Estela threw her head back, fighting, fighting against the tears that so wanted to come. For several long minutes she wrestled with herself, with the torrent of emotion, before turning back to her wife. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Maybe… maybe we should try with you… it’s not as if I’m not made up of a load of shit that we shouldn’t really want to pass on to an innocent child. I’ve been selfish.”

“First of all; no. Not only are you not remotely a selfish person, you are freaking perfect… to me, you are perfect. Nothing you could give our baby could be anything but that. I love you. And I know how much you want this. I want it to be you. I want us to keep trying.”

Walking away, Estela could feel guilt clawing at her stomach. Of course she wanted to be the one to carry the baby, but if things kept up like this, there wouldn’t be a baby to carry. She sighed again, heavier, and curled up on the couch, knees against her chest. “Taylor, it’s been over a year…”

“We could see another doctor? But I trust what they said; everything’s working fine, it’s just not necessarily gonna happen overnight. I honestly think we’ve just been unlucky so far. And… and maybe it’s taken us a while to get our turkey-baster technique down.” Taylor sat down beside her wife and began massaging her back, feeling tension in every muscle. So much stress. “I know we wanted to do this at home, but we could consider intra-uterine, or even IVF. How about we give it one more month, and then start seriously looking at other options?”

For a long while, Estela said nothing, staring into space as she tried to process the aching disappointment. When she zoned back into reality, Taylor was still there, kneading her back. Another month… that was reasonable.

Taylor eased down the back of Estela’s shirt and pressed kisses between her shoulders. “I know how much you’re hurting right now… I’m feeling it too. Someday soon, we’ll hardly remember this; we’ll be too busy wading through diapers and trying to get a wink of sleep. But for now, I think it’s a comfort food under a blanket situation. We’ll just snuggle up in a love cocoon until whenever it is that we’re ready to put on brave faces.”

They cuddled beneath a blanket on the couch, grateful to have nothing pressing to do nor any people to see. So much thought, so many long nights of discussion had gotten them to the point of trying, but all the rationale, the planning… all of it mattered little if it just didn’t happen for them. In the end, how it happened wasn’t important; they just needed their family.

The disappointment was not getting any easier, month after month, even as it became expected. They now knew better than to get their hopes up too high. Once again, Taylor would go back to Diego to ask for his help… another round of ‘I’m sorry’s and hugs of consolation, while Estela would back into herself, becoming quiet and reclusive until the pain of the blow dulled. The days, then weeks, would pass, and the couple’s optimism would return as it always did. Together they’d literally undone an apocalypse; so long as they had one another’s hands to hold, they’d soldier through anything.

Estela let herself be held, the touch of her lover offering the only comfort strong enough to keep her from going under. It had been so long now. Doubts, once trifling, became magnified until they were near suffocating. She had gazed upon her reflection in their full-length mirror, taking the time to contemplate while Taylor’s voice floated up from downstairs as she’d filled Diego in with another crushing update. What Estela had seen there was not a nurturer, but a fighter. Her physique, though not perfectly toned as it had once been, was still not exactly cuddly. And the scars… god, there were so many. Wounds from knives, a sword… a freaking dinosaur… her body was just a painting of violence. And that was just the damage that could be seen; far more, far deeper were the scars to her heart and soul. What harm could someone like that do to an innocent baby? Perhaps nature was simply preventing a great cruelty….

“Hey?” Taylor whispered. A quiet grunt was all the reply she received, but Estela looked up, meeting her eyes. “Everything that you are is what’s going to make you a wonderful mom. One of the things… one of the things I’ve been most excited for is just, like… our baby’s gonna say something, do something, and I’ll be like ‘whoa, that’s an Estela thing’. There’s no one else I could even imagine doing this with.”

With a small sob, Estela held Taylor tighter.

“It’s the pain talking, okay? This isn’t anything rational. And I honestly believe this is who you’re meant to be. The first time you held Reggie, I was on the verge of crying because of how right it just was. You held him like you’d never let him fall. Everything you’ve been through has only made you love even harder. And it’s gonna happen; I swear it’s gonna happen… you are going to be such a good mom.”

Estela gently caressed Taylor’s lips with her own, tasting the salt of tears. For her, she’d be strong; it was what she’d always done. It was impossible to be broken for long whilst held in Taylor’s heart and embrace. She could cut through the doubts, just enough to take another step forward.

“Next time…” she said softly.

Taylor nodded and returned the kiss. God, I love you…

“…Next time….”

__________________________

September 2022

Pausing her frenzied scribbling of notes, Taylor pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. From her position cross-legged on the couch in their La Huerta home, she heard the creak of the front door.

“You’re home late,” she said, still poring over her notes. “Reggie holding you hostage again?”

Estela draped her arms over Taylor’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, something like that.”

Taylor couldn’t help but laugh. “I think a part of you is kinda flattered that you can’t give the kid to someone else without him dissolving into banshee screams…”

“He knows his tia.” Pausing for a moment, Estela waged a silent debate in her head before making up her mind for sure. “Taylor, I want to take the test…”

Taylor looked up. Spending so much time with their nephew had only heightened Estela’s want for a baby. The both of them adored Reginald; most days they saw him, cuddled him, loved him, effortlessly coming into their roles as aunts. But the presence of Aleister and Grace’s bright-eyed baby boy served to highlight exactly what they were missing. “I know. But if you wait a couple more days, it’ll be more accurate. This whole thing is tough enough without worrying about false negatives.”

Estela sat down opposite Taylor, reaching out for her hands. “I’ve just got a feeling, you know? I feel different.” She took her wife’s hand, and tucked it into her bra. “That’s swollen, right?”

“Possibly? But it’s early, sweetheart. I don’t want you getting carried away with something that might not exist.” Of course, it was easy to see signs when it was wanted so much. Between hanging around Reggie all day, and an upcoming journey back to San Trobida in a few days, the yearning was running wild. It was only natural that Estela wanted to greet her tio with the news that she was expecting, but Taylor feared another disappointment. She stroked Estela’s breast, while her other hand lovingly cupped her face. “You know that even if you are pregnant, it probably won’t show up yet?”

“I know that. I’ll do it again in a few days… I just don’t think I can rest without trying.”

“Okay… but don’t get your hopes up. Do you want me with you?”

Estela shook her head. “It’s all right. Like you said, it’s probably too early to work. I’m just trying to settle the voice in my head.” As she moved to leave, Taylor hugged her tight.

“Love you…”

“Love you.”

Taylor looked back to her notes. Their return to San Trobida would be momentous for her; starting up a much-needed youth counselling service in the area surrounding Estela’s home. It was what she’d studied for, and it was with nervous excitement that she jotted down ideas and sketched out plans. With the grants and scholarships that the Aleister and Estela’s inherited company had to offer, there was the feeling that they might be able to make a real difference in giving the children of the civil war hope for the future. The central inspiration to their work was, of course, Estela’s mother. Each award given out to a student was gifted in her name; it provided a small comfort that Dr. Olivia Montoya’s legacy was one of a promise for a better tomorrow. Taylor found herself distracted. They had fulfillment in one another, in the work they were doing… but the picture remained incomplete. The quiet having lingered for too long, Taylor got to her feet, putting her notes aside.

“Estela? Is everything all right?”

No response. Becoming worried, Taylor started towards the bathroom, expecting that she’d need to break out the emergency cheering-up ice cream, as had been a monthly occurrence since they’d started trying for a baby. She knew she’d been right. It had been foolish to cause such distress when another test would need to be taken a few days later anyway.

She tentatively pushed the door. “’Stel? I’m here…”

Estela was sat trembling on the tiled floor, her eyes wide and wet with tears, seemingly unable to look away from the test stick she held in her hand. Several others lay at her feet.

“…Taylor… I’m…” In her daze, she couldn’t even get the words out.

Tears sprung to Taylor’s eyes and her hand to her mouth. Surely… surely it couldn’t be what she thought it was? But then, that smile… that smile… it said it all.

“Wh-what are you… what are you saying?”

“We’re… we’re having a baby…”

Without knowing how she got there, Taylor was on the floor, Estela’s arms around her as they cried, and laughed, and kissed.

We’re having a baby.

#estela x mc #endless summer #playchoices #choices fanfiction #estela montoya #diego soto #liv montoya

15 notes · View notes

lilacmoon83 · 4 years ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 12: Unburdened

Emma gazed through the interrogation window at Jacob Taylor with scrutinizing eyes. Killian exited the room with his file and looked at her.

"He's definitely guilty of blackmail, extortion, and harassment...but not murder," he said. She blanched.

"Are you kidding? If his wife had gone public with all his dirty deeds, it would have ruined him. If that's not a motive for murder, then I don't know what is," Emma argued.

"He has an alibi, Emma. Tisbe's sister Clorinda says they were together when Tisbe was murdered and we have a suspect," he reminded her. But she shook her head. Her gut was telling her that Jacob Taylor was guilty as sin.

"I need to talk to Walsh," she said, referring to the suspect.

"Fine...I'll get you in, but you're on a short leash. The Captain wants this case closed," Killian urged. She looked at him suspiciously.

"No…I know Graham, better than you. He doesn't care how long it takes to close a case and taught me himself to follow your gut. No...the NSA wants this closed, right?" she asked. He sighed.

"Vance seems to have an interest in it," he mentioned. She shook her head.

"I'm sure...too much attention on the passengers. Makes it harder for them to spy on all of us," she scoffed.

"Just be quick," he said, as he led her to the holding cells where they were keeping Walsh Ozwald. He looked at her with reverence, as she entered and she sighed.

"You have returned," he said in awe.

"I hear that you refuse to talk to anyone, so I thought I'd give it a try," she replied. He smiled.

"You...you I'll talk to," he agreed.

"Did you kill Tisbe Taylor?" Emma asked. He looked almost offended by the question.

"No...she is one of the returned! Like you and your brother," he replied and she had to suppress an eye roll.

"I saw you there," he added.

"Yeah...and you had Tisbe's blood on your clothes. If you didn't kill her, then why were you covered in her blood?" Emma questioned.

"I came in after...I held her until she died," Walsh answered.

"And why haven't you told the arresting officers that? If you didn't kill her, then you need to tell us and mount a defense," she argued. But he shook his head.

"No...I must pay the penance of this life, so I can come back as pure as you," he said reverently.

"I am anything but pure, I assure you," Emma replied.

"Only because you haven't unburdened yourself from whatever fear or guilt is holding you back," he said and she glared at him, before stepping back.

"Whatever happened on that plane...none of us had any control over it. We're people, just like anyone else, so if I were you, I'd think again about getting a public defender," Emma advised.

"But you are! You are different now and you know it! You have returned from the brink of death! You have returned to save us all!" he ranted and she backed away, before hurrying out.

"Sounds like he'd have a good shot at an insanity defense if he wanted it," Killian mentioned.

"Yeah...no doubt," she said pensively.

"Emma...are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"I...I just need to go see someone," she replied, as she ran out and he looked on in concern.

~*~

David watched fondly from the door, as his wife tucked their son in. Olive had gone to bed already, promising not to stay up talking online with her friends for too long, and he missed the days where she needed tucked in as well. But he knew one thing for sure. His wife was absolutely the best mother on the face of the earth. She handled Olive and her teenage girl mood swings like a pro and satisfied their son's inquisitive nature and insatiable appetite for stories.

"Can you tell me another story, Mom?" Henry asked.

"I suppose we can do one more. Which comic book hero do you want to hear about this time?" she asked.

"I know all their stories. Can you tell me one about you and Dad?" he asked.

"What kind of story would you like to hear about us?" she asked.

"What about the time you met Aunt Emma's boss? Mr. Humbert," Henry replied. She and her husband shared a smile

"You love the adventures, don't you?" she said fondly, as she recalled that day very clearly.

~*~

Flashback

Senior Year - 1997

David parked the truck at school and they got out. Lily was waiting for Emma and she waved to them, as she headed into school, while they lingered back for a moment.

"You need to relax...everything is going to work out," he promised.

"What if we don't get into the same college and if we did get in, then what is taking so long with our acceptance letters?" she complained. He chuckled and kissed her tenderly.

"We're both going to get in together to one of our choices and whichever one that is...that's where we'll go, because we're going to college together," he promised, as he took her hands in his own and kissed her passionately again.

"You better hurry if you're going to make it to the gym before the first bell," she urged. He kissed her again and then headed off toward the gym in the opposite direction, while she headed toward the main building. As she passed through some other cars, a door opened though and blocked her path.

"Excuse me," she said, as a man stepped out. He wasn't much older than her, but definitely not in high school.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard?" he asked in an accented voice.

"Who are you?" she demanded to know.

"You need to come with me," he said.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going anywhere with you," she said, as she attempted to walk around him. But he blocked her path again.

"Your father has requested your presence at his home and since you will not come...he sent me to force the issue," he said. She scoffed.

"Typical. When my father doesn't get what he wants, he pays someone to force people to do what he wants instead," she replied.

"Well, not this time. My father can go to hell," she spat, but he refused to let her pass.

"Your father loves you and wants to make amends," he insisted.

"No he doesn't! He doesn't love me. He wants to control my life after he has ignored me all these years," she spat.

"But David does love me...more than anything and I will not let anyone, let alone my father, keep us apart," she said hotly, as she tried to walk away. He grabbed her arm though and she screamed as he shoved her against the car and handcuffed her, before tossing her into the backseat.

"Sorry...but I have my orders," he said, as he got in. She screamed, but he peeled away out of the parking lot.

~*~

David was about halfway to the gym when the feeling of dread filled him. He turned back and looked behind him. He turned back and kept walking, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He ran back toward the parking lot and just in time to see Margaret be shoved into a car.

"Margaret!" he cried, as the car peeled out of the parking lot. He ran at breakneck speed toward his truck and followed. When he saw the direction that the car was going, he immediately knew it was headed toward his girlfriend's old gated community and that meant her father was behind the whole thing. It wouldn't be easy to get past all the security, but he was determined to do so. He parked his truck a couple blocks away, in a less conspicuous neighborhood and then ran toward the Blanchard estate the rest of the way.

~*~

Margaret struggled and screamed, as her father's security team dragged her into the house. Graham, the man that had picked her up, trailed behind. She had learned in the drive that he was a private investigator that had been hired to keep tabs on her by her father. One of the men yelped in pain, as she stomped on his foot and the other doubled over, as she kneed him in the groin. Two bigger men descended upon her, but Leopold put his hand up to stop them.

"Mary Margaret, please calm down," he pleaded.

"Calm down? You had me kidnapped!" she shouted in outrage.

"Only because you refuse to come see me," he replied.

"You disowned me after I got emancipated! After you tried to rip me away from my family!" she cried.

"I am your family," he corrected, but she shook her head in vehemence.

"No...you have ignored me my entire life until now and that's because you don't want me with David," she refuted.

"He is beneath your station, Mary Margaret," he replied.

"I love him and he is twice the man you are!" she hissed, as she glared daggers at him.

"Well…I was hoping to have a civil conversation, but it appears that's not going to be possible," he replied.

"You're right...so I'll be going now," she said, as she started to walk out, but his security blocked her way.

"You can't keep me here against my will!" she shouted.

"I am a powerful man, my dear daughter and I assure you that I can," he replied.

"I am having a dinner party tonight and you are to be my guest of honor. Many of the richest and most influential people in my circle will be here, along with their own children," he said. She shook her head in dismay.

"You are unbelievable!" she shouted.

"Please Mary Margaret...I ask for one evening. One party and that you for once be my dutiful daughter. You never know...you might meet someone you like," he said.

"Your dutiful daughter...so this is about repairing your reputation in your circle. I've sullied it," she said, a bit smug at that.

"You have...and you're going to help me repair it," he replied.

"And if I don't?" she asked. He paused for a moment.

"Mr. Humbert...I want you to pay a visit to Mr. Nolan as he comes out of school later today and give him a small taste of what will happen to him if he continues to date my daughter," he replied, making her gasp.

"Wait...you said this was about bringing your daughter to see you. You never mentioned harming anyone," Graham protested.

"Oh look...the bounty hunter has a conscience, after all," she spat snidely.

"I hired you to do a job and the job isn't over until I have my daughter back," Leopold responded, as the window shattered when something was thrown through it. Leopold's security team quickly rushed outside to find the culprit. But once they were all gone, David climbed through the broken window.

"David!" Margaret cried, as a smile spread across her face.

"That worked better than I thought," he said, as she tackled him with a hug and kissed him passionately.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I...was on my way to gym class when I got a bad feeling. I turned around and saw this guy shove you in a car so I followed," he replied.

"Always my hero…" she gushed, as she cuddled against him, just as Leopold's security returned.

"Security...toss this riff-raff out of my house!" he demanded.

"You don't want to do that," David warned and Leopold looked at him incredulously.

"Oh I don't?" he challenged.

"Sir…I love your daughter with every fiber of my being and I have since we were just children," he confessed.

"I know I don't measure up to your standards, but no one will ever love her the way I do," he added.

"He's right, father...no one could ever make me happy the way he does," she confirmed.

"Love is not something that is afforded in this world if you expect to get anywhere and if Margaret does not marry within our circle, it may cost me many lucrative business deals," Leopold refuted.

"You make me sick...she's your daughter and you'd rather sell her off to the highest bidder than let her be happy," David spat.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand this world, boy," Leopold retorted.

"And I never want to understand this world...we're leaving," David said, as he took her hand and led her to the door, despite the security guards blocking their way.

"Let us go, father!" Margaret demanded.

"You need to let us go or everyone in the world is going to know that you just kidnapped your own daughter," David warned.

"What are you talking about?" Leopold demanded to know, as a man walked through the door.

"My name is Jefferson and I work for someone that represents these two. A financial adviser, among other things," Jefferson said.

"Other things?" Leopold questioned. Jefferson smirked.

"Like me...he wears many hats. You've probably heard of him," Jefferson said, as he handed a card to Leopold.

"You work for…" Leopold started to say, but then stopped, as Jefferson raised his hand.

"Don't say his name...that won't bode well for you," he warned.

"Why are you here?" Leopold questioned.

"Let's just say my employer is...invested in their future. A future that doesn't include the likes of you. Now...you've disowned your daughter and you'll keep it that way or he is prepared to destroy you," Jefferson warned.

"Not in the judicial court, as we know that you have enough money to buy your way out of that. But in the court of public opinion," he said.

"I only ever wanted what was best for her," he claimed.

"Then you'll let her go, because she is where she belongs," Jefferson replied.

"Stand down," Leopold said reluctantly. Graham sighed and turned to them.

"I'm sorry...I didn't know the full story or that he meant to harm anyone," he told them. They nodded in acceptance, as he tore Leopold's check up and tossed it away.

"Keep your filthy money," he said, as he turned to leave. Margaret gave her father one last cold stare, before leaving with David.

~*~

"And that's how we became friends with Graham and he decided to put his skills to better use by going to the police academy," David concluded.

"Yeah...and as always, your Daddy was my hero that day and still is," she said, looking at him fondly.

"Then how come we have to go to Leopold's house tomorrow night?" Henry asked. She smiled.

"Well...we're not really excited about it either, but…" she said.

"You and Dad think he's up to something, so we're going to go spy," Henry said knowingly, making David laugh.

"He knows us well," he replied, as he leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

"Well...this family does love its adventures. Goodnight sweetheart," Margaret said, as she leaned down and kissed his forehead too, before joining hands with her husband and gently closing his door.

"I love him so much…" she said, as she put her hand on his door and David put his arms around her.

"Me too...and we're going to save him, my darling. The treatment is working," he said with hope in his voice.

"Do I dare hope? I haven't had hope since the plane disappeared and before that, I had very little when we were facing the reality that his cancer was terminal," she said sadly.

"I know...but the plane came back and now his cancer has a viable treatment. I know how hard it must be for you to hope now after all that you've been through...but whatever this is...I'd like to think it brought us back for a reason and that is reason is not just to have us lose our son anyway," he reasoned. She smiled.

"You're right...and it feels so good to have hope again," she said. He smiled and kissed her passionately.

"Come on...let's go to bed," she said, giving him a look that told him that sleep was not on her mind and she took his hand, leading him to their bedroom.

~*~

Emma got out of the cab in front of Lily's parents house and rushed up to the door, prepared to unburden her soul to Lily's mother with all her truth and guilt she still had about the night Lily died. But she saw Mal come out onto the porch urgently with a frantic look on her face.

"He's gone…" she said.

"What?" Emma asked.

"Zoran...he's missing. He must have wandered off. He gets so confused…" Mal fretted, as she handed Emma her car keys.

"I can't leave, in case he comes back. Please...help me find him," she said desperately. Emma looked at the car keys, but couldn't refuse. She owed this to Mal and got into the car. At that moment, the memories of that fateful night flooded her.

~*~

Lily stumbled out of the bar and cheered into the night air.

"Whoa...happy birthday to me!" she slurred, as she almost fell over, but caught herself on the car, with keys in hand.

"Whoa...no way, you're way too drunk to drive. I've got this," Emma replied.

"Whatever you say…" Lily said, as they got into the car and Emma proceeded to drive them home. Except five minutes later, they had crashed and Lily lay dead against the dashboard.

~*~

Emma burst into tears at the memories, before quickly getting her bearings and starting the vehicle. She had to find Mal's husband...she couldn't let her lose him too. She faced her fear of driving and put the car in gear, before driving off. It was only a few blocks later that she found Zoran in the middle of traffic, looking scared and confused. She saw a car trying to swerve to avoid hitting him and without thinking, she blocked the car with her own, saving him. She jumped out of the car and ran to Zoran, who recognized her.

"Emma...I can't find Lily. I have to find Lily…" he said in confusion.

"It's okay...I'm going to take you home. We'll find Lily together," she promised, as she put him in her car, before going over to see if the other driver was okay.

"Hey…" she said, as the words died on her lips. It was Clorinda Taylor, Tisbe's sister, and spied a golden necklace in the passenger seat. She met Clorinda's eyes and before the other woman could move, Emma pulled her gun.

"Hands on the wheel," she ordered.

~*~

"Dr. Mills?" a lab assistant called, as he poked his head into her lab.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Here are your test results," he said, as he delivered the envelope to her. She smiled her gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, as he left and she tore the envelope open. They were results of her MRI and the blood test results from David.

"David has the protein too…" she said, as she then examined the results of her MRI brain scan and a bit of dread filled her. The protein had been identified and it only raised more questions, as well as fears.

"Ischemic stroke…" she muttered, as millions of things began to run through her mind.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Snowing AU #Emma Swan #Henry #Regina Mills #Manifest #with a Once twist #Mr. Gold #romance #adventure #family #drama #Lightning in a Bottle

4 notes · View notes

jacobpaulnielsen · 4 years ago

Text

Interview with Oz Fritz on working with Tom Waits and the making of 1999′s Mule Variations

Jacob Nielsen: Do you have phases with bands?

Oz Fritz: I listen to the music I grew up with all the time when I'm driving. I make mix CDs, so I have about 50 mix CDs and Dylan is definitely fairly prominent. When I first heard "Like A Rolling Stone" I had a religious experience. I kinda stopped following him when he did the Frank Sinatra songs. I didn't get that. Some of the bootlegs, the production sounds better to me than the actual album because the songs are not overly produced. A lot of his albums have terrible production. That's one thing.

JN: What do you mean?

OF: It could mean kind of a number of different things, but just that there's no excitement in the track or it obviously sounds like a drum machine. There's no real qualifier I could say that makes it sound "not good" to me. For Dylan's whole style - if you've read about how he records, he likes to record really fast and sometimes that doesn't translate. Some of his other, later stuff, is produced really well. Like "Love and Theft" and the one after that.

JN: Was it Time Out of Mind?

OF: Time Out of Mind is a classic. Although, that one gets to sound a bit dated at times. But yeah, that's a very good production. Actually, getting back to Tom Waits...that [album] very much inspired Tom Waits. And from what I've heard, and what I'm told, Dylan was inspired by Tom Waits.

JN: Those are two big personalities.

OF: And then there was the fact that right around then, when Dylan was touring he always had a bullet mic. A bullet mic is a kind of a green, specialty mic made by Shure that's specifically for harmonica. Plugging a mic like that directly into an amp gets that distorted sound. Tom kind of used it as part of his lo-fi aesthetic. That was a mic he would sing into to get a lo-fi version of a vocal. And so Dylan toured with that. Besides a regular mic, he had this bullet mic which, according to Tom, he never used but it was there.

I know Tom was influenced by Time Out of Mind because the next record we did was a record Tom produced from John Hammond Jr. called Wicked Grin and he hired the same keyboard player that had been on Time Out of Mind. His name is Augie Meyers. He's an old veteran musician from Texas. Tom put together the whole band for that album and Augie Meyers was included because of his work on Time Out of Mind.

When I was working with Tom [beginning with Mule Variations], he was constantly telling me influences and things like that. There was a constant flow of information. I know that Time Out of Mind wasn't on his radar at that point.

JN: What were the reference tracks like for Mule Variations. Would Tom say, you know, I want "Hold On" to sound like this Rod Stewart song?

OF: No he wouldn't be that specific. Before we started, he wanted me to listen to the Radiohead album that had just come out. He wouldn't say why or what specifically about it I should hear. Just a general aesthetic I guess.

JN: Bands like Radiohead don't seem very "on brand" for a guy like Tom Waits.

OF: Oh man. He stays really on top of what is happening. He told me about The White Stripes before anyone had ever heard of 'em. I think another one might have been The Strokes. He stays pretty involved.

At some point near the end [of the Mule Variations sessions] he and Kathleen went to a Bjork concert. He was extremely impressed by her turntablist, who wasn’t just scratching but playing samples from records. That caused Tom to find a DJ and bring him in and have him throw some stuff down.

JN: Right. There are samples on ‘Big In Japan’, right? What was that like in the studio?

OF: He’s constantly recording stuff. Back then, it was on cassette. I was just given a loop. Primus was doing the music for that and so he just played the loop and they played the song. It was longer, too. He edited some of the lyrics out. It got to be a little bit long, he decided.

JN: Mule Variations is 16 songs, but it was meant to be 25. So that’s a double album. What songs were cut from the album?

OF: There’s one called “Lost at the Bottom of the World,” which is on Orphans, and there’s one that’s never made it anywhere and it’s actually one of my favorite songs of his. It’s called “Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind”. We recorded [Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind] for Mule Variations and we recorded a different version for Alice. It did find life. Solomon Burke put it on one of his records. I didn’t think he did justice to the song. I love Tom’s versions way more. Those are the only ones I remember off hand.

JN: Years ago, you had told me that the album was called Mule Variations because of all the different versions of “Get Behind the Mule”.

OF: That’s right.

JN: Was that similar for songs like “Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind”? Did he record that song a bunch of different ways, too?

OF: No we only had one...or maybe two different versions. I don’t remember. He worked on it. It was definitely a song in contention [for the record]. He obviously loved the song enough to put it down again on the next albums [Alice and Blood Money]. I don’t know what went in his process on not putting it on the record. That is something he has in common with Dylan that I’ve found. Some of Dylan’s best songs, he’s not put on record. There’s one called Blind Willie McTell. Some consider it one of his best songs.

Marc Ribot once told me (and this is just people’s theories and opinions) that Tom is wary of power. If something sounds too powerful, it turns him off.

JN: I wonder about his definition of power. I hear a song like “Come On Up to the House” or “Anywhere I Lay My Head” and I’m like holy shit. Tom has this amazing ability to sound like someone who is just totally broken. To me that’s very powerful.

OF: Well, Marc could have been coming from the point of view of his guitar playing. We did a whole week of Ribot doing overdubs, and I love his guitar playing. At the end of it I told him that and Marc’s comment was “well...we’ll see how much of it is used.” So I think Marc might have found stuff that was really powerful in his guitar playing and it didn’t make it on to the records.

JN: What can you recall about some of the equipment that was used on the album?

OF: So the first record that Tom did at Prairie Sun was Bone Machine. At that point, there was no “Waits Room,” there was nothing done in those lower rooms. There was only the tracking room - Studio B - and then there was the mixing room - Studio A. Studio B, the live room, sounded good but it was very generic sounding. So they started this record [Bone Machine] and they had him all set up. After one playback, Tom just hated it. He hated the sound. It lacked character, for him. So he wasn’t going to do the record there. He then had the idea to do it at his house. He rented a whole bunch of mics and mic-pres, took it to his house with engineers, but apparently it also didn’t work there. So he came back to Prairie Sun and they were just walking down that driveway. Tom was trying to think of what to do and he looked over and saw that building that has the Waits Room in it. He went in. It was a storage room and he said “well, what would this room be like if we took all the junk out of it?” So they did and it sounded amazing. So the Waits Room was actually born during the making of Bone Machine.

So for Mule Variations, which was now eight years later, he came back and he wanted to do it in that same room. This time he took over that whole floor. At that point there was no mixing board there. No control room either. It wasn’t its own studio. The control room was upstairs in Studio B. There were lines that ran from the basement [Studio C] to the upstairs [Studio B]. It was really physically hard. To adjust a mic, I’d have to run down the hill, adjust the mic, and run up the hill. We set up playback down there so they could listen back without having to come up to the control room. That whole floor was utilized for the recording. There were two rooms: the Waits Room and the Corn Room. The Corn Room is a much bigger room. [We tracked] between those two spaces, but sometimes we used the middle part of the studio.

So Tom would be playing in the Waits Room, he’d either be playing a guitar or piano, and he would be singing. This was basically his modus operandi for almost all of the songs, or maybe all of them: he would record his basic part first and then add stuff on. A lot of the songs, like Get Behind the Mule, would just be him, another piano/rhythm guitar, Larry Taylor (an upright bass player), and then a guy usually doing hand percussion. Occasionally, like for Filipino Box Spring Hog, drums would be set up outside the Waits Room. The door would be open so they would all have sight line and feel like they were in the same room.

As far as the equipment, he’s still all analog and analog approach. The recorder was a suitor 880 and all the mic pres were on that Neve desk upstairs [in Studio B]. This was in ‘98 or ‘99, I think maybe ‘98. Pro Tools had just come out, and Tom likes to check out new technology. Like I said, he likes to stay on top of things.

There’s a long story about how Jacquire King got involved. I went and interviewed with Tom to do the record and then Tom kept delaying the start time. I had a bunch of dates already booked with Bill Laswell to do live sound in the summer, which I wasn’t going to give up because he’s a long term client and friend of mine. So I told Tom when they finally got the start date “there’s gonna be some days I’m not gonna be here because I’ve got to go overseas.” Tom said “Well, you know I don’t want to keep switching engineers. You know, I really love your vibe. We’ll probably do something in the future, but I want to have one engineer for the whole thing.” So, cool. Whatever. He went looking for another engineer and he’d heard about Jacquire King. They brought him up to Prairie Sun for the interview. Tom’s interview consists of a session. He doesn’t tell you when you’re going for the interview. When you get there he says, “Okay, let’s do some recording.” They did that for Jacquire and Jacquire was not experienced with analog recording at the time. They didn’t like his recording. They tried a thing in the Waits room and it just didn’t work out. So I got a call the next week from Tom, saying that he and Kathleen both like Jacquire but they realized he didn’t really have his chops up yet on analog recording. So...would I be willing to be the chief recording engineer? [I’d] set the parameters, meet with Jacquire, and show him how I do analog recording. The thing Tom liked about Jacquire was he was a Pro Tools engineer. So Jacquire became more than just a substitute for me. He brought out Pro Tools and they used it on FIlipino Box Spring Hog. Lowside of the Road might have been mixed [on Pro Tools] too.

JN: What is the difference in mixing on Pro Tools vs. Analog?

OF: At that point, I don’t think they were using Pro Tools in the box, which means to completely mix something in the computer, strictly digital. It doesn't go to a mixing desk or any other gear outside the computer. They were using Pro Tools as the source instead of a tape machine. The reason they were using Pro Tools was because he was kind of cutting and pasting stuff and moving stuff around. Which is a lot harder to do with tape.

I would say the whole record is maybe 80 or 90 percent analog. Even the Pro Tools stuff wasn’t mixed in Pro Tools. It went out, back through the Neve and then mixed to analog tape.

JN: On a song like Lowside of the Road, the beginning sounds like a man snoring. Is that a vibraslap making that sound?

OF: That song had its genesis somewhere else. It came from an 8 track tape that he had. I think he recorded it at his house. That’s where the basic tracks were. They brought that into Prairie Sun and they overdubbed on top of that. I’m not sure how it started.

JN: On Mule Variations there are a lot of these images that are “painted” with sound. Was that sort of stuff a directive to you? Did Tom say “Oz, I want this to sound like a guy snoring.”?

OF: Nothing was ever that specific. But the visuals, when you say “painted,” that’s very accurate. He wouldn’t say “make it sound like a guy’s snoring,” but when I was mixing or overdubbing Cold Water, he said he wanted more brown in the mix. Which I knew. I could relate that to a particular range or frequencies.

When we were mixing Alice, he’d give these real abstract images. He said, “Oz. Picture yourself in a dollhouse. You’re in a dollhouse. You’re in a room in a dollhouse and a regular size person comes in and sticks their face into the dollhouse. That’s how I want my vocal to sound.”

JN: That seems pretty on brand for Tom Waits. Is that pretty unique in comparison to other artists you’ve worked with?

OF: It’s totally unique. No one else has come close to being like that in terms of direction. Bill Laswell once told me when we were working on a dub record and he told me I should reference a book called Naked Lunch by William Burroughs. That’s the only thing that comes close.

There was a more traditional reference that came from Tom too. There’s a drummer named Andrew Borger, who’s on the record. He had made a tape, a cassette, of him playing drums. It was like an audition tape. And it was slightly overloaded. It had a particular sound, which Tom loved. He brought me that cassette tape and told me to emulate that sound. Man, it was really hard. I got a great sound, I thought. It’s the drum sound for Filipino Box Spring Hog. It’s much different than the cassette tape but that was my attempt to get that reference.

JN: Tom is someone who’s very famous for his different voices. Songs like Pony and Cold Water are great examples of his range. Tell me about recording his different voices.

OF: They were all the same microphone, those two particular songs. There wasn’t a lot of variation on microphones. There was a lot of processing done in the mixing to try to sculpt the vocal sound. In Get Behind the Mule, he’s singing through a PVC pipe. That was the same microphone, but obviously it sounds way different because he’s singing through a pipe. That was completely his decision to do that.

There was one time though, there was a session on the Blood Money album, where he was trying to get this song and he just couldn’t get it. I suggested to him to try a real lo-fi mic. He did and that’s how he got the vocal. That was a bit of an exception. Generally, it was always kind of the same mic that he sang into.

Tom wanted to record Chocolate Jesus outside. He set everyone up in front of those white doors that are in front of the Waits Room. Jacquire mic’d everything up. When Tom heard it he thought it sounded too nice. Too high fidelity. So Jacquire went back. He took down all his close mics, put up a pair of shotgun mics, and recorded the whole ensemble just with these shotgun mics. I technically mixed that song but there wasn’t much to do because there were only two channels.

JN: That’s another song that really paints a picture with sound. That recording feels like a hot summer day in the Deep South. Tom sounds exhausted, almost like a sharecropper.

OF: Right.

JN: You don’t seek out a production credit on albums you work on, do you?

OF: Right. There’s no producer. There’s a reducer.

JN: It sounds to me like Tom seeks out people that will help him shape the sounds that he has, not vice versa.

OF: Yeah. You’ve got to sort of realize your place though, too. He never told me this, I was trained this way in New York...the artist is the boss. I’m doing their record. I’m not doing my record. The only creative stuff I felt free to do was on the technical side. Nowadays you have a lot of musicians who do their own engineering, so they’ll start giving you engineering suggestions. Stuff like what mics to use or even how to place them. Which is fine, but Tom never went near that at all. One time he wanted me to hear the sound of a whip on a cassette in the back of his SUV that was cranked incredibly fucking loud [laughs]. He would just try to give you references to try to go for.

[In Listen Up!] there’s a chapter about working with Tom Waits. He talks about giving these ideas to Tom and Kathleen. He’d come up with these sounds or whatever, you know, “check this out, let’s use it!” type of thing. At one point he talks about how Tom called him up at the hotel, and if you read the book you’ll get a lot of very colorful imagery of Tom basically saying “back the fuck off,” but he says it much more politely.

Some other input I got was, Tom was very influenced by this turntable DJ that Bjork had, and so he brought a guy in [to do that]. He was also very interested in samples. I had a sound effects library and I brought that in and we used some of the effects off of that.

My sound effects library was on these things called DATs (Digital Audio Tapes). They were the same quality as recordable CDs. During the 90s, I was living sort of bi-costally. All of my work was back in New York and most of my work was with Bill Laswell at his Greenpoint studio in Brooklyn. Above his studio, I had converted it into an art gallery and I used to stay above the studio. I had a lot of time. I basically dubbed all of Bill’s CD sound effects and put them on DATs. [During Mule Variations], I’d bring the whole thing in. We put an auctioneer on Eyeball Kid. Tom would just come up with ideas and we would just go through [my DATs] and choose one.

JN: The first track that comes to mind with something like your library is “What’s He Building?” Did you rely on your sound effects library when you were tracking that song?

OF: Well, that was a pretty unique recording. He did three or four takes of that song, but there was no overdubs added afterwards. Everything was completely live. It’s that big room, The Corn Room, at Prairie Sun. Tom brought any musical instrument that he had at his house, he brought to Prairie Sun. That whole floor was just tons of instruments. He had all this home-made percussion. The kind that Harry Parch would make. So there was all kinds of instruments like that in the Corn Room and he just started doing the vocal, the spoken word on a handheld mic. An SM7 or something like that. Then Kathleen and the assistant engineer at the time, Jeff Sloan (who was also a percussionist), made the background sounds. All the background sounds are them hitting stuff just kind of randomly while Tom’s doing the spoken word. Some of the sounds are from the harp of a piano just being hit. That was all done live, but he edited some of it out. There were a lot more verses.

JN: Really?

OF: Oh yeah. The guy was definitely building something in there.

JN: This album was recorded at the peak of the CD boom in the music industry. A lot of people, at least at Tom Waits’ calibur, were recording digitally. Is there any insight as to why Tom kind of insisted on doing things analog?

OF: At Prairie Sun back then, there were no Pro Tools and that was how you recorded there. At my interview with Tom, I told him I had been listening to Bone Machine and I really liked the sound of it.

He said “No, don’t use that as a reference. You should be listening to Rain Dogs. That’s the one I want to use as a reference for my recordings.”

It just so happened that I knew the difference in the recording between Bone Machine and Rain Dogs. [Robert Musso], who recorded Rain Dogs, was one of my engineer teachers in New York. I knew that they did it by the New York standard, which is 30 inches per second for the tape speed, no noise reduction. I knew that Bone Machine had been recorded in California at 15 ips, half the speed and using noise reduction. The difference in those techniques is that, when you use noise reduction, you can’t slam the tape. You can’t hit the tape hard. Part of the whole New York aesthetic was...record at 30 ips, hit the tape as hard as you can without blowing things up and you get a thing called tape compression. That’s partly what makes things sound that punchy. That’s part of why Mule Variations has a bigger, more open sound. Whereas, with Bone Machine - which I love the sound of [and] I think Tchad Blake did a really excellent job mixing it - sounds a little tighter or closed.

JN: What do you mean when you say “hit the tape”?

OF: Record at a hot level, so your drums [for example] are hitting your VU meters. They’re slamming it. When people say they love the sound of tape, a lot of that is recording it to its maximum headroom. You don’t get quite the same effect when you’re doing it at 15 ips and using noise reduction. Noise reduction is severely processing the sound. Partly, the reason why records from the 50s and 60s and 70s sound bigger was the whole philosophy was using as little electronics as possible. To go as much as you could directly from the mic to the tape recorder and have as few electronics in between as possible. So that was kind of the aesthetic brought to Mule Variations. As much as possible, direct to the tape machine. With Dolby noise reduction, it’s encoding the sound when it goes into the tape machine and then decoding the sound when it comes out. That’s how it’s taking out the noise, but it’s being processed. [The sound] doesn’t go through that stage if you’re not using noise reduction. If you’re not using noise reduction, you’re almost obliged to record at a loud level because when you record at a louder level, you’re not going to get as much noise.

JN: Did Tom know that you had studied under Robert Musso?

OF: No. I told him at the interview, but he hadn’t known that prior. He did check me out a little bit. When he called me the very first time and he asked for a sample of my mixes, he called them “hyper real.” They were too big, or maybe too powerful for him. I think part of it was that he needed a professional engineer that was in the area. I’d been recommended to him by Brain, the drummer for Primus. I knew Brain from New York. The thing that Tom was super impressed with was, I sent him a tape of my ambient recording. Stuff that I had done out on the street. Interesting things. Just sounds. He liked that more than my actual mix reel.

JN: How do you approach miking a room like the Corn Room?

OF: Well, I always had room mics. I had two U87s up in the corners of the Waits room along with all the close mics. It’s just a matter of putting up extra mics, having ambient mics. For a drum track, I use four sets of ambient mics. Two for the whole room, to get the biggest room [sound] as possible. Two that I call boom mics. They’re not close mics, but they’re not real distant so they’re like if a person was just standing in front of a drum kit.

This was an educational experience for me too. I never worked on anything like Tom Waits. I’m writing a book - my memoir about the music industry. Part of what I say in there is, when I was in New York, I learned how to make things sound as big and powerful as possible. We went to extra lengths to push the boundaries. Coming out and working with Tom Waits, that was a whole different aesthetic. He didn’t want it to sound as big, beautiful, and shiny as possible. [His] whole lo-fi aesthetic was a huge educational part of my recording career.

Years ago, you told me that the initial mix of Hold On had these beautiful guitar arpeggios. Then Tom comes to you and says “Oz, some guy like Rod Stewart is going to come along and cover this song,” and so he didn’t want it to sound too pretty. How many other times did he come back and say “it sounds too good”?

That was really the only time. Mixing was challenging, definitely. We finished tracking and we moved from the tracking room at Prairie Sun to the mix room, which had a different board and was configured differently back then. We spent a week there, mixing. He would always love the sound of it when he was hearing it in the control room. We’d make a cassette for him but he’d listen at home and he wasn’t digging the mixes at all. It was getting to be every single day that was happening. So I was getting kind of nervous. Like, at what point am I going to get fired?

We decided that what he didn’t really like was the sound of that board. It was a Trident board. It did have a much different sound than the Neve board. We were constantly making rough mixes. He really dug the sound of the rough mixes done in the Neve room [Studio B]. So the whole thing was…”Okay, after this week we’re going back into Studio B to mix on the Neve.” But there was one day, a Friday, when we mixed Big in Japan [on the Trident board]. At that point it had been four or five days of not really hearing anything he liked when he got home. He said “okay, give me a cassette.” He wasn’t even that thrilled with what was happening. I made him a cassette of Big in Japan and he brought it home and he just loved it. He loved the mix. All he said was he wanted the edits put back in. The tape that had been edited out was on the floor, so I had to go and dig through all these pieces of tape, find the right piece and put it back into the song. That was the mix.

In terms of the mixing...it was a long process. He had me and Jacquire each do our own versions of mixes. I think Jacquire has three on there, or two of ‘em, from Pro Tools and then I have the rest. Most of the mixes I did, that he accepted, four or five of them were done in one night. He gets into this thing where he likes to work really fast. He doesn’t want people thinking too much. Just working on instinct. I think it was the night of Hold On that we were on a roll and did four or five songs. Eyeball Kid was mixed that night, then Come On Up to the House.

Alice was done the same way too. He always worked Monday to Friday and took weekends off. On a Friday he walks in and says “Okay, Oz. Let’s do some mixing.” I started mixing some songs and I think we mixed three or four, just knocked them off. He loved it. He said “Well Oz, we’re on a roll. Can you stay over and work tomorrow?” Okay, sure. I worked on Saturday and I think we mixed maybe 90% of the album in those two days. That’s after trying mixes, you know, regular. Spending a whole day on a song.

JN: How many other people work like that?

OF: Well...no one. Bill Laswell to some extent, also works really fast. People have that recognition when something is happening, and they know when to stop and not to take it too far. Tom’s like that. He’s always trying to keep it alive and fresh and not too overly worked.

[Working on Mule Variations], you didn’t know exactly what you were going to do every day. You might be thinking, okay, we’ve got all the songs done. We’re going to do overdubs today. And then he’d say, “I’ve got a new song.” It was always very Zen in the sense of...you had to pay attention to what was going on.

JN: What new songs did he come in with?

OF: There’s one on Orphans. Rain On Me, I think it’s called. That was one where, I think we were mixing and he’s like “okay, I’ve got a new song. I want to record this.”

On Blood Money and Alice, three of the mixes were just complete rough mixes. Two of them were from [when] we recorded everything live and then the band would come in for a playback. I would run the playback into a DAT, which was CD quality. Just to hear the monitor mix. Two of those mixes were the first time anybody had ever heard it on tape, including myself. That’s just my balance going to the recorder.

JN: What songs were those?

OF: I’m bad with titles. Something about King Edward’s Brother. I don’t remember the other one, but the very first song on Blood Money is the rough mix.

That’s a very interesting story, too. 9/11 happened while we had some time off. The first session that we had was about a week after it happened. Tom said he was thinking about cancelling it, but if he did he would just be sitting in front of the TV getting more depressed, so we did the session. The mood was...you just feel his mood. He just projects it. Not that he’s intentionally being negative or whatever, but if he’s not in a good mood, you kind of just feel it. He came in, the mood was really heavy and says “I want to put a hand drum on Misery’s the River of the World and then I want you to give it a good rough mix.” Meaning I got to spend more than 15 minutes getting a balance. I spent two or three hours getting a decent rough mix. When it came time to mix those records, he was very concerned that those two albums were going to sound the same because they were all done in the same studio with the same musicians and the same production team. So he brought this other engineer up from LA to mix Blood Money. They did about three or four mixes of Misery is the River of the World, but he always went back and he ended up using that rough mix. I think it’s not because it’s such a brilliant mix but because there was something about the mood in the studio at the time. If you listen to the song, it’s kind of appropriate for a 9/11 aftermoment.

JN: What do you remember about the album’s release?

OF: Even though CDs were prevalent, everything inside the studio was an analog world. Like, I didn’t know how to use Pro Tools. It wasn’t a common thing. From what I remember, everyone always did both. Major releases still pressed to vinyl and CD.

Tom loved all the songs that we had but there were too many of them. He had hoped to make it a double album, but the record company was shy about that because it was his first record on Epitaph. They felt like it was much harder to market a double album. Some of the songs that were chosen were at the mastering session. It went up to that last minute. I really loved Lowside of the Road, which I was less involved with. I really lobbied hard for that to be on the record. It came close to not being on the record.

1 note · View note

fluffyunicornofdanger · 5 years ago

Text

Just What I Needed: Part Three

A/n: This takes place maybe a week or so after the second part and takes place in 1987, making Roger 38 and Axl 25. I had a little fun with the ending since this is the last part. I added the song I based the title off of at the end because I felt like it and yeah. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask and I hope y’all enjoy.

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Part one / Part two

Axl Rose x Reader / Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: Y/n loved Roger but she knew he didn’t feel the same. Too busy with his wife and kids to love her in that way. But he was still possessive and she didn’t find out how much until she disregarded his feelings to sleep with a young, up and coming rock star, Axl Rose

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Manipulative and possessive behavior, language

Axl did what Steven had suggested and called Roger. It pained him to do it, knowing how much the drummer had hurt Y/n, but there was nothing else he could do. He knew better than to wait for her to open up to him, she wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t even going to think about doing that. And he knew the root of the problem was Roger, anyway.

So, he called the drummer and a week later the man flew in from London. Axl would have thought that it would have taken more convincing than it actually did. He thought that he’d have to beg Roger to come see what Y/n was upset about, seeing as how she’d dumped the guy. But once Y/n’s name was mentioned, Roger was down for anything.

And that is what lead to the two musicians to sit across from each other in the living room. Axl picked at the rip in his jeans while Roger’s eyes wandered around the room.

Axl’s house probably wasn’t nearly as bigger or fancy as Roger’s, but Roger had been topping charts for almost two decades. Axl couldn’t even claim a year to his name yet. He could tell that Roger was unimpressed by what he saw. Little was probably good enough for that man. He looked at the paintings on the wall, the lights hanging from the ceiling, and shook his head.

It blew Roger’s mind that Y/n would want to live in that house. The art was shit, his children could paint better and everything was all over the place. The colors didn’t match nor the furniture. It was any designers worst nightmare. If Y/n were in London, Roger would have offered her the best money could buy. The best house, one that some royal had build hundreds of years before, with priceless artwork hanging on the wall. Everything would be nice and neat, beautiful to the eye. But she hadn’t chosen that.

Instead, she chose a dump. How pitiful.

Y/n opened the front door and shrugged her jacket off. The boys were over from what she could tell as Duff’s car was parked outside. Yet, the house was silent. They were probably outside, hanging around the pool, she thought as she shut the door, careful of her nails which she’d just got done. Y/n walked through the kitchen, tossing her keys on the island, before entering the living.

She stopped in her tracks at what she saw. Her throat closed up and she tried to blink the sight away, but it wouldn’t vanish. It couldn’t be real, no it couldn’t. She’d probably had just inhaled too much of whatever chemicals were used on her nails. That was it, that’s what it had to be.

“I, um, will leave you two to talk,” Axl stated, standing from the couch. “I’ll be outside with the boys if you need anything,” he told her.

He looked at Y/n, making sure she was alright before he exited through the sliding glass door. Y/n did nothing but follow him with her eyes as he left. Sure enough, the boys were out by the pool, but it didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves.

Roger stood, his lips turning up into a small smile. “A-”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Y/n stated firmly, interrupting him. She turned to him, her eyes cold. There was nothing she wanted to say to him.

The man huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, that’s not fair. I flew all the way from London to make sure you were alright.”

“Really? You flew all the way out here for me?”

He nodded, glad that her tone was lightening up. She was starting to sound like the Y/n he used to know. The girl that would help him with his groceries, the girl that would go over lyrics with Freddie. The girl that he had fallen in love with months before.

She scoffed. Unbelievable. “Don’t lie to yourself, Roger. You didn’t come all this way to make sure I was fine. You came out here to see if you could get me to move back!”

Roger stared at her in disbelief. “That’s not true! Axl called me because he was worried about you! He said you were acting different and that I might know what’s going on!”

Y/n threw her head back in laughter. Of course, he knew what was going on, he caused it!

“What’s so funny?”

“What’s so funny?” she repeated his question. “This! This is funny, Roger. It’s funny that you act like you’re not the problem!”

It didn’t surprise her that he would think anything else was the problem. Roger was good at passing the blame on to someone else. In this case, it was Axl. Axl was the problem because Y/n wanted to be with him and not Roger. But the man could never say that. No. So, instead, he brought up every wrong that the singer had against him. Well, Y/n hoped he knew it didn’t work. Everyone fucked up every now and again. That’s how you grow, you make mistakes.

“I’m the problem!?!” He pointed at himself. “And not that child that gets high off of anything and everything?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. She felt like she was repeating herself, so she simply nodded.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “How am I the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you keep insisting that I don’t know what I’m doing and you’re treating me like a child! Oh, and guess what? You have your own kids that you can treat like children! You’re stressing me out, Roger! You are the one that is making me act weird and crazy and distant! You!”

“And he wouldn’t do the same eventually!?!” Roger asked venom in his words.

There was silence. Y/n couldn’t believe she was having this conversation again.

“Maybe if you come home, you won’t feel this way.”

She threw her arms in the arm in frustration. Was he crazy or something? Had he not been listening? She didn’t want to go home, go back to London. Going back to London meant he’d want her to work for Queen again. It meant that he’d always want to be around her. And she couldn’t do that, not again. Not when he didn’t even know a thing about her. He didn’t know that she’d been raised by her grandmother or ever been to the states before. He didn’t know that she couldn’t stand Jane Auston’s writing or Mark Twain. He didn’t know that she hated romance movies and that she loved old westerns. He didn’t know that because he never cared to. He never cared to know a thing about her.

But Axl did. Axl wanted to know all about her. He was willing to listen to all the things she had never told anyone before and in return, he did the same. Y/n felt, that around him, she could be herself. She could be open and wild and have fun. Nothing was holding her back when they were together.

And so if she went back to London, she would never feel that again. She would likely end up as Roger’s side hoe and be nothing more. He would only want to be able to claim her as his own, dragging her along to all the events that he was forced to attend. There would be no real, deep love with him. She would only ever hope that it would amount to that.

“Is this your way of making me chose between you and Axl?”

She knew that if she didn’t ask the question herself, he would.

Roger nodded, his blue eyes piercing into her.

Y/n took a deep breath, her answer already lined up. She’d known the answer to this question for some times now. “I don’t choose either of you.”

“That’s not an option!”

She raised her hand, hoping to stop him from saying anything else. “Yes, it is,” she said calmly. “I chose myself. I chose what I want, what I need, and what I think is best for me. And I just so happen to think that you’re not it.”

“Impossible,” he spat. “What can he offer you that I can’t?”

“Love, Roger, and freedom. He lets me do whatever the hell I want because I’m my own person,” she told him. “He doesn’t hold me back or act like he bought me. He treats me like a human being.”

The blonde was silent, not sure how to respond to that. He thought he’d given her everything she’d wanted, but clearly, he was wrong.

“Goodbye, Roger.”

Roger shook his head, not believing a word he’d heard and walk to the door. When the door slammed shut, Y/n breathed a sigh of relief.

She had never wanted to have that conversation, not one as deep as that. Y/n cared about Roger, she really did, and she didn’t want to hurt him. He could be controlling and manipulative, but she never wanted to bring that up because she never wanted to acknowledge that side of him. She wanted him to stay the fun, childish man that she had become friends with. Y/n wanted that mental image of him to stay that same, but nothing ever could.

Sighing, she walked outside, a bright smile on her face, and turned up the radio on her way over to the boys. Even if she’d hurt him, she was happy that she no longer had to worry about him breathing down her neck. She was finally free to do whatever the hell she wanted. And if that was with Axl then so be it.

I guess you’re just what I needed (Just what I needed)/ I needed someone to feed/ I guess you’re just what I needed (Just what I needed)/ I needed someone to bleed.

Y/n walked over to Axl, wrapping her arms around him.

“How’d it go?” he asked, smiling down at her.

She shrugged. It probably could have gonna a lot better, but that didn’t matter now. What matter now was that it was hot outside and she was still wearing pants.

“Did you punch him in the mouth?” Steven asked before Duff shoved him into the pool.

*~~*~~*

*Bouns*

“What do you think they're saying?” Slash asked, kicking his feet around in the water.

Axl shrugged. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the two were yelling at each other. He’d never seen Y/n yell before, get angry before, and he was just glad that he wasn’t the one she was yelling at.

“Pancakes.”

Everyone turned to Steven, who sat in a beach chair, to make sure he was serious.

Izzy raised a brow, “Pancakes? Are you sure?”

The blonde looked at them like they were crazy and nodded. “Ah, yeah, I can read lips.”

“And they’re yelling about pancakes?”

“Without a doubt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Let me know if you want to be added to the permanent taglist.)

Permanent Taglist: @rexorangecouny @jennyggggrrr @zestygingergirl @toomuchlove-willkillyou @slash-me-up @tommyleeownsme @sheldonsherlocktony @teller258316

Just What I Needed Taglist: @geek-and-proud @snatchedbylele @lovesick-heart0 @brenna-xoxox @namelesslosers @guns-n-queen @mercurycrowley

191 notes · View notes