#why are there so many song repeats among teams | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brick-a-doodle-do · 2 years ago

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BRICK! YOUR TURN!!!!!!!!!! HAVE MANY QUESTIONS!

You do not have to answer them all

I definitely didn't steal some of your questions because you ask really good questions and my brain struggled to think of any new ones...

favourite dsmp era?

what song do you think will be #1 on your spotify wrapped?

the reason you got into g/t?

favourite season?

chocolate or vanilla?

top 3 dsmp members (yes I'll make you pick 3 >:D)

a trope you wish came up more in gt/non g/t

favourite trope outside of gt

if you had a choice of a date, would you go to a restaurant or a movie?

favourite Broadway show (this is an essential question Brick)

do you believe in star signs and if they're accurate?

favourite head cannon you've come up with (gimme, gimmie, gimmie)

favourite c! ship? (any fandom and what one)

drawing or writing?

digital or traditional drawing?

acyrlic paint or water colour?

are you left handed or right handed? ambidextrous?

what's your or fav eye colour

first dsmp cc you watched?

Do you have YouTube Premium, or do you value money?

t!george & g!dream or g!george & t!dream?

favourite au in this fandom? If I don't get a link, Imma be sad.

If you could meet only one dsmp member irl, who would you meet?

thoughts on the people trying to speak to you about your cars extended warranty?

all time fav movie?

what's something you wished you received more of on your blog?

are you mad at me for poaching your questions?

and finally, have you ever had a secret account? (for any platform)

M A N Y W O R D S . . .

LOVE YOU GORGEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG HI THANK YOU ILYSM !!!!!!

i will answer them all because you answered them all, it's only fair :D

pff that's totally fine, i was hoping you would cause some of these i have the answer for locked and loaded dsjfhgdnf

POGTOPIA!!! (AS OF RIGHT NOW) and I mean the pogtopia where techno and tommy are bonding, dream is teaming up with them to fight wars, tommy and sapnap and sam are making drugs, c!quackity hasn't gone all serious yet (i still love when he is don't get me wrong, you can't ever get a bad c!quackity), niki's helping commit arson and destroy a tower, like that shit is good and something i really enjoy. but pogtopia is on thin ice rn because of fucking pogtopia!wilbur, like i'm so pissed at him right now, leave tommy alone so he can bond with his friends :( ANSHDNF SORRY FOR THAT RAMBLE

oh gosh there's so many songs that i've listened to on repeat, i have a tendency to do that for certain events, no clue why,,,, but i think it'll probably be out of my league or the masochism tango. or some broadway song---i hope it's not the story of the phantom istg

dsmp, ngl. i've always liked that whole mini thing and didn't really know it was g/t (like you) but once i did, the first thing that popped up while scrolling this app on the g/t tag was dsmp g/t, and i think that's pretty funny because at the time i knew what the dsmp was but wasn't particularly interested in it, and i joined the fandom as soon as i saw those g/t posts. both fandoms helped each other lmaoo

fall primarily, but summer vibes can be nice

quackity, wilbur and george, they're my beloveds and i'll hold them close C: (in no specific order..)

i require more spider-man!tommy aus, i love them dearly. but as for tropes i kind of wish that there were more immortality fics without a happy ending. (spoilers for passerine and his curse of binding), pass!techno got to finish his life and hcob tommy got to live past 16, like that's a good ending (and let's be honest i sobbed at "there, nestled among the pink strands, delicate as a bird’s wing, was a single gray hair" but STILL for g/t, i want a fic where there's a colony in a craft store, because imagine the possibilities!!!! there's mini furniture in there, tons of things to make more furniture, and no matter how much they take, the store still gets to restock, because who would think a rat would take crafting supplies?

i'd probably go to a restaurant, but not a fancy one, because i really don't think that going to a movie theatre is all that romantic,,,

HAMILTON!! heathers is close behind, then probably rent and six :D

i kind of do, i can't say that i don't because yk there's no proof that they don't and there's a lot of things that make me think they do,,

ohhhh i don't think of headcannons ever,,, so i'm going to resort to using my own aus and my own worldbuilding session to give you this: curiosity!wilbur, after the two of them get out (:0), wilbur is extremely paranoid of doors, like he leaves the door to everyone's room cracked open, and hates leaving the house or going into it. the first time he went to tommy's house, it took techno dragging him in by the collar to get him inside, to which he was not happy,,

if it has to be a canon ship, then probably schlatt & quackity (at least i think it was canon) but again that's really based on lore so maybe karlnapity,,, anyway um for fanon, tnt duo is always >>> (can you tell i like quackity? lmao) and i in no way want them to get together, i just want that awkward romance, the whole thing with wilbur being for it and quackity being entirely unamused, i love that

writing, can't draw for the life of me lmao

traditional if i don't have a stylus

probably acrylic

i'm left handed!! :D

my eyes are brown and i like maroon-y eyes (looking at you wilbur, quackity, and george)

i actually have no fucking clue, i've been trying to remember for a good half a year now. i'm going to go see if i can find it and update you,,,,, okay nope i can't find it. but it's gotta be ranboo, there's no way it's not---i watched him so early, he's the first cc i followed on twitch AND the first cc i subbed to on youtube so it's gotta be him. i can very briefly recall watching something that looked a lot like lore (or at least they were on the server) and it was when i was searching up dsmp content, and i've narrowed that video down to one of three people: tommy, george, or one of those dsmp channels that follows lore. not sure which it was, don't think i ever will :'D

i value money, i'm not sure why someone would ever want youtube premium

ooooh that's a hard one, i think i'm going to say t!george and g!dream, the classic. but that's not to say that i don't love a t!dream

ooohohohoh okay hmm a classic answer would be tiny streamer au by @.corysmiles because who doesn't like a good ol' classic au? :D hmm close to that is supervillain and super...tiny? also by cory cause the interaction between tommy & wilbur in chapter two is just JSHGDNF /pos AND OH I FORGOT SUPERMARKET AU!! THAT FUCKING THING IS SUCH /VPOS IT'S JUST THE BEST THING TO EVER EXIST!! and lastly giant foster au. all basic answers because my g/t interest stays confined to tumblr and only this circle of creators lmaoo

honestly i really wouldn't want to meet any of them cuz idk social things but probably quackity, he seems genuinely so sweet, then maybe tommy? i think he'd be really easy to talk to :D

...............

ooh that's so difficult!!! :( but i think it's going to be the fear street trilogy, and if you want a specific movie, then fear street: 1978 (the second one) cause C'MON ITS SO GOOD!! and IT is always top tier for me despite the movie being shit,,,,

honestly i don't rlly know, because i get asks both when i'm asking and i'm not asking, and i think i get a pretty good amount of attention on my fics, there's not really a thing i would change :D because my goal was 100 followers and now i've achieved that, so i'm just kinda vibing here now,,

no i'd never be mad at you, these questions are lovely :D

*looks at this account* okay but seriously speaking, no one irl knows of this account,, and as for secret to this community, i did have a sideblog for a bit to interact with another one of my interests but i decided to get rid of it C:

BECKY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE!!!! I LOVE ANSWERING QUESTIONS >:DDD

#brickquiries #beckyu #THANK YOUUUU #talking brick

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bejaeyoung · 20 days ago

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siwoo has been acting strange lately.

to preface, it isn’t anything particularly bad. at least, not in jay’s opinion. before they sorted everything out properly, they would have their rounds of awful fights. but siwoo’s actions lately isn’t leaning towards any behaviour that would usually make alarms go off in jay’s head. it’s just weird, plain and simple. unlike usual, not the normal norm. jay isn’t too worried though, there’s no sense of dread sitting at the base of his stomach or anything concern. something is just slightly out of place, that’s all. honestly, it’s kind of funny.

from the start of project green, siwoo hadn’t been the most secretive person. as most projects goes, jay probably isn’t supposed to know even half of what he does, but his boyfriend isn’t subtle ( at least not to jay ), and has a difficult time holding himself back from partaking in a little gossip. a gentle prod and a small nudge is often enough to get siwoo spilling, details here and there about whoever is participating and what they’re up to. but lately, siwoo has been suspiciously secretive about the whole ordeal, particularly about this new mission.

admittedly, jay is a little concerned. he had always been nosy, although distracting jay from his own sense of curiosity isn’t a difficult task as long as someone knows what buttons to push. siwoo definitely does, which is why jay hasn’t whined about how unfair siwoo is being—then again, jay always notices the smile on siwoo’s face as he evades jay’s questions. like he’s excited, giddy almost. he wonders why, but today is the day he receives his answer.

when siwoo came out with the rest of his project members to perform, jay had been taken aback. even though they were matching outfits earlier ( with jay as sailor moon and siwoo as his tuxedo mask ), suddenly siwoo is wearing what looks to be a stage outfit. oh, so this is what he was hiding, jay thinks as the song begins—two songs, as it turns out, one after the other. from something silly, to something a bit more… serious.

of course jay pays close attention, watching his boyfriend as a part of the audience. it’s different now, siwoo seems a lot more confident in himself. it doesn’t come out of nowhere, even with the silly and cute concept of the first song, siwoo tries his best—the flow of his rap is good, and he repeats his lines with conviction. still, the fact that siwoo is forced to perform something adorable is enough to make jay laugh—he knows siwoo wouldn’t ever choose this song if he had the option to. the other boy is definitely dying inside, jay doesn’t need to ask to know! but he pulls it off, because siwoo wouldn’t run away from his responsibilities; what he knows he should do.

it’s the next song that catches jay slightly off-guard. for the choreography to look pleasing to untrained eyes, the dancers have to be in sync—both to the beat of the music and to one another. more importantly, it’s vocal-focused. ah, that’s new. especially for siwoo. a skill that siwoo has neglected countless times. but when siwoo’s lines come up, he doesn’t sound out of range—within the many hours of practice where jay doesn’t see him, siwoo had actually managed to improve his vocals enough that he isn’t sticking out like a sore thumb. jay blinks, a smile slowly forming on his lips as siwoo’s turn ends. his chest swells with newfound pride, just like the day of the next gen finale, when siwoo’s name was announced among the winners, right after jay’s.

once the performance finishes, siwoo disappears to the back along with the rest of his team. naturally, jay decides to occupy himself with some snacks again, grabbing a slice of cake for his plate. it doesn’t take long until siwoo eventually finds him again, hearing his boyfriend call out his name. jay turns, the pigtails of his wig bouncing slightly, almost knocking his cake out of his plate. “oops! hey, siwoo!” he grins, taking a fork to cut up a small piece of cake, holding it up to siwoo’s mouth. “want some?” he asks, already expecting siwoo to just open his mouth obediently.

“really? i didn’t realize the skirt was this short at first, actually. even though i’m wearing stockings, i have to wear pants underneath my skirt too!” he sighs, the idea of having to wear another add-on annoying him just a bit. but he doubts siwoo is here to hear about his complaints. well, not currently.

“kinda. like when you were acting cute!” jay laughs, rather obnoxiously ( it might be on purpose ). “does this mean you can do aegyo now? for fanservice? was that why you were hiding this from me? you didn’t want me to make fun of you so early?” while he can figure our siwoo’s real reason for keeping it a secret now, jay always takes every opportunity within reach to clown his boyfriend. it’s a rite of passage.

eventually though, he smiles—a little giddy, sparks in his eyes as he looks up at his proud and hardworking boyfriend, a trait of siwoo’s not everyone has the chance to see. but jay knows, trying to figure out how much siwoo had practiced. does his throat hurt? is it sore?

“it was fun! i can tell you seriously hated the concept of candy, but you seemed to be having fun with your verse at least,” jay points out, humming as he thinks back to the performance. “oh, and hey—you officially can sing now!” he laughs again, happy with siwoo’s determination and character growth. “i loved watching you up there. i mean, you’re new to it so your range can use some work… they really threw you in for a loop there, huh? giving you a concept you’d hate and a song that doesn’t cater to your main skills… but you did well! really!” his smile doesn’t falter, not one bit. “you’ve become a pretty good dancer too, haven’t you? all your hard work is starting to pay off. no one can say you’re just a pretty face now.”

he sets down his fork for a moment, only to reach out and rub siwoo’s head gently, as if it’s a reward. “i’m proud of you! you’re really gonna show them! soon enough, you’ll be my favourite underdog story out there.”

post performance // starter for @bejaeyoung

it's overwhelming to say the least – having to perform in front of not just the other trainees, but senior artists too. people that had years of experience in this field. siwoo hates being scrutinized, he hates when his flaws are pointed out ( though he knows all too well what they are exactly ), so standing on stage like this feels like a call for all his weaknesses to the pin pointed at. still, he reminds himself that this is nothing that he can't handle. he's practiced for weeks now, had gone through relentless training just to be able to hit a note and not fuck up in front of the audience. more importantly, to not fuck up in front of his boyfriend.

in all honesty, it had been hard to keep this performance a secret from jay. whenever his boyfriend would ask him about project green, siwoo would simply smile and laugh – unwilling to reveal much. not because he was apprehensive over it, but because the excitement of performing in front of jay thrilled him. he wondered how jay would react, seeing him on stage, performing with the other trainees in his company. he wondered if jay would have anything to say about his performance? the ryu siwoo that had once felt no real attachment to music, to singing or dancing, now performing under the name 'project green' for lime entertainment.

he'd gone on stage and performed just as he'd practiced, careful with his facial expressions, and more confident with his rap. candy... well, candy had been far from the ideal song for siwoo. but nonetheless, he could at the very least show off his rapping. the eye though – now that had been siwoo's greatest struggle whilst practicing. a song so heavily focused on vocals, and siwoo who thought he was born tone deaf. still, countless hours of training had led up to this moment, and he's glad that he hadn't fucked up. he sings his line, performs, and scans the crowd for jay. is he watching? siwoo thinks to himself. is he proud?

soon enough, the performance ends, and siwoo is ushered off stage. he changes back into his costume – tuxedo mask, and he wanders around the building, in search of his sailor moon. it doesn't take long though, after all, jay is dressed in a mini skirt that sends siwoo's head spiraling, and siwoo's always assumed he's got some sort of 6th sense when it comes to jay.

"jay," he calls out, and it's instinctive as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from his boyfriend's face. so pretty, siwoo thinks. and so fucking cute in his costume too. it sucks that he can't just pull jay aside, hold him close, call him pretty, it sucks that he can't do a lot of things. still, he tells himself that there are eyes watching, and he has to be careful; for both his sake and jay's.

this should be fine though, even if the proximity isn't by any means close enough. "you look pretty," he smiles, unable to hide the soft glint behind his eyes. "how was it? did i make a fucking fool of myself up there? hahaha."

#( siwoo / post performance )#besiwoo #be:axishalloweenparty #( threads. )#/ so many words whateverrrrrrr #( oct 24. )

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand)

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it.

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge.

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too.

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view.

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”.

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute.

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets.

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance.

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?”

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over.

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae.

looking hot, her message read.

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

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postmodernbeing · 3 years ago

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Shingeki no Kyojin: Wedding Headcanons (Levi x Reader)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. This time I wrote wedding HCs for this fine guys, this was an anonymous request I must say. Somehow I ended up writing them in three parts (proposal, preparations, wedding day). Also, I picked a song for each one and I'm going to upload this part by part, just so you guys stay tunned (and bc I have a serious creative block but at the same time I want you to read what I have so far). Anyways, much love, my friends.

IMPORTANT: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin. Only this headcanons are mine. Do not repost. // English is not my first language so I appreaciate your undestanding. // This is going to be SO soft and SO VERY LONG. // This is an unfinished work, I'm going to upload soon.

LEVI ACKERMAN

The proposal

You have been a couple for some years, and being sincere, you didn’t think of Levi as the type that gets married. Levi is an honest and caring man. Empathetic and a great protector for his friends but mostly, for you. Oh, you really have him in ways he didn’t thought were possible.

So, as seeds do, the thought of marriage grew and nourished due the loving bond you both shared. Being with you, he often found himself deepening into his emotions and sharing the rewards of your growing, healthy bond. Sometimes, at night, if he’d thought about that for long enough, his heart would start beating so fast. Many emotions at the same time. Now he understands why people gets married.

With this new determination and love light in his eyes, he started tracing a few words in a random notebook. This proposal was going to be unique, “the one and only” he repeated to himself in a low hum.

He waited until the weekend so you guys could spend some time away from the city to your favorite location in the woods. You picked the playlist for the road and he oversaw the essentials for your travel and added some blankets. Levi even rented a pickup truck so you could stargaze.

The road was different from others you’d have. Levi could tell you noticed him acting weird, somewhat nervous, anxious, or was it… excitement? Your birthday is not near or anything, so you’re not sure if you are celebrating something special. His bride-to-be has no idea.

After you both got installed at the cabin, Levi decided to place the blankets in the trunk. As you waited for the stars to shine, he started sharing rather vague ideas of what he intended to be his proposal. “You know, we are the perfect team.”, “We’ve been for each other for a while, and took care of us really good.”, “I don’t say it very often, but you know I cherish you, right?” You started to suspect he was feeling guilty about something you were yet to learn. Did he believed you don’t feel appreciated enough? Did he organized this whole trip because he was trying to compensate you due that guilt? Or was it the other way around? At this point your façade became worried, Is Levi not feeling as loved as before?

He read your expression like an open book. “I’m not being very clear, am I?” you only smiled “Try again, love. What are you trying to say?” Stars already up in the celestial vault. “Marry me, is all I’m saying.”

The preparations

The ceremony was discrete, small, and programed in some date between your birthdays. Levi would have preferred that only both of you attended the event, after all this was YOUR married life. But you convinced him it could attend your nuclear families and closest friends. He didn’t like the thought of Kenny near your parents, but he couldn’t say no to you. Not now that you just make him the happiest man alive (alive in ways he could never imagine he deserved).

The theme was somewhat among cottage core and traditional elements. Hange took care of the location, it was a small chateau near the woods where Levi proposed and rented it for the evening until the next morning. Erwin, Mike and the rest of the crew decided to help with decorations so none of you stressed over preparations. That was the least your friends could do after you’ve taken care of them for many years, they concluded. Not that you were complaining. While the dress was up to you, best resolution was visiting Kuchel’s. She has always been kind and accepted you since the very beginning. “What did you say, dear? you want me to…?”, she asked as tears forced its way off her eyes. “I want you to be my maid of honor. I know it’s not common, but I mean it when I say it would be an honor.” You really were going to be her friend, more than a daughter-in-law.

The wedding day

From the day of the wedding, you remember the light that candles emitted and was reflected in the glasses you’d raised, reflected in the pond close to the flower arch where you said your vows earlier. The light in the stars, as constants witnesses of your union, a light that matched the white and silver ornaments that decorated the garden. But most of all, you remember the candlelight reflected in Levi’s eyes when toasted for his wife. He looked so proud and full in devotion. That night Mr. Ackerman, your husband, shared all the words he knew about love and gratitude. Everyone was surprised, didn’t take him as a man good with words (or emotions). But you knew him better. This was his greatest gift, along with his hand, forever.

A song to remember: At late hours, when most of you guests were sleeping inside the chateau, Levi and you decided to do some cleaning -couldn’t expect otherwise from the Ackermans-. Both in silence but with smiley expressions, your husband realized you didn’t dance together. When he asked you before if that was fine you told him “I know you have trouble showing publicly physical affection and making you uncomfortable in such a date is not my purpose.” He felt relieved, his lovely wife really gets him, but now that you’re alone he can’t stop thinking about this French love song. So, he searched in his cellphone as fast as he could, when you perceived the sweet melody Levi was already close to you. “You deserve this, we deser-”. The hug you gave him only reassured his intentions as this words filled the air “Si tu n'étais pas là, Comment pourrais-je vivre?” Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman started to slow dance to the melodic piece “Quand je suis dans tes bras, Mon cœur joyeux se livre”, Levi started to actually sing to your ear “C'est à toi que je dois, Cette joie profonde”. He repeated, now looking deep into your equally bright eyes “It’s you who I owe, This deep joy.”

---

Reiner's Wedding HCs | Masterlist | Zeke's part on progress

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #wedding headcanons #work in progress

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undercover-trio · 4 years ago

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De request

First "I love you" with Team RWBY? The more tooth rottingly fluffy, the better. They/Them pronouns? Thanks, I love your works.

~~~~~~

Aw shucks, thanks Anon, I’m glad my works are to your liking

✨✨（*´▽｀*）✨✨

I’ll make this as sweet as I can, so sweet even I feel the sweetness radiating from my phone.

o(-`д´- 。)

-Mod Pengie

Art is by mistEcru

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

——————————

Ruby

You twiddled with the music box in your hand, it was fairly small yet still quite beautiful. The rose design it had along with wines tracing along its silver surface, much alike the quality of those in stores.

Yet you made it, you created the music sheets after sleepless days, trying to translate Ruby’s favorite song into a music sheet. You studied the parts of music boxes through your scroll, you nicked your fingers many times as you shaped the metal for the box.

You worked hours on end to purchase the materials, sure it cost more to build a music box than buy one but you wouldn’t let yourself. Ruby had helped and supported you through so much, you wanted her to feel even a drop of the appreciation you felt towards her.

You did have many busts when it came to making them but you felt so proud the moment when you could make a successful one. Your head remembered the sound of her favorite song by memory given how much you played it on the music box to get it right.

As you walked towards Ruby’s dorm you felt nervous, not by the chance you’d be caught by the night guard, he already gave you permission to go.

You really hoped Ruby liked the gift, you put your all into it, it was in a cute red box with a f/c(favorite color) ribbon tying it.

The moment you knocked on her dorm door you felt all your worries wash away, you weren’t the type to have doubts. You knew Ruby, she was a precious and sweet girl who deserved the world.

You smiled at Yang as she opened the door, you looked slightly nervous and a bit tired with light bags under your eyes. It didn’t stop the genuine love she could feel coming from you, she opened the door wider to let you in as she smiled at the gift.

Ruby had her nose in a textbook, looking cutely focused as you chuckled, that caught her attention. She noticed her other three teammates walked out the dorm, leaving you and her.

“Y/N? What’s up!” She greeted cheerfully, you took off your shoes and stepped on Weiss’ bed. Ruby focused on how the candle light enhanced your features.

She looked curious as you handed her a box, you smiled and nodded at her to open it.

And she did, her eyes glossed up at the beautiful music box in front of her. She observed every detail, her being more flattered as she saw every thought you put into it.

“Play it.” You encouraged, your voice mellow from your tiredness, it was due to the hour and how much work you put into her gift.

She twisted the knob and listened to the song with you, while it wasn’t as professionally done as the ones she’d see in shops it was still welcoming.

She came to the realization you made this as her keen eyes observed the craftsmanship and details, it wasn’t impossible given you two first met in a workshop.

As the song ended her eyes were watery, this song was her favorite, it was her and her mother's song.

Red like Roses..

“I love you Ruby..I was just too nervous to say it till now, I wanted to make it special as well.

Her heart melted at your mannerism, your gift, your love, just everything in this moment.

She quickly jumped down from her bunk and tackled you into a heartfelt hug, you were a blushing and stuttering mess but she couldn’t help it.

She loved you so much in this moment.

She’s loved you for a long time.

“I love it- I love you- I just-“ Ruby was fumbling over her sentence, her feelings were overflowing.

You sat up and hugged her back, she tucked her head into your neck as she kept repeating how much she loved you.

You loved her too, and you felt fulfilled knowing that she knew.

——————————

Weiss

-Before Weiss heads to Beacon cause I wanna be unique

Weiss… was perfect in aristocratic standards, she behaved impeccably, was talented and had the charisma.

Her silvery hair never failed to perk your interest, the way all her moves were calculated and graceful. Her eyes were a beautiful sky blue, they were probably what drew you in the most.

They were free, they were bright and daring, you weren’t sure when exactly you realized your fondness of her, it just happened.

While you weren’t the most poor aristocrat you certainly weren’t the most rich. It kept you grounded, you had always been level headed yet when it came to her.. you felt all sensible thinking fade.

Perhaps that was what made you follow her to the balcony that night, you remember how you froze when you watched her beautiful features be illuminated by the shattered moon.

Her expression made you pause for a second, with a defeated smile you could help but think she didn’t belong here. An angel can’t be kept in a cage after all.

“Why the long look?” You asked, your behavior genteel as always. Sky blue met e/c, your heart beat fast at the eye contact.

To think you were only 12 at the time.

You and Weiss became acquainted, slowly it turned into friendship, you couldn’t help but admire her.

She really was a beauty among thieves, you loved it when she laughed and joked. Your heart broke when she looked defeated or down, you always strived to be there for her as she did you.

Yet.. secrets can’t always be kept forever, white lies are soon seen through, you weren’t an opaque wall rather than a tinted glass.

“I’m leaving.”

Such a simple sentence from her managed to change your mood tremendously, yet even then as you turned to meet her precious blue eyes..

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop her, she deserved to be free.

“I see.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say more without your voice breaking. She raised her eyebrow at your seemingly relaxed response, yet Weiss was perceptive.

“I’m sorry Y/N.. I just can’t keep being grouped with my family anymore.” Her voice cracked with guilt and pent up aggression, you could feel her emotions about to overflow.

Two warm hands were placed on her cheeks, Weiss couldn’t help but lean into their comfort, you gently brushed away her tears.

“Weiss, look at me.” She hesitantly looked at your face, she didn’t say a word of how it made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ve known..for a long time you don’t belong here.” You started, Weiss could only listen to the cadence of your voice as she put her hands on both your wrists.

“You were made for adventure, a thrilling life with people who care about you.” The more you spoke the less coordinated your words became, she knew you cared about her. You wished for her to get the affection she truly deserved, with the amount of people she should.

It shouldn’t just be you.

“Weiss, when I look into your eyes I see the sky.. I see freedom.. I see many beautiful things.” Her cheeks tinted at the words, you noticed, she always got like that when praised.

“And freedom isn’t caged, it's the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.” She smiled wryly as she knew you quoted the dictionary, you always did when it came to words that struck you.

“Therefore.. I support you, I’ll even aid you if need be.” Her heart warmed at your words, you were always there for her, speaking and looking at her as if she were the most precious thing.

She couldn’t help her next action.

Her arms wrapped around your shoulders as her lips made contact with yours, they were soft. Her lips were pushed against yours as she tried to convey how she felt to you, smiling slightly when you wrapped your arms around her waist.

When you two separated you met her eyes, they looked back at you lovingly, the way you would always look at her.

“I love you Y/N/N.” She admitted with a smile, you were surprised and delighted. You couldn’t help the way your face melted into a sweet grin.

“And I you, Weiss.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You met with an Angel at twelve

And with your affections you delve

The closest of friends at fifteen

Something you’d never foreseen

A kiss goodbye at seventeen

As you watched her break from her routine

——————————

Blake

Blake was scared of your affection sometimes, not that she was scared of you as a person.

It’s just that she was hurt and emotionally scarred so many times and it was hard to heal. Her emotional state was equivalent to a paper that had been crumpled then straightened out.

The marks were still there.

She wasn’t sure she could recover if you turned out the same way Adam did, yet every time you looked at her with love in your eyes she just couldn’t help but stick with you.

She felt ashamed she would always lose her voice when she would try and say she loved you, it made her think of Adam.

You noticed this of course, and every time without fail you would give her a smile and tell her it’s fine. Sure it hurt a bit but you loved Blake, you knew of her past, her emotions and traumas.

You loved every bit of her.

She had come into your dorm late one night, she was busy at the library due to the Torchwick situations. Yet she felt her heart rate increase at your sleeping face, you always were the most beautiful person to her.

Then she heard it.

“...love you..Blake.”

You had murmured it in your sleep, she knew that you loved her, she knew that you refrained from telling her that because you loved her.

Her reaction wasn’t what she expected though, instead of the dreaded fear she thought she would have she instead had a feeling of comfort, ecstasy even.

Her emotions had already come to accept that you loved her, that you weren’t Adam.

She teared up a bit of the realization, they weren’t sad tears but ones of pure and genuine delight.

While she was on her high she sat next to your body and shook you awake, you drowsily looked at her. With a sleepy smile you lift up your hoodie a bit and let her sneak underneath it.

You called it ‘Hoodie Time’, Blake found it as a good way to calm down and relax if she listened to your heartbeat.

And the added bonus she liked being in small spaces.

She felt you stroke her hair as she listened to the cadence of your heart, it was slightly fast and it only flattered her.

“Want to talk Kitten?” You asked, Blake usually did this when she was stressed. You didn’t mind though, you thought it was quite cute.

She shook her head no as she kept her right human and cat ear on your chest.

“I just wanted to say” she started as you rubbed circles on her back to keep her calm. She felt slightly nervous but your action did help.

“I love you.” She got it all out in one breath, she grew slightly worried as she noticed you stopped rubbing her back. She shook her head, you weren’t Adam and you’d never be, you were Y/N.

Her worries ended when she saw how happy your face was, you looked as though you struck gold.

You looked at her as if she just gave you the world, you didn’t want her to worry, you quickly pecked her forehead since it was fairly close to your lips.

“I love you too Blake.” You began, then you started tearing up. “I’m glad you trust me enough to say this.”

She was flabbergasted at how genuinely loving your reaction was, it made her all the more warm inside, she loved your way of love.

She loved you.

She always would.

——————————

Yang

You smiled as you felt the wind brush against your hair, the city lights always looked perfect in the night. Unfortunately the police sirens weren’t that pleasant, then again, your favorite blonde is the one who is driving right now.

She took a sharp right as you grasped onto her stomach tighter, her muscles tensed at the feeling. The feeling of your fingers brushing against her stomach caused her to lose focus for a minor second.

At least until you snapped her out of it.

“Yang!! Bascule bridge is splitting right now!!” You alerted her, her lilac eyes noticed the ship trying to pass, she immediately increased the motorcycle speed.

Unlike with Ruby, Blake and dear oum.. Weiss, you wouldn’t get scared or mad when she invited you on a thrill ride. You enjoyed it and participated, it surprised her at first given you were a pretty mellow and sweet individual.

She smiled as she heard you gasp in excitement as you two were on the motorcycle mid air, the gradient of the bridge was more than enough to lose the cops and make it to the other side.

You treasured how her hair seemed to fly in slow motion, the moon illuminating the whole scene.

The landing was a bit rough, but thanks to your semblance, aerokinesis, you guys didn’t crash into oblivion. It did slightly exhaust you to slow the velocity you guys were falling at however the adrenaline sure helped.

Luckily there were only minor scratches to bumblebee, unfortunately you both just realized that the way back to Beacon was on the other side of the bridge.

“So Yang.. how would you feel sleeping on a random roof?”

Yang merely laughed at the question and slapped your back, she was on board with it.

That question eventually led to the two of you being on a flat roof, Bumblebee was hidden in a bush right below you guys. You could use your semblance to bring you and Yang up but the bike was a bit too much for you right now.

“Best Joy ride ever!” Yang laughed out with a huge grin on her face, you chuckled at her antics and gave her a fist bump. You guys relaxed for a bit, nearing sleep before Yang turned to you, her eyes looked determined.

“Serious though, I’m glad I have you Y/N/N, I’m not able to do these things with anyone else without being called brash and dumb.” You frowned at the last words, without speaking you merely grabbed her hand as you looked at the star signs.

Ursa Major, quite ironic given you have an overprotective bear hugging friend next to you at the moment.

“Yang.. before I met you I wasn’t able to be myself, while I’m not necessarily as… extroverted as you.. my parents didn’t like my need for thrill.” You told her as you grasped her hand tighter, she too frowned at your words.

“But then I met you… this amazing, lively person, the day you first invited me to a ride like this.. I felt happy.” She blushed at your description of her yet you kept going.

“You’re not dumb, maybe a little brash but you’re still a ray of sunlight that came into my life..and I love you for it.” Your face turned crimson as you admitted those last words, she paused as she came to terms with what you said.

The two of you were still lying down as she raised her arm, you closed your eyes as she patted your soft hair.

“Gee.. you could’ve just told me you loved me..then again you wouldn’t be my Y/N if you didn’t speak a lot to get a point across.” She laughed as you started snickering at her words too, her eyes caught sight of yours as they held contact.

“I love you too Y/N.” She smiled brightly as she brought you in for a kiss, you couldn’t help but beam with happiness as well.

You loved Yang a lot, you loved her thrilling, welcoming self. And she loved you as well.

——————————

Heyo! It’s me Pengie, sorry for the late upload of this, school kept me busy, luckily Fine Line by Harry Styles came in my life(slowed down cause I’m like that) added to the angst but nyeh

Anyways I hope your teeth rotted lol, I love you simps and have a good day!

#mod pengie #rwby #rwby x reader #tagging still sucks #ruby rose x reader #ruby rose #rwby ruby #weiss schnee x reader #weiss schnee #rwby weiss #yang xiao long x reader #rwby yang #yang xiao long #blake belladonna x reader #rwby blake #blake belladonna #gender nuetral reader #fluff

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messedupfan · 3 years ago

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Infinity & Beyond (Wanda Maximoff x Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: This chapter focuses on the journey of the reader during the five years without Wanda.

A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Hope that you are all enjoying the story.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up a few months later in the Avengers compound once again. This time with your memories intact and feeling unbelievably disappointed. “She found him,” you find yourself saying to whoever was in the room as you involuntarily sit up on the bed. The nurse brushes it off as some weird superhero thing and not something to address. But then you repeat yourself again and again until she alerts Bruce who grabs the attention of the other remaining Avengers.

"What do you think she means?" Natasha questions as you make the statement again.

"Maybe she's talking about Wanda and Vision?" Steve chimes in with a concerned look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why would she be talking about Wanda and Vision? Vision was an advanced robot with a stone in his head, he had no soul for Wanda to find. If any of that exists," Bruce points out.

"I don't know then," Steve shrugs. Then you repeat the phrase again. "Maybe it's Wanda and her brother? I don't know, maybe we're too focused on the cloudy eyes thing. We could be thinking about this too hard."

Then Rhodey comes into the room to inform the members that the radar has picked up a signal of an unidentified flying object. He thinks that Carol might be back. "Just say UFO," Natasha rolls her eyes as she follows the guys out of the building. On their way out she spots a worried Pepper Pots and quirks her lips into a reassuring smile. "I think she found him," she says to the woman and leads her to the landing zone of the compound. It's only then that Natasha realizes what you meant. Sure enough, a woman is carrying a ship into the landing zone with Tony Stark and someone named Nebula. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony in tears and relief. He is quickly brought to the medical wing where you remain. Somehow having watched the whole thing from your bed.

When you come out of it the nurse informs you that your eyes had gone cloudy for a moment and you had predicted the return of your father. "He isn't my father," you grouched. Huh, must be another ability, you think to yourself.

Later, after passing a few diagnostic exams with flying colors, you are discharged from your hospital room and are eating across from a very serious Thor as people argue and yell at each other. It was weird to eat actual food. Thor was almost amused watching you figure out how to hold your sandwich.

Tony is then rolled into the room with a furious energy. You can tell that he is really hurting from this loss, that he is frustrated and you can even feel betrayal radiating off of him somehow. Of course, it's not until he's shouting at the Captain that you realize you are feeling his emotions. You were feeling everyone's defeated emotions and it was beginning to suffocate you. As you try to distract yourself with the food, your mind wanders to how overwhelmed Wanda must've felt being able to read people's minds. That leads to the memory of Wanda slipping from you and it's almost too much to handle. You toss the plate in front of you, disrupting the ongoing argument. You’re squeezing your skull as the tears come and you scream for it all to stop. Natasha and Steve fall to your side as they do their best to calm you down. Once the memory leaves you and you've settled, everyone in the room gets serious about finding Thanos.

Nebula is useful as she provides the only lead to finding Thanos and you join them on the spaceship, brushing off everyone's concerns. The talking racoon asks how many of you haven’t been to space before, you raise your hand among the others which seems to be enough to make him laugh. You don't understand why until the ship rushes off to space.

Arriving just outside the planet, a floating woman you hadn't been introduced to yet appears at the front window and is surprised to report that the planet is just Thanos. Along with everyone else, you are heart broken to find out that he had destroyed the stones. You feel for Thor when he says he went for the head and shed another tear for the woman that Thanos had taken from you. It feels like you just lost her all over again.

The first year is the longest. The days feel never ending and drag on. Most nights were spent jolting out of bed in a cold sweat as you're being haunted by memories. It often felt like you were back in the hands of Hydra being electrocuted and injected, spoken to in a language you didn't know, probably German. Everything that was done to you in the time you were captured, everything that your mind had originally suppressed, was attacking you each night. Going through it alone made you miss Wanda even more. So once you could remind yourself that you were safe, you had also been reminded that you were alone. Lots of tears were shed in the night.

After Tony built up enough strength to leave the compound he did but he never stayed gone long. He would return often to attempt to build a relationship with you. It wasn’t easy trying to let him in, the lack of sleep being no help, so you didn’t. Your resistance never stopped him from making the effort to get to know you. Now that he knew you existed, he wanted to be part of your life. Tony knew that you needed family and he was all you had left, even if you didn't want to accept it. He promised to never abandon you ever again.

That didn’t mean he stopped living his life. Within a few months of his recovery, Tony invited you to his surprisingly low-key wedding which you begrudgingly attended with Natasha and Steve. They had been helping you out a lot with coping and figuring out whether or not you wanted Tony in your life. Steve often joked about fighting him again to get him to back off, but you never took the offer. You did your best to enjoy yourself at the wedding but it only reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

You smiled your way through the night as you thought about Wanda.

Her smile, the dress she would’ve worn, her laugh, that look in her eyes that is so full of love and only reserved for you. Your mind went even further back to a time when Pietro was alive and how they would’ve danced together and how happy he would have been for the two of you. You even imagine the wide grin he would have walking Wanda down the aisle and the single tear he would shed. Once he found that ring of yours he was constantly harassing you about when and how you were going to ask his twin. Even giving unwanted advice and ideas. It was all so consuming. That night you fell asleep crying in Natasha’s arms.

Months later, while Tony was visiting you he included you in on a secret. Pepper was pregnant. You didn’t exactly give the most joyous reaction but you were happy for him and Pepper. “When she’s born, promise me you won’t come back here,” you find yourself saying.

“Well I don’t know if she’s a girl yet but… why don’t you want me to come around here?” Tony asks as he returns the ultrasound image to his pocket.

“I want the three of you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry about me. Besides, I’m thinking of asking Nat to start assigning me to missions. I probably won’t be around as much and I really just need to get my mind off of the things I lost and the things I can’t have.” You keep your eyes on the promise ring Wanda had given you on your first anniversary. “But I want you and Pepper to be happy. Enjoy your life Tony. You don’t need to make things right with me to do that.” Tony disagrees but hugs you as he says his goodbyes and you find Natasha for your first assignment.

You are there for the birth of Morgan Stark. You forge her a special necklace from your powers and smile at the little bundle of joy. “Congrats you guys, she is so precious,” you say as you hold the baby.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Pepper says with hooded eyes and a tired smile. You hand the baby back to Tony and leave before thoughts of Wanda could invade and cloud your head. She always wanted a family. She used to fantasize about the kinds of parents the two of you would be. The types of kids you guys would raise. Baby names… Being away allowed you to forget her. But moments like these threatened to tear you down.

More years pass and Natasha is forced to ground you from missions because you have become too mentally unstable and a major liability. Steve drags you to his group therapy sessions but you hardly pay attention or contribute. You just miss Wanda and you allow yourself to feel that pain because running from it has only made it grow. For the most part you spent your time sitting in meetings with Steve or Nat. You preferred being in Natasha’s meetings since they were about mission updates and strategy and not about people crying over first dates. Shortly after that particular meeting Steve began to hint that maybe you should give it a try, you shut him down and turned it around on him. He quickly dropped the subject.

Among that daily schedule you would end your nights curled up on your bed in the room Wanda stayed in while she was waiting for you to come back to her. You would hold some clothes that still smelled like her to your nose as you listened to sad songs. For a while you’re stuck listening to Little Talks wondering if her spirit was lying by your side trying to reach out to you. Some of the things you felt were too painful to keep around and you had them stored at a special place far enough from here. One of them being the old computer. Well, they had been stored away for you but sometimes you convinced yourself that you made the call on your own. Not that Natasha arranged a team to steal most of your belongings.

Tony was generous enough to copy every video and photo file from the computer and put them into your phone. They helped you go to sleep at night.

Then one day, a man you swore had to have been on the vanished list that Nat viewed often, appears at the gate. “Is this old?” Steve asks.

“This is live,” Natasha says. They let him in and the three of you stand around as he explains how he can help. You, Nat, and Steve are skeptical but not so much that you guys don’t have hope it won’t work. Immediately you guys are on the road to find Tony Stark.

Over the years you tried to visit between missions, when you could. Not for Tony but for Morgan. You couldn’t help but fall for the little girl, she was your sister and you wanted to be the best big sister you could be for her. You also wanted to make sure she knew how many people cared for her and that she would always be safe and protected. Natasha was also captivated by her and would sometimes join you on the visits. You girls would play once she was able to run around and you even showed her some of your powers. During this time you finally allowed Tony in and even established a healthy relationship with him and Pepper because whether or not you wanted to accept it, they were your family.

When you arrive at the cabin, Morgan jumps out of Tony’s arms and runs into yours. “Y/N/N!” She shouts happily. You greet her with just as much energy and take her into the house to let them do the talking.

Pepper prepares some drinks and has you take them out to everyone. You re-enter the kitchen to help her with lunch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?” Pepper asks conversationally.

“Because my powers are connected to my emotions and if your husband says no… I might accidentally blow him into bits and pieces,” you sigh.

Despite herself, Pepper laughs a little. “You know,” she starts. “If you called him dad, he won’t have any other choice than to say yes.”

You shake your head, not this again. “Not going to happen.” Tony hasn’t directly asked you to say it but Pepper has and she keeps bringing up how much it would mean to him to hear you say it. “Besides with what we’re trying to do there’s a chance that he might lose all of this. I’m not even sure if I want him to say yes.” Your gaze lands on Morgan playing with her toys. Pepper follows your gaze and smiles softly.

“Hey Morgan, sweetie?” Pepper calls attention to her daughter who curiously looks up at her mother. “You should go out there and rescue daddy,” Pepper says. The little girl's face lights up as she stands to run to the front door. “Knowing Tony, he will find a way to protect everything he loves and save the world. Even if it kills him,” there is something in the way she says those words that causes the two of you to share a look. A hopeful let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.

She then gives you a hug and tells you to stop by more often, she wishes you luck, and you leave the warmth of the home to the frowns of your rejected friends. You don’t look at Tony when you bid him goodbye.

Next you find yourself in Bruce’s diner and watch as Scott Lang fails to be recognized as Ant-Man by some kids. Bruce is willing to give the time travel a try and on the day the test run is done, you begin to lose hope again. You eat your taco near a window as you observe Scott set up in the landing zone. You laugh when Nebula and Rocket arrive blowing away his food. You almost can’t believe that is the guy who had access to the closest thing they had to a time machine. Steve walks in smiling at your laugh, you don’t do that often, with Tony barking orders behind him. People get to work on the machine and that pesky flicker of hope is restored.

As you work on things Tony is by your side teaching you about every part you are using and putting together. You just let him rattle on and on as you let yourself fantasize about holding Wanda in your arms again. Before you know it they are doing the first test run with Clint Barton. He disappears and instantly reappears with a baseball glove and a stunned expression. “It works,” he says and that feeling of hope causes your heart to pound in your chest. You are going to see her again. Now to find out when to travel to.

“See you in a minute,” Nat says with contained excitement. She is just as excited to complete this mission as you are. After a lot of thinking and planning they separated into three teams of people. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Scott leave to 2012 to retrieve the tesseract, scepter, and the time stone. Nat, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey vanish to 2014 to grab the power stone and the soul stone. The last team is just Thor and Rocket to grab the reality stone that is apparently inside of Thor’s former girlfriend. Tony, Steve, and Nat wouldn’t let you go on the mission because they still think you’re a liability. You argue that Thor isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability but they point out that Thor is the only one on their team that knows Asgard and where that stone is.

So you sit and pout in a chair for the quick minute that everyone is gone. Part of what has you so pissed off is that you didn’t get to experience time traveling. All because of a few bad missions. You watch them disappear and stare at the platform but time seems to drag on and you look down at your phone with a sigh. In that second everyone has returned with their stones and your heart drops. You notice one person missing and frown. “Where’s Nat?” You ask. Clint wears a broken expression and takes a breath before explaining how he received the stone. “Oh,” is all you can come up with.

Clint felt that it should’ve been him and you didn’t disagree but you understood why Natasha sacrificed herself. She confided in you a few times about how she felt like a monster because of what she was forced to do when she was being raised in the Red Room. She even talked about the mandatory hysterectomy and hated that she could never carry kids of her own. You did your best to try and cheer her up by telling her that adoption was always an option. “No agency is going to allow a former assassin to adopt a kid. Trust me… I tried.” She then boasted about Clint and his family, she loved them as if they were her own family. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone but I cried like a baby the first time his daughter called me aunty Nat,” she got teary eyed and you passed her another shot of vodka.

Natasha missed them so much and you knew she would sacrifice herself to get them back. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if his family came back and she had to inform them that he died to save her. She probably would have felt like a bigger monster than she already thought she was. You stood up and left the room to collect yourself and get as far away from everyone’s grief as possible. Natasha had easily become your best friend these past few years. In the past year that you’ve been stuck at the compound there were days when it felt like all you had was each other. You can’t believe she’s gone but you have to hope that there is still a way to bring her back.

Banner finds you later and makes you some food and Rocket sits with you and the rest of the guys sit by the dock to talk. You force the comfort food down despite feeling too sad to eat and notice Nebula walking back into the time machine area. They call you into another room where they’re going to put the stones together but you ignore them and follow Nebula. They let you go, assuming that you’re still upset about losing Natasha. The first time you went on an actual mission with Nebula, you were put off with how serious she was so you came up with random nicknames to call her. She was annoyed initially but eventually she mentioned how funny she thought it was. Her tone had remained emotionless as she told you that and you had to refrain from laughing because it felt rude to do so as she was opening up. Nebula was still a very serious person to be around but she loosened up a bit around you, even called you her friend.

“Hey Neb-Neb!” You called out after her but she ignored you. “Bu-Bu! Hello?” You followed her to the control panel, “Nella, what’s going on with yo–” she cuts you off by wrapping her hand around your throat and speaking to you through gritted teeth. There was definitely something off about Nebula but you couldn’t quite figure it out. So you fought back because you weren’t fighting your friend, you were fighting a stranger. The two of you go hand in hand until she slips out of your hold and goes back to the control panel. You move to stop her but are too late. Next thing you know, you are waking up in rubble.

With a groan you sit up and dust yourself off then quickly panic, you don’t even know if they had time to do the reverse snap. You crawl your way out of the rubble and find Steve, Tony, and Thor speaking in hushed tones. “Did you guys do the snap? What happened?” You ask frantically, you need to know that you’ll be seeing Wanda again. Losing her a third time was simply not an option. Then you see a very alive Thanos just sitting there. That’s when it connects in your head. It was a different Nebula and she was getting a past version of Thanos into this present. “Please tell me you guys did the snap,” you look at Tony and he nods. But the look on everyone's faces told you that they didn’t know if it worked.

You join them as they attack Thanos but he is powerful and not easy to bring down. You’re tossed into another pile of rubble and shake your head, annoyed with yourself because you felt useless. Your powers were failing you and you couldn’t fathom as to why. Out of nowhere you see portals open up one by one, the people that had vanished and the people that hadn’t stepped through each portal. Then an enormous Ant-Man emerges from the ground and drops off a few more people that must’ve been trapped from the destruction of the compound. You gather with the rest of them and really focus to activate your powers as Steve grabs Mjolnir and shouts, “Avengers… Assemble!” Despite the unsuccessful attempt, you still charge along with the rest of them to fight against Thanos’ army.

Without seeing her, you could just sense that Wanda is among the rest and as much as you want a reunion, saving the world takes precedence at the moment. You could practically hear her telling you to go be a hero anyway. As you fight against Thanos’ army, using the hand to hand combat skills Natasha and Steve taught you, a part of you is still distracted and searches for Wanda. Regardless of where you want your focus at the moment. You make your way around the battlefield hoping to knock into her or something so that you don't get yourself killed trying to find her. Then you hear her.

“You took everything from me,” her tone is heavy and her eyes are glowing. You come to the conclusion that she must not know whether or not you are alive. So you don’t let her know and wait to find out what she does.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos responds, angered by the woman's threatening glare.

“You will,” she says before she starts attacking him with her powers. Discreetly killing off a large gathering of Outriders hurtling towards you, you watch Wanda as she comes very close to killing Thanos herself. He calls for the ships to rain fire on everyone and that’s when you finally make yourself present to her. You jump from your spot and land right beside her and create a force field to protect the both of you. Other members are being protected by the sorcerers and it isn’t until Captain Marvel comes flying through that the bullets stop coming down and people are trying to get the gauntlet out of there. You turn towards Wanda and feel her mixed emotions, you wink at her with a smile as you let the barrier go.

“It’s time to be a hero right now, love. We can say hello later,” you tell her before you go back into the fight, the adrenaline rushing through you as your powers have finally activated. Each member does their best to keep the gauntlet out of Thanos’ reach but sadly no one succeeds and he holds the extreme amount of power once again. Carol fights him with as much power as she has to keep him from snapping his fingers but eventually gets tossed aside. You step up next using everything that you have inside of you, using abilities you had no idea you even possessed. But in the end you are tossed onto a metal rod that had been protruding out from the destroyed building. It had stabbed you through your side making it difficult to breathe. As you fight for air you look around to watch Thanos and his army disappear. Tony collapses beside you. “No,” you cough out weakly. You reach out for him and luckily he was close enough for you to touch his shoulder. “Tony,” you gasp as the tears sting your eyes. His eyes follow the sound but you can tell that he’s not actually looking at you.

“Mr. Stark, we won. Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he tries to grab Tony’s attention. Rhodey lands beside his best friend with understanding and sadness in his eyes. Yours tighten shut for a moment as your tears start to fall. You want to wake up from this horrible nightmare but this is reality, a piece of you knew that you couldn’t avoid. Then Pepper arrives and pulls the boy in the spider suit away from her husband. You look up and see that he has finally returned somewhat enough to recognize his wife.

She tells him that he can rest now, then she looks over to you so that you know that now is the time to say something so you don’t regret it later. With a weak grip on his shoulder you nudge him to return his attention to you. It looks like he’s trying to smile at you but is obviously far too weak to do as such. You offer him the best one that you could muster in your current state. “I love you, dad. It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” your hand lands in his and he gives it the lightest squeeze before it falls limp.

Wanda makes her way over to you and panics at the amount of blood you’ve lost but at the moment you don’t feel anything. Not even the pain of losing your father. You just feel… numb. It dawns on you that your body must be failing but that doesn’t scare you. She takes your hand as your loud thoughts of just letting go enter her mind. “No,” she starts through frustrated teeth. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Please, keep fighting. This can’t be our ending. I need you, please don’t leave me,” she sounds so broken but equally determined to keep you alive. As you hold her gaze she lets out a broken sob and tenderly whispers, “I love you to infinity.” She continues to beg, depositing small kisses to the back of your hand. As her words sink in, you find the strength that you need to fight off the thoughts of letting go. Then, with your heightened vision, you look around and find every remaining Avenger kneeling out of respect for your father and you have the urge to join them. You struggle to get up from your position, Pepper and Wanda try to stop you from moving but all rational thought has left you.

“I’m not dying right here,” you grumble as you reach behind you and cut the rod. You shift your position and Pepper sprays your wound to close it around the remaining bits of the rod that was still in you so that the bleeding would stop until you could get it properly treated. Then you kneel for your father to show your respect for him in his death that you failed to show while he was alive. You think about how grateful you were for the last five years and how much you appreciated that he never gave up on you. You silently thank him just as the adrenaline leaves your body and it succumbs to the full extent of your injuries causing you to collapse and pass out.

Chapter 5

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda marvel #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #the scarlet witch #wanda mcu #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #fanfic fanfiction #fanfic #mcu #marvel

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fa-by · 3 years ago

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hi F! Please do an analysis on Lauren’s new song While I’m Alive! She said on her instagram that it was directed to “someone” at first 👀👀

Hi to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 and for sure. No problem, in fact, I'm sorry for the delay 😅

So. While I'm Alive is part of the Femme it Forward's all-female album called Big Femme Energy, Vol. 1. Laur wrote it long before she was part of this project, and yes, she said she wrote it with a person in mind by turning a vent into art because tired of the way she was/is treated:

This person, in my opinion, is 100% a shark. And this also responds to another ask I've recently received:

Hey to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 Yep, Laur wrote it for someone among the higher ups and therefore it concerns her career in particular, but she also applies it to other situations in her life in general.

Now let's move on to the interpretation.

Verse 1:

“Don't say I'm too loud when I cry out what I've held inside

I wanna know why they tried to take me and bury me alive”

The music industry is dominated by men. Gender inequality, sexism, and ageism reign supreme. No matter how much harder they have to work in order to succeed, women are anyway either sidelined, or supervised by men. Why? Because there’s a huge disparity between men and women, especially due to the way the public perceives their success and power. For example.

A man is praised for performing on stage with just the guitar. A woman who does the same, however, not only is she criticized for being too lazy and boring for not having made the performance more lively with a choreography, but she’s also criticized for what she was wearing. Same woman who gets criticized when she instead performs with a choreography because she wasn’t good enough. A woman who can’t be a drummer because it’s a thing for men, and if she persists in wanting to play, it’s not because it’s her passion and she’s pursuing her dream, no; it’s because she wants attention 🙄. A woman who can’t have a good idea about a song because, what can she understand about music, right? 😒

Unfortunately, it’s all a double standard. Women work harder than men and they then get questioned whether their success is deserved. One way or another, women are constantly being torn apart. Reason why Laur begins the verse by already letting us understand how put down she is by the sharks, followed by a question that actually doesn’t represent a real request for information, but that implies a predetermined answer.

“'Cause who am I to think that I have a right?

Or decide to know what I need, right?”

She's sarcastic of course. Since they've always told her what to do, how to act, and how to feel, here she's including a couple of examples among the thousand and more things they always have said and say to her. Because who better than her knows what's best for her? The answer is her. Especially when these orders, because they're orders, are imposed on her to make money with her career and not for her sake or because they care about her as a person.

“It's in the way, I talk and I walk away

From what you made me”

By ‘what you made me’, she refers to the way she was before. The person who was forced to accept everything she was told to do and therefore she couldn’t be herself. The person they made her become, and she didn’t like that person. Now she no longer wants to ‘submit herself’ and accept everything just for money and fame as she did in the past because she was legally obliged and not to do so. She did it many times especially when she was still in the group, but unlike in the past, she luckily no longer has the same kind of obligations. So if she doesn’t want to do something now, she simply doesn’t. She says no to what she doesn’t accept and walks away from that (I talk and I walk away) by not caring if she doesn’t have the same success as before because she prefers not to have that kind of success anymore but to remain herself, rather than have it and be just a product (what you made me); a different person from who she really is.

Verse 2:

“And I know this is all too familiar

Feel the motive behind all that fake love”

In Olivia Rodrigo’s voice 🎤: 🎵 Did you get deja vu, Laur? 🎶 No, but all joking aside. By ‘I know this is all too familiar’, she means what she has already experienced in the past and which she has once again found herself in front of. Once out of both Epic/Syco and Maverick, she believed she would’ve be dealing with better people, but it wasn’t like that. She realized that those kinds of people are everywhere because it’s the music industry that’s like that. The problem isn’t the single label or the single management team, it’s the entire industry. The problem isn’t the surrounding, but the people who are in it. Not all of them luckily, but most of them unfortunately.

By ‘Feel the motive behind all that fake love’, on the other hand, she describes precisely that kind of people. The fake ones who first treat you well because they want something from you, and then show themselves for who they really are when they don’t get it and try to hinder you, punish you, destroy you, and ‘bury me alive’ (verse 1) because of it.

So. Although I said it playfully at first, these two sentences go perfectly well together to describe the sense of deja vu that Laur felt.

*Small note* In the next three sentences of the verse, I will use these ‘---’ to complete her sentences as if I were Lauren to give you my interpretation. I’ll then continue as I always have. Oh and, she’s talking about her music here.

“I can’t take all these unsolicited opinions --- Nope, not anymore. I don't want them. Thanks, but no thanks.

Go ahead and be the scared ones --- with someone else who’s ready to tell you yes to everything and who doesn’t have a vision on how they want their own songs. Someone else who has no problem being a marketable product/puppet.

Either way, I’ll get it done” --- with other producers, songwriters, collaborators, etc., of my choice.

“I’ve been told I’m too much

Too proud, too cruel

Too wild, difficult to be around”

Let’s also add too confident, too sincere, and too honest from the people who mocked her at school before she became famous, shall we? Or maybe too fat, too arrogant, too full of herself, too whore, and all the other things said by the haters over the years? 😒😒😒🙄🙄🙄

I was being sarcastic of course, guys. I mean, can our girl ever have a break?

“With too much to say

Never in the right way

So, what’s the right way?”

Rhetorical question here because the right way is exactly the way she is. She has no intention of behaving in the ‘right way’ they want because it would mean not being authentic and automatically it would no longer be the right way because she would be fake.

Chorus:

“If I can’t be me

Who do you want me to be? (Who do you want me to be?)”

I love, love, love, love this. For real. It’s so powerful. And it doesn’t surprise me that this part along with the rest of the chorus is repeated four times, because it’s the most important part and it encloses the whole song perfectly.

“‘Cause if you can’t see beyond your gaze”

Behind their ideas to be the perfect product without looking at the person and their feelings.

“You don’t phase me and I don’t trust you anyway

‘Cause runnin’ through life, I figured out time

Don’t wait for no one”

After all these years and precisely because of what she’s been through, she realized she can’t wait for them to see it the same way she does or for someone to ‘save her’. She prefers to ‘save herself’. Therefore, she will continue to be wary, not to trust, and above all, to remain authentic as she says here:

“So while I’m alive, I’ma just be me (I’ma just be me)

Whoever that ends up being”

And that's it, dear Anon 😉 This song is dedicated to one particular asshole who gave her the idea, but mostly, it's dedicated to all those assholes who tried to tell her what kind of music she should have made, how she should have behaved, and how she should have felt. She decides for her, and she doesn’t care if she doesn’t have the same success anymore. Just like she doesn’t care about all the rest like the expectations and superficial perceptions they have of her that are completely wrong.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish both of you Anons and everyone else reading this, a beautiful day ❤🥰🤗

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paralleljulieverse · 3 years ago

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‘Gentlemen like you are few...’: A Supercentenary Tribute to Irwin Kostal

1 October 2021 marks the 110th anniversary of the birth of Irwin Kostal, the musical arranger, orchestrator and conductor whose work helped shape the sound of the post-war American stage and screen musical. In this post we look back at the career of this remarkable 'music man’ with a particular focus on his collaborations with the equally remarkable Julie Andrews -- who, as it happens, shares the same birthday, so this post is doing double birthday honours.

A gentle, unassuming man, Kostal or ‘Irv’ as he was known by associates, was not one for the limelight. It’s possibly why he gravitated to the ‘behind-the-scenes’ art of musical arranging. Unlike composers, performers, or even conductors, arrangers seldom loom large in public perceptions of professional musicianship. They are, for the most part, the ‘invisible artists’ of the music industry: their contributions to the sound and experience of music are immense, but they remain largely ‘uncredited in records, liner notes or books or records’ (Niles 2104, p. 4). That Irwin Kostal would ultimately prove a rare exception to this tradition of thankless anonymity -- becoming sufficiently well-known to have his own name not only included on recordings, but emblazoned on the front cover alongside those of the ‘star’ vocalists with whom he worked -- is a testament to the singularity of his talents.

Born the son of first generation immigrant parents in Chicago in 1911, Kostal claimed he was instantly ‘smitten’ by music when he saw a piano at the age of two-and-a-half, but his family was too poor to afford such luxuries. Moreover, his father -- a hard-drinking Czech with a fiery temper -- was ‘rigidly opposed’ to his interests in music and ‘could see no future in it’ (’Irwin’ 1962, p. 70). So Kostal initially had to content himself with listening and absorbing as much musical knowledge as he could indirectly. When he was eleven, his father finally brought home a broken player piano salvaged from a removals job and it provided the young Kostal with the launch pad he needed.

Kostal devoted himself to his musical education with single-minded zeal. His formal training was intermittent -- enabled by a supportive mother who ‘surreptitiously managed to save money from her weekly allowance for my musical instruction’ (’Irwin’ 1962, p. 70) -- but he was a passionate autodidact who would spend countless hours studying and practising on his own. By age 15, he was already playing professionally with local touring bands, while also offering his own services as a piano teacher with, at one point, more than 40 pupils (ibid.).

When he wasn’t playing, Kostal would be found in the local library poring over musical scores and reading about the greats of the classical canon. He was particularly intrigued by orchestration and the possibilities it offered for varying the sound and feel of music. He recalls how he would take orchestral scores home and study all the parts learning ‘about musical instruments I never knew existed’ (Suskin 2009, p. 56). He progressively worked his way through the music of the masters, going alphabetically:

‘Bach...Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy, Elgar, Frank, Gounod, on and on through the alphabet...I tried to absorb everything. By the time I came to Ravel, Tchaikovsky and Wagner, I knew quite a lot about music in a jumbled way’ (Suskin 2009, p. 57).

While still in his teens, Kostal started to experiment with arrangements of his own, scoring a high school production of Uncle Tom’s Cabin with multiple variations on the American folk melody ‘Way Down upon the Swanee River’. ‘By taking away the rhythmic aspects and playing it in a minor key,’ he recounts, ‘I found lots of ways to play this song, making it fit the dramatics of the half-hour long story’ (ibid., p. 56). Thus, Irwin Kostal the arranger was born.

Throughout the 1930s and early-40s, Kostal honed his talents in a professional capacity, working with various big bands, before finally landing a job as a resident arranger for an NBC radio affiliate in Chicago. Following the war, Kostal moved to New York where, after a rocky start, he secured regular work as conductor and arranger on a number of long-running radio and TV variety shows including Your Show of Shows (1950-54), Max Liebman Presents (1954-56), and The Garry Moore Show (1959-63). It was demanding, fast-paced work with Kostal having to arrange and orchestrate hundreds of score pages a week, but it consolidated his musical versatility and capacity to work across a wide range of styles and forms (Suskin 2009, pp. 57-60).

Throughout this period, Kostal was also orchestrating for Broadway shows, racking up over 52 credits on theatre productions big and small (Allen 1995, p. 18). Many of these assignments were done in a ‘ghost-writer’ capacity including contributing work to such classic musicals as Wonderful Town (1953), The Pajama Game (1953) and Silk Stockings (1955). A major breakthrough came when Kostal was contracted to work in a credited capacity as co-orchestrator on the original Broadway production of West Side Story (1958) -- collaborating with Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim and Sid Ramin. It earned him his first Grammy Award and a subsequent invitation to arrange and orchestrate a string of other big Broadway musicals including Fiorello! (1959), Sail Away (1961) and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1962).

The success of West Side Story also saw Kostal do repeat honours on the film version (1961) which would, in turn, earn him an Academy Award and kickstart a hugely successful Hollywood career. In 1963, Kostal was invited by none other than Walt Disney to take on the major job of arranging the songs for Mary Poppins (1964) which had been written by the in-house Disney composing team of Richard M. and Robert B. Sherman. The Sherman Brothers claim to have suggested Kostal because they were fans of his Broadway work and they wanted a bright theatrical sound for the score. However, Walt Disney demurred. He reasoned it was a period film and they needed someone who could write music for any style or era, suggesting they get the musical director from The Garry Moore Show instead. Cue mutual delight when it was discovered they were all referring to the same man, Irwin Kostal (Sherman & Sherman 1998; Suskin 2009, p. 65).

Kostal’s work on Mary Poppins catapulted him to new heights of mainstream success. It not only secured him another Academy Award nomination -- he lost to Andre Previn for his work on My Fair Lady -- but it also brought him a tidy fortune in royalties from the film’s best-selling soundtrack album (’Kostal’s’ $65,000′, 57). His fame -- and fortune -- skyrocketed even further the following year when Kostal was contracted to arrange the score for The Sound of Music (1965). His dazzling efforts on this box-office blockbuster confirmed Kostal’s status as Hollywood’s presiding musical wonder-boy and saw him walk home with his second Oscar. A string of other big screen musicals followed including Half a Sixpence (1967), Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971).

Many of these films were repeat collaborations because Kostal favoured working with people he knew and with whom he clicked personally and creatively. He would for example continue as the de facto ‘house’ arranger for Disney well into the 1980s, working on various assignments for the studio including Pete’s Dragon (1978), Mickey’s Christmas Carol (1983) and the controversial re-recorded 1982 release of Fantasia (1940/1982) (Tietyan 1990). Kostal would also maintain a long association with the Sherman Brothers, acting as musical arranger for all their big screen musicals including the aforementioned Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) and Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971), as well as Tom Sawyer (1973); Charlotte’s Web (1973); and The Magic of Lassie (1978) (Sherman & Sherman 1998).

The other great collaboration of Kostal’s career was of course with Julie Andrews. Perhaps it was the fact that the pair shared the same birthday but Kostal had an extraordinarily sympathetic relationship with Julie and he would work with her more than any other vocalist. Long before they teamed on Poppins and The Sound of Music, Julie and ‘Irv’ were making musical magic together. Kostal was the arranger and conductor for Julie’s first two solo albums for RCA: The Lass with the Delicate Air (1957) and Julie Andrews Sings (1958) where his sensitive facility with a wide range of musical idioms from English classical to Broadway and Tin Pan Alley came to the fore. Reviewing the first of these albums at the time of its original release, one music critic lauded it as ‘a record to charm every member of the family...[with] a combination of sincerity and simplicity and wholesome sweetness...Thank goodness arranger and conductor Irwin Kostal met the challenge and set the ballads winningly without overpowering Miss Andrews’ light pure tones’ (RRS 1958, p. 5A). In a similar vein, another reviewer praised the second album for ‘its charming unforced version of standards, well known and almost forgotten...Miss Andrews still sings naturally and purely [and] the deft accompaniments played by an orchestra under Irwin Kostal are agreeably restrained’ (Masters 1959, p. 11).

In this early period Kostal also worked with Julie as guest star on several episodes of The Garry Moore Show, where he was resident musical director. In this context, Kostal was pivotal in helping establish the legendary teaming of Julie and Carol Burnett which came out of the Garry Moore appearances. He would go on to act as musical director for their breakout 1962 TV special Julie and Carol at Carnegie Hall which would earn Kostal his first Emmy (Taraborelli 1988, pp. 172-79). He would secure his second Emmy a few years later working with Julie again on the 1965 variety special, The Julie Andrews Show (1965) where, among other highlights, Kostal scored a series of stellar song-and-dance medleys for Julie and guest star Gene Kelly. The same year, Kostal teamed up with Julie on yet another recording with the 1965 edition of the annual Firestone Christmas albums.

It was however their combined work on the two big musical mega-hits, Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, that secured the Kostal-Andrews partnership a place in the history books. A cultural phenomenon of the highest order, the soundtrack recordings for these two films remain among the most successful albums of all time. Mary Poppins held the #1 spot on the US national music charts for 14 consecutive weeks in 1964, beating out Elvis Presley and The Beatles (Hollis and Erhbar 2006, pp.72ff). The album for The Sound of Music sold over 9 million copies in its first four years of release alone, remaining in the Billboard Top 100 for an unbelievable five-and-a-half years, and becoming the highest selling LP of all-time in the US up to that date (Murrells, 1978) The Sound of Music continued its record-breaking run abroad, dominating the international charts and holding the #1 spot for 75 weeks in Australia, 73 weeks in Norway and 70 weeks in the UK, becoming in the process the single biggest selling album worldwide of the 1960s (Harker, 1992, pp. 189-91).

Commentators have frequently singled out the combination of Julie Andrews’ soaring vocals and Kostal’s dynamic arrangements as instrumental to the phenomenal success of these two albums. ‘Miss Andrews glows--positively glows--right through the record groove, vinyl disc, amplifiers, speakers, and all other mechanical barriers,’ enthused one contemporary reviewer of the Mary Poppins soundtrack, noting how the ‘songs that Richard M. and Robert B. Sherman have written’ and ‘the handsome arrangements by Irwin Kostal have the perfect balance ‘of lilt and flair to provide Miss Andrews with an effective working basis’ (Wilson 1965, p. 109). Apropos The Sound of Music, another critic pronounced it ‘as good a reproduction of a score as has ever been made’, noting how it ‘presents Julie in a most appealing role and given the splendid musical direction of Irwin Kostal, her talent comes shining through...as a treat beyond measure’ (Moore 1965, p. B6).

In total, Julie Andrews and Irwin Kostal would work together on six recordings, two musical motion pictures, two television specials, and a host of other TV appearances representing some of the very best of Julie’s musical work during her heyday of the 1960s. Considered alongside the wealth of Kostal’s other work across film, stage, television and recording, it’s hard not to concur with Disney’s Nelson Meecham who, on the occasion of Kostal’s passing in 1994, eulogised: ‘He brought the joy of music to more people than it is possible to count’ (Allen, p. 19).

Sources:

Allen, John F 1995. ‘Remembering a Music Man: On the life and work of Irwin Kostal.’ Boxoffice. August: pp. 18-19.

Harker, Dave 1992. ‘Still Crazy After All These Years: What was popular music in the 1960s?” Cultural Revolution? The challenge of the arts in the 1960s. Bart Moore-Gilbert and John Seed, eds. Routledge, London and New York: pp. 186-200.

Hollis, Tim and Erhbar, Greg 2006. Mouse Tracks: The Story of Walt Disney Records. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

‘Irwin Kostal: Music in all its many forms is his life.’ (1962). The Province. 2 June: p. 70.

’Kostal’s’ $65,000 Poppins Score’ 1965. Variety. 10 March: p. 57

Levy, Charles 1964. Mary Poppins: About the stars and photo-story features [Press kit]. Buena Vista Distribution, New York.

Masters, John 1959. ‘Off the Record: Enchanting Music.’ The Age. 7 January: p. 11.

Moore, Robert 1965. ‘Record Turntable: Julie Andrews out in front again in film album of”Sound of Music”.’ The Arizona Daily Star. 7 March: p. B6.

Murrells, Joseph, ed. 1978. Book of Golden Discs: Records that sold a million. Barrie & Jenkins, New York.

Niles, Richard 2014. The Invisible Artist: Arrangers in popular music (1950-2000). BMI, London.

Oliver, Myrna. 1994. ‘Obituaries: Irwin Kostal; Film, TV Orchestrator.’ The Los Angeles Times. 1 December: P. B8.

RRS 1958. ‘On the Record: ‘Lass with the Delicate Air.’ Bristol Herald Courier. 9 February: p. 5A.

Sherman, Robert B & Sherman, Richard M 1998. Walt's Time: From before to beyond. Camphor Tree, Santa Clarita, CA.

Suskin, Steven 2009. The Sound of Broadway Music: A book of orchestrators and orchestrations, Oxford University Press, New York.

Taraborelli, J. Randy 1988. Laughing Till It Hurts: The complete life and career of Carol Burnett. William Morrow & Co, New York.

Tietyan, David 1990. The Musical World of Walt Disney. H. Leonard, Milwaukee, Wis.

Wilson, John S. 1965. ‘The Lighter Side’. High Fidelity Magazine. 15: 4: pp. 107-111.

#julie andrews #irwin kostal #musicals #classic film #the sound of music #mary poppins #Disney #Sherman Brothers

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Falls and Forgiveness // O.W.

Request(s): Ignore me sending in multiple Oliver Wood requests because your one of the only authors I can find that write for him. Could you possibly do an x slytherin reader??? Maybe the reader is always hanging around with the gryffindoor team and Oliver always gets jealous about how the team (maybe the twins?) always jokingly flirt with her to piss him off???? Very fluffy :) // Hey I was wondering if you’d do an Oliver Wood x reader request?? Maybe the readers on a different quittich team or something and one of them gets hurt during a match and the other throws the game to help them??? Something fluffy :) I love your writing btw xx - anon

A/N: I haven’t written for Oliver in so long so this was like a breath of fresh air and I love writing every moment of it. Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you like and I hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: swearing, arguments, flirting, established relationship, mentions of injuries. Really cheesy flirting too.

Word count: 2.8k

The Gryffindor common room had never know quiet. The house known for being boisterous and loud and always full of laughter. It is in the Gryffindor common room that you felt most at home despite having been sorted into Slytherin at eleven years old.

You had nothing against your house; it was the house of the determined, the cunning and the prideful. Friendships had been forged that ran deeper than blood and allegiances made that would only be favoured once graduated from the school for witchcraft and wizardry.

However, the appeal of Gryffindor house came in the form of their Quidditch captain – Oliver Wood. Deep brown eyes combined with a lush smile that had your knees weak. There was supposed to be a rivalry; enemy houses and enemy Quidditch teams yet you loved the teenager more than your own house. You had fallen for him in Fifth Year and he, you. No-one could deny the love you felt for each other was going to outlast the aged walls of the enchanted castle.

Along with the appeal of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, the Gryffindor team has also taken you under their wing. Friendships forming despite the green of your robes. The Weasley twins in particular had taken a liking to you.

They never meant anything by it, their harmless flirting. Fred and George doing it to get a rise out of Oliver.

“(Y/N)!” Fred shouts, a smirk on his face.

“Yes, Fred?” You answer from your seat next to Oliver. The brunette tenses from Fred’s words, already dreading what is about to come out his mouth.

“Do you mind if I slither in?”

You snort, unimpressed by Fred’s attempt at flirting, “That’s in poor taste, Fred. I expected better from you.”

Fred winks, ignoring the cross look from Oliver. “It’s okay,” He starts, “I’m sure I’ll think of something to impress you.”

You laugh, placing a hand on Oliver’s thigh. “I have no doubt about it, save it for later though.”

Fred salutes before walking away, laughing with George over something that had happened earlier in the day. You shake your head at the sight of it, in shock at the foolish bravery displayed by the redhead. You turn your attention to Oliver; his brown eyes barely concealing the anger raging within in. Opening your mouth, you go to offer some words of comfort and reassurance, but Oliver pushes your hand from his thigh before leaving the common room.

You share a look with the twins before following Oliver out of the portrait hole and into the corridor. “Oliver, what’s wrong?”

“Why do you flirt back?” Oliver demands, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“It’s harmless fun. They mean nothing by it, Oliver! Neither do I!”

“Do you?” He asks before the words can be stopped. Oliver sees the hurt flash over your face as his accusation lands. You take a step back, holding a hand to your stomach as you work through your emotions.

“If you think that I would do anything that could hurt you – hurt us – then you really don’t know me at all, do you?” Tears threaten to spill but you hold them back, meeting Oliver’s eye unashamed.

You wait for him to say something, to say anything but nothing leaves his mouth. Shaking your head, you turn away from the Gryffindor, not letting him see the tears that finally track their way down your cheeks as you head to the Slytherin common room.

Oliver runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he stares after your rushing figure. “Love,” He calls out in the hopes that it will make you turn. He releases a pitiful groan as he watches you duck your head further, steps getting faster and faster until you’re finally out of sight.

The sobs thankfully wait until you’re in your room. The darkness provided by the quilt of your bed calling you like a siren song. The darkness provides solace and comfort as the tears trail down your cheeks; wondering how on earth Oliver could doubt your relationship and your loyalty to him.

-------

The night proves to be long, but the morning proves to be longer. You stand outside the Great Hall wondering what you were going to do. Breakfasts were reserved for Oliver, everyone knew that. Even the teachers knew that – you would sit with the brunette and chat about anything and everything. He often distracted you, pulling you in for spontaneous kisses whenever he could.

Now though, you didn’t know where to sit. You would be welcome at the Slytherin table, of course you would but it didn’t sit right within you. It didn’t feel right to not be with Oliver for the first meal of the day.

Turning away from the Great Hall, you think about the snacks hidden away in your trunk. They would do for a while, until you could figure out what was happening and where you were going. For now though, you found respite in the library, wandering there and sitting down at one of the many aged wooden tables. The day had barely begun but there were already students milling about the grand room, dawdling between shelves as they got started on homework and essays alike. Running a finger through the wood grain, eyes running over the graffiti littering the table, you reach for the work burning a hole in your bag.

This would do, for now.

----

Oliver finds you in the library the following day. This time you are hidden away in the back of the library, among the shelves that hold the older books. The smell of worn leather is almost overpowering, but it comforts you, especially as you reach for

You don’t know how long he has been standing there. You gasp as you look up from the aged pages of your book to find his deep brown eyes watching you. Oliver looks unsure of himself; the air around him insecure and curious to your reaction.

“(Y/N),” Oliver greets, voice quiet and close to breaking as he takes a shy step towards you.

“Oliver,” You reply, looking anywhere but at him. Once glance into those brown eyes and you would crumble, it wasn’t for you to crumble.

“Can we talk?”

You shake your head, standing from your seat and staving off the inevitable tears that will fall when he leaves. You weren’t ready to talk. As much as you missed him – his smile and his kisses, you weren’t ready to discuss what happened that night.

“Please?” He pleads, close to falling to his knees and begging.

You shake your head once more, taking a step back before realising that you are pressed against the bookshelf. You clear your throat, dislodging the lump that had made its home there, “Not yet, Oliver.”

He nods, the hope in his eyes dimming at your words. He runs a hand through his hair, the locks the longest they had been in a long while. “Of course,” He comments. He sends a smile your way, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Good luck for the match on Saturday. I know you’ll play well. You always do.”

“You too,” You whisper. You bite your lip, watching him walk away from you, his hands hanging limply at his side as his shoulders hunch.

After the match. After the match, you would talk to him, you promised yourself. After the match, you would explain that he could not go around flinging accusations like he did. After the match, it would all be solved and forgiven.

You hoped.

------

Saturday rolled around slowly. For the rest of the week, Oliver hadn’t tried to talk to you. Countless times you had caught him watching you; regret shining deep within his brown eyes. Sadness settled deep within you when you left your classroom after every lesson to find him absent. He was giving you the space you had asked for; he was respecting your wishes and yet you found yourself wishing he hadn’t listened to you.

You missed him. You missed him terribly. From his obsession with the sport you both played to the way he would pull you in by the hem of your shirt to kiss you. You missed the feel of his hand wrapping around yours; the way he would press a kiss to your temple randomly.

Your heart ached with his absence, but the space was needed. The logical part of you repeated this too often – the space was needed, he had to know he couldn’t go flinging accusations left, right and centre. However, your heart – the part that tended to control you more often than your mind – missed him too much for your own good.

Walking to the changing room, you remind yourself of the promise you had made to yourself earlier in the week. Get through the match. Get through this match and you can talk to him without distractions. Things needed to be mended between you, if it could be mended at all.

The usual nerves settled deep within your stomach, rolling around, leaving you nauseous. You finish tying the fastenings to your gloves, ensuring their tight enough before grabbing your broom and leaving the changing room.

Feeling foolish, you stand outside the changing rooms, hoping and wishing. You fiddle with your uniform, hoping and wishing for Oliver to show up regardless of your argument. It had been tradition for the last two years – no matter the match whether it his house versus your or yours versus another, he would always meet you here for a good luck kiss. It wouldn’t be more than a peck of lips, sweet and chaste but it always meant so much.

The kiss settled your nerves. It brought a smile out across your face, butterflies now rioting in your stomach instead of your nerves.

Looking to your left and then to your right, you sigh heavily. Pushing down the need to cry, you realise with some heaviness that Oliver wasn’t going to show. The gap that had grown between you two was getting too big for him to think about coming to wish you good luck before the match.

After the match, you repeat to yourself. Get through the match and you can tell him everything. Get through the match and you can whisper apology after apology to him, hoping he understood why you had taken a step back.

Steeling your nerves, readying yourself for the match, you head out onto the pitch all the while feeling as if something is going to go terribly wrong.

-------

Most people when waking from a long sleep do so slowly; they start by waking every limb, checking they work before moving onto stretching and opening their eyes. You, on the other hand, gasp suddenly as if jolted with something powerful. You wrench up, more than aware of the sharp pain lancing through the right side of your body.

It takes a moment for you to recognise your surroundings, the gothic, vaulted ceilings and the light stone walls of the hospital wing coming into focus as the dizziness abates.

You wince from the pain radiating in your side. Oliver stands from his seat, rushing to your side. His hands clench repeatedly into fists as he represses the need to touch you. “Don’t try to move,” He whispers, “Madame Pomfrey said you would be sore for at least a week.”

“Oliver?” You question, confused. Your eyebrows furrow as you meet his concerned gaze, taking in the dishevelled state of his Quidditch uniform, as if he barely gave himself time to get changed before rushing to the hospital wing.

“What happened?” You ask, pressing a hand to your head as if the very touch will bring back the memories.

“A dirty play,” Oliver grits; anger rising to the surface that he tries his best to quash but he had never been known to ignore his temper. “What do you remember?”

You sigh, rubbing the side of your head, “I remember something hitting me in the side and I remember losing grip of my broom…” You trail off, straining your memory in the hopes of remembering something. You shake your head, “That’s all I remember.”

Oliver nods as he sidles closer to the bedside. “You were hit by a bludger. In truth, an argument broke out between the teams. The Weasley’s are awfully protective of you, you see and when they saw you, they started to argue with your team. From there, it escalated and bludgers started being flung in every direction. One hit you in the side, knocking you sideways and off your broom to the pitch below.”

“No-one else was hurt though?”

Oliver laughs: a short burst, “It’s just like you to be concerned with someone else when you’re the one lying in the hospital wing having just recovered from broken ribs.”

“Well?” You all but demand, “Was anyone else hurt?”

Oliver shakes his head, “No, love. No-one else was hurt.”

You bite your lip, body heating at the use of the term of endearment. Oliver called you many things: ‘darling’, ‘dear’, ‘Leannan’, but ‘love’ was your favourite. To hear it fall from his lips after a week long absence of it, it made you feel like everything could be solved.

“Who won the match?” You question, eyes running over Oliver’s dishevelled form.

“No-one,” Oliver states, plain and simple.

“What?”

“I threw the match,” He says, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn’t bother him.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“You were laying on the grass, out cold. I didn’t know if you were breathing, I didn’t know anything,” Oliver rushes, his chest heaving with the force of his words, “I was going to make sure you were okay before I was back out on any damned pitch.”

“Oliver!” You gasp; shocked at his words. He loved Quidditch; had even been scouted to play for a team after graduating from Hogwarts. You had never heard him speak like this about the sport.

Oliver rests his face in his hands, getting to grips with the emotions surging through him. All he sees behind his eyes is your body falling helplessly to the ground; limbs limp and hair flying everywhere. It wouldn’t be a sight he forgot quickly.

He regains control only a moment later. He pulls his face out his hands and releasing a long breath. “I love you,” He states honestly, “I love you. This week without you has been hell and then seeing you get hurt… I just about lost my mind.”

You sniffle, tears beginning to form in your eyes at his words. Oliver stalks forward, taking your hands in his, squeezing them tightly as he brings them up to his mouth. He places one, two, three kisses to the back of your hands before whispering, “I am so sorry. I’m a jealous fool. I had no right to question our relationship.”

“No, you didn’t,” You state, eyes searching his, finding nothing but love for you within their depths.

Oliver takes the chance. He leans down, pressing his forehead to you as he repeats his apology as many times as needed.

After the fourth time, you pull back with a laugh.

“What?” Oliver asks, a shy smile on his face.

You shake your head, “You’re impossible, Oliver.”

“Impossibly in love with you,” He flirts, his smile growing larger.

You groan, letting your head fall back onto the pillow. He nudges you gently, getting you to move over slightly so he can join you on the hospital bed. Oliver brings a hand to your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone and down to your jawline as his eyes search your face for what, you don’t know.

The smile has disappeared from his face, replaced with a serious expression that looks so out of place. “I am sorry, my love,” He starts, “Can you forgive me?”

You lean forward, meeting him halfway, nudging your nose with his as you seek out his lips. “You’re already forgiven. Who else would wait by my bedside when I’m injured?”

One of Oliver’s hands winds its way through your hair. “Let’s try not to make that a habit though. Please?”

You pull back slightly, letting Oliver see the large smile on your face. “I can try my very hardest,” You quip with a laugh.

A laugh that is quickly quietened by Oliver’s lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s been a week in the waiting. Forgiveness and love personified by the way he takes his time, relearning the way you move against him whilst trying to not kiss you the way a man dying of thirst would reach for water. You smile against his mouth, unable to keep the grin off your face for longer than necessary, way too happy to be back in his arms once again.

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theonly1outof-a-billion

#oliver wood x reader #oliver x reader #oliver wood #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood fanfiction

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

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Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out. "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania? You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

#Charlie Weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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route22ny · 3 years ago

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What My Korean Father Taught Me About Defending Myself in America

Born in 1939 during what would be the last years of the Japanese colonial occupation of Korea, my father, Choung Tai Chee, also called Charles or Chuck or Charlie, came to the United States in 1960. He was flashy, cocky, unafraid, it seemed, of anything. Wherever we were in the world, he seemed at home, right up until near the end of his life, when he was hospitalized after a car accident that left him in a coma. Only in that hospital bed, his head shaved for surgery, did he look out of place to me.

A tae kwon do champion by the age of 18 in Korea, he had begun studying martial arts at age 8, eventually teaching them as a way to put himself through graduate school, first in engineering and then oceanography, in Texas, California, and Rhode Island. He loved the teaching. The rising popularity of martial arts in the 1960s in Hollywood meant he made celebrity friends like Frank Sinatra Jr., Paul Lynde, Sal Mineo, and Peter Fonda, who my father said had fixed him up on a date with his sister, Jane, in the days before Barbarella. A favorite photo from his time in Texas shows him flying through the air, a human horseshoe, each of his bare feet breaking a board held shoulder high on each side by his students.

When I complained about my wet boots during the winters growing up in Maine, he told me stories about running barefoot in the snow in Korea to harden his feet for tae kwon do. His answer to many of my childhood complaints was usually that I had to be tougher, stronger, prepared for any attack or disaster. The lesson his generation took from those they lost to the Korean War was that death was always close, and I know now that he was doing all he could to teach me to protect myself. When I cried at the beach at the water’s edge, afraid of the waves, he threw me in. “No son of mine is going to be afraid of the ocean,” he said. When I first started swimming lessons, he told me I had to be a strong swimmer, in case the boat I was on went down, so I could swim to shore. When he taught me to body-surf, he taught me about how to know the approach of an undertow, and how to survive a riptide. When I lacked a competitive streak, he took to racing me at something I loved—swimming underwater while holding my breath. I was an asthmatic child, but soon, intent on beating him, I could swim 50 yards this way at a time.

For all of that, he was an exceedingly gentle father. He took me snorkeling on his back, when I was five, telling me we were playing at being dolphins. There he taught me the names of the fish along the reef where we lived in Guam. He would praise the highlights in my hair, and laugh, calling me “Apollo.” And as for any pressure regarding my future career, he offered something very rare for a Korean man of his generation. “Be whatever you want to be,” he told me. “Just be the best at it that you can possibly be.”

Only when I was older did I understand the warning about being strong enough to swim to shore in another context, when I learned the boat he and his family had fled in from what was about to become North Korea nearly sank in a storm. In Seoul as a child, he scavenged food for his family with his older brother, coming home with bags of rice found on overturned military supply trucks, while his father went to the farms, collecting gleanings. His attempts to teach me to strip a chicken clean of its meat make a different sense now. I had thought of him as an immigrant without thinking about how the Korean War made him one of the dispossessed, almost a refugee, all before he left Korea.

When I began getting into fights as a child in the U.S., he put me into classes in karate and tae kwon do for these same reasons. He loved me and he wanted me to be strong. I just wasn’t sure how I was supposed to take on a whole country.

We moved to Maine in 1973, when I was six years old. My father had taken us back to Korea after I was born, to work for his father, and then moved us around the Pacific—from Seoul to the islands of Truk, Kawaii, and Guam, in his and my mother’s attempts to set up a fisheries company. Maine was his next experiment, and not coincidentally, my mother’s home state. On my first day of the first grade, in the cafeteria, after a morning spent in what seemed like reasonably friendly classes, my troubles began when I went up to take an empty seat at a table and the blond haired, blue-eyed white boy seated there looked up with some alarm and asked me, “Are you a chink?”

“What’s a chink?” I asked, though I knew it wasn’t a compliment. I had never heard this word before.

“A Chinese person. You look like a chink. Is that why your face is so flat?”

This was also the first day I can remember being insulted about my appearance.

“I am not Chinese,” I said that day, naively. In a few years I would learn I was in fact part Chinese, 41 generations back, but at that moment, I tried to explain to him about how I was half Korean, a nationality and situation he had never heard of before. Half of what? And so this was also the first day I had to explain myself to someone who didn’t care, who had already decided against me.

He was a white boy from America, and he was repeating insults that seem to me to have come from a secret book passed out to white children everywhere in this country, telling them to call someone Asian “Chink,” to walk up to them, muttering “Ching-chong, ching-chong.” To sing a song, “My mother’s Chinese, my father’s Japanese, I’m all mixed up,” pulling their eyes first down and then up and then alternating up and down.

I was struck, watching Minari a few months ago, when the film’s Korean immigrant protagonist, David, is asked by a white boy in Arkansas in the 1980s why his face is so flat. “It’s not,” David says, forcefully—so many of us have this memory of someone saying this to us and responding that way. Why did a boy in Arkansas and a boy in Maine, in their small towns thousands of miles apart, before the internet, each know to make this insult?

When I got home from that first day at school, I asked my mother what the word “Chink” meant, and she flinched and covered her mouth in concern.

“Who said that to you?” she asked, and I told her. I don’t remember the conversation that followed, just the swift look of concern on her face. The sense that something had found us.

I was the only Asian-American student at my school in 1973, and the first many of my classmates had ever met. When my brother joined me at school three years later, he was the second. When my sister arrived, four years after him, she was the third. My mother is white, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed American, born in Maine to a settler family. I have six ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War, but none of them had to fight this. I don’t know how to separate the teasing, harassment, and bullying that marked my 12 years of life there from that first racist welcome. It makes me question whether I really had a “temper” as a child, as I was told, or whether I was merely isolated by racism among racists, afraid and angry?

My father dealt with racism throughout most of his life by acting as if it had never happened—as if admitting it made it more powerful. He knew bullies loved to see their victims react and would tell me to not let what they said upset me. “Why do you care what they think of you?” he would say, and laugh as he clapped me on the shoulder. “They’re all going to work for you someday.”

“Don’t get even, get ahead,” was another of his slogans for me at these times. As if America was a race we were going to win.

Two decades after his death, writing in my diary while on a subway in New York City, I began counting off all of my activities as a child—choir, concert band, swimming, karate and tae kwon do, clarinet, indoor track, downhill and cross country skiing—and I asked myself if my parents were trying to raise Batman. Then I looked down to the insignia on my Batman t-shirt, and I laughed.

These lessons my father gave me—to be the best you can be, to fight off your enemies and defeat them, to swim to safety if the boat sinks, and in general toughen yourself against everything that would harm you—these I had absorbed alongside certain unspoken lessons, taken from observing his life as a Korean immigrant. To have two names, one American, known to the public, and one Korean, known only to a few intimates; to get rid of your accent; and to dress well as a way to keep yourself above suspicion. Did I need to train like a superhero just to be a person in America? Maybe.

But if I thought of superheroes, it was because my father was like one to me, training me to be like him.

One legend I heard about my father when I was growing up is the story of a night he was being held up at gunpoint, while he was unpacking his car. Whoever it was asked him to shut the trunk and turn around and raise his hands in the air. He agreed to, slamming the car trunk down so forcefully, he sank his fingertips into the metal.

By the time he turned around, the would-be stick-up artist was gone.

He would often ask me and my brother to punch him, as hard as we could, in his stomach. He was proud of his abdominal strength—it was like punching a wall. We would shake our hands, howling, and he would laugh and rub our heads. One time he even used it as a gag to stop a bully.

A boy on my street had developed the habit of changing the rules during our games if his team started losing. We had fights over it that could be heard up and down the street, and one day I chased him with a Wiffle bat, him laughing as I ran. My father stepped in the next time he tried to change the rules during a game and prevented it, telling him all games in his yard had to have the same rules at the beginning as the end—you couldn’t change them when you were losing. When the boy got mad, he said, “I bet you want to hit me, you should hit me. You’ll feel better. Hit me right here, in the stomach, as hard as you can.”

The boy hauled off and punched my dad in the stomach. I knew what was coming. The boy went home crying, shaking his hand at the pain. His mom came over and they had a talk. The rule-changing stopped.

I tried teasing my classmates back after being told to by my father. Stand-up as self-defense requires practice, though: During a “Where are you from?” exercise in the second grade, I told my classmates and teacher I had “Made in Korea” stamped on my ass, which elicited shocked laughter and a punishment from my teacher. I remember the glee when I called a classmate an ignoramus, and he didn’t know what it meant—and got angrier and angrier when I wouldn’t tell him, demanding that I explain the insult. When told to go back to where I came from, I said, “You first.”

Increasingly, I just hid, in the library, in books. When given detention, I exulted in the chance to be alone and read. I was an advanced student compared to my classmates, due in part to my mother being a schoolteacher, and I learned to make my intelligence a weapon.

The day several boys held me down on my street and ran their bicycles over my legs, to see if I could take it, as if maybe I wasn’t human, that felt like some new horrible level. I don’t remember how that ended or if I ever told anyone, just the feeling of the bicycle tires rolling over the skin of my legs. The day I bragged about my father being a martial artist to my classmates, they locked me in the bathroom and told me to fight my way out with kung fu, calling me “Hong Kong Phooey,” after the cartoon character, as they held the door shut. This was the fourth grade. After I got out of that bathroom and went home, I told my father about it, and he told me it was time to take tae kwon do. I had to learn to defend myself.

I would never be like him, never break boards like him, but for a while, I tried. I still cherish the day he gave me my first gi and showed me how to tie it. I learned I had a natural flexibility, which meant I could easily kick high, and I took pride in my roundhouse and reverse roundhouse kicks. But after a few years, my father took issue with a story he’d heard about my teacher’s arrogance toward his opponents, and he pulled me out of the classes. “It is very dangerous to teach in that spirit,” he told me. And he said something I would never forget. “The best fighter in tae kwon do never fights,” he said. “He always finds another way.”

I have thought about this for a long time. For the ordinary practitioner, tae kwon do and karate prepare you to go about your life, aware of what to do in case of assault. They offer no guarantee, just chances for preparedness in the face of the violence of others as well as the violence within yourself. At the time I felt my father was describing the responsibility that comes with knowing how to hurt someone, but I came to understand it as a principled if conditional non-violence, which, in this year of quarantine and rising racist violence, is one of the clearest legacies he left to me.

Like many of us, I have been trying to write about these most recent attacks on Asian-Americans, some of them in my old neighborhood in New York, and I keep starting and stopping. How do we protect ourselves and those we love? Can writing do that? I know I learned to use my intelligence as a weapon to keep myself safe from racists, starting as a child, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like enough. The violence is like a puzzle with many moving parts, but the stakes are life and death. “You’re really going to homework your way through this one?” I keep asking myself. The people attacking Asians and Asian Americans now are like the boy I met on my first day in the first grade. They don’t care whether or not we are actually Chinese—the primary experience Asian Americans have in common is mis-identification. The person who gets a patriotic ego boost off of calling me a “chink” isn’t going to check if they’re right about me, and I don’t imagine they’ll stop their fist or their gun if I say, “You’re just doing this because of America’s history of war in Asia,” even though we both know this is true. And so I have been thinking of my father and what he taught me.

The most overt way my father fought racism in front of me involved no fighting at all. He founded a group called the Korean American Friendship Association of Maine, which helped new Korean immigrants move to Maine and find work, community, and housing, along with offering lessons on how to open bank accounts, pay taxes, file immigration paperwork, and get drivers’ licenses. For both of my parents, community organizing, activism, and mutual aid like this were commitments they shared and enjoyed and passed along to us, their children, and this led to much of my own work as an activist, teacher, and writer. I am not my father, but I am much as he made me.

There’s a difference between fighting racists and fighting racism. Where my father stayed silent, I have learned I have to speak out, which has felt, even while writing this, a little like betraying him. And as a biracial gay Korean American man, I don’t experience the same identifications or misidentifications he did. I am mistaken for white, or at least “not Asian,” as often as I’m mistaken for Chinese, and have felt like a secret agent as people speak in front of me about Asians in ways they would not otherwise. I learned most of my adult coping strategies for street violence from queer activist organizations after college.

Even as I write, “I wonder if he ever felt fear living in America,” it feels like a betrayal, especially as he isn’t around for me to ask him. I think again about how my father always made a point of dressing well, for example, but it always felt like more than that. Men wearing suits as a kind of armor, that isn’t so strange. He had his suits made at J. Press, wore handmade English leather shoes—shoes that fit me. I sometimes wear them for special occasions. Among my favorite objects of his is a monogrammed J. Press canvas briefcase, the name “CHEE” in embossed leather between the straps. After his father gave him an Omega Constellation watch when I was born, he eventually acquired others. For a time I thought he did this aspirationally, but most of his family in Korea is like this: Well-dressed, with a preference for tailoring and handmade clothes. All of my memories of my uncles coming from the airport to visit us involve them arriving in their blazers.

The first time I followed my father’s advice to wear a sports jacket when flying, I received a spontaneous upgrade. I didn’t have frequent flyer miles and the person checking me in was not flirting with me either. There was nothing but the moment of grace, and the feeling that my father, from beyond the grave, was making a point as I sat down in my new, larger, more spacious seat. Because I had never tried out this advice while he was alive.

Like much of my father’s advice, it came from his keen awareness of social contexts, and it worked. His wardrobe came from the pleasure of a dare more than a disguise. You don’t acquire a black and gold silk brocade smoking jacket in suburban Maine because you want to fit in with your white neighbors. Sometimes his clothes were a charm offensive, sometimes just a sass. The jacket advice may well have been an anticipation of racist treatment, of a piece with perfecting his English so he had no accent, and raising us to speak only English. My mother spoke more Korean to us as children than he did—a remnant of her time living in Seoul.

Now that I am old enough to choose to learn Korean, I still feel like a child disobeying him, just as I do when I dress too casually, or acknowledge that I’ve experienced racism. I know I am just making different choices, as you do when you are grown, but also, I am stepping out from behind his program to protect myself. I feel the fears he never spoke about, and instead simply addressed with what now look like tactics. At these moments I miss him as much as I ever do, but especially for how I would tell him, this may have protected you. It won’t protect me.

In my kitchen the other day, as I was making coffee, I fell into the ready stance, with my right foot back, left foot forward, and snapped my right leg up and out in a front snap kick. This is the basic first kick you learn in tae kwon do. And you do it again, and again, and again, until it is muscle memory. You move across the room this way and then turn to begin again.

I wasn’t sure if my form was exactly right, but it felt good. Memories came back of the sweaty smell of the practice room, the other students, the mirrors on the walls, the fluorescent lights. All those years ago, I had thought my father had put me in those classes in order to become him, but as I sent my practice kicks through the air, I remembered how even learning them made me feel safer, protected at least by the knowledge that he loved me. I could not have said this at the time, but after those attacks, I had feared I wasn’t strong enough to be his son.

I still fear that. I suppose it drives me, even now. It is dehumanizing to insist on your humanity, even and perhaps especially now, and so I am not doing that here. Each time I’ve tried to write even this, a rage takes over, and then the only thing I want to do with my hands doesn’t involve writing, and I stop. But I know from learning to fight that hitting someone else means using yourself to do it. My father’s advice, about fighting being the last resort, has given me another lesson: You turn yourself into the weapon when you strike someone else—in the end, another way to erase yourself—and so you do that last. In the meantime, you fight that first fight with yourself, for yourself.

You may never be able to protect what you love, but at least you can try. At least you will be ready.

Alexander Chee is most recently the author of the essay collection How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. A novelist and essayist, he teaches at Dartmouth College and lives in Vermont.

#asian-american #anti-asian hate #racism in america #alexander chee #long reads

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

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Oh, Calamity!

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Your death breaks Loki, and all he wants is for you to come back to him. Warnings: short, but pure angst; mentions of death and blood A/N: inspired by the song Oh, Calamity! by All Time Low. It’s written a bit different from usual style, but felt right for what this was. Hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki had been planning on being king from a very young age. One thing he never considered, though, was needing someone to rule beside him. And then he met you.

After the Battle of New York and a brief imprisonment, Loki was able to straighten things out with Thor, who then convinced their father to release him. The only condition was that he had to live among those who he viewed as so inferior to himself. Naturally, that stirred some trouble on Midgard, but they were able to reach an understanding; Loki would work as an Avenger and serve humanity, so to speak. No one was too pleased with that arrangement, Loki least of all. Most days, the God of Mischief was relegated to his room or the library, alone and untrusted. Thor was kept busy protecting all the realms, though he did visit Earth quite often. Loki hated to admit it, but those times were the most bearable. Then, one day, you joined the team, and the rest of his time became far more enjoyable.

“Mind if I join you?” you’d asked your first night in the Tower.

He didn’t respond with anything but a small gesture of his hand, signaling for you to sit next to him. So it went for many nights, both of you reading on a common room couch. Neither of you said anything to each other until one day you showed up with the same book. You struck up a conversation with him that lasted into the early morning hours. He didn’t want to enjoy it, but he did. Thus started your new routine of reading the same thing, almost like your own mini book club. The conversations eventually led to things beyond your reading material, and then one day you kissed him. Despite the disapproval of the rest of the Avengers, you began to date. Finally, Loki felt like he had a place on Midgard.

But that was all in the past now, and Loki was left with nothing but his memories to keep him company. He could still hear your last conversation playing in his head.

“Why are you acting like this?” you’d asked, teary eyed after Loki had pushed you away yet again. “Every time I think we’re close, you act like a stranger.”

“Try as you might, you cannot change what I am.”

“No. I guess not.”

It was the last thing you said before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind you. He wanted to chase after you, but convinced himself you would be better off without him. Told himself he was too much of a wreck for you, that he’d just ruin you. Now he wonders why he ever dared leave it there. You left for a mission the next day, the last one you’d ever go on.

Loki was waiting in the hangar for you, watching as the rest of your team got off the ship. He immediately noticed the tears in their eyes, but no one could speak of whatever tragedy had occurred. But he knew, even before it became obvious that you would not appear on the ramp. As if possessed, he walked onto the ship. Your limp body was the first thing he saw, draped across the seats of the plane. He knelt beside you and grabbed your ice-cold hand, eyes landing on the blood soaking your shirt. A wound, far too close to your now silent heart. Thor came up behind him and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder as a lone tear stained Loki’s cheek.

“Come, brother. It will do you no good to stay here.”

There was nothing Loki could say. His mouth was dry and his tongue heavy, and any words he tried to speak choked him. He began to sob.

“I am sorry, my love. Please come back to me. I am so sorry,” he repeated over and over as Thor dragged him away.

By the time he reached his room, he was completely hysterical. Desperate to be alone, he threw his brother out and began his rampage, taking out his anger on the expensive furniture and decor. Broken glass on the floor cut his hands and knees as he crawled over to the now cracked frame holding a picture of you, his beloved. He stayed there all night and into the next day, just staring at your face that would never smile at him again.

He ate nothing for days, his throat and eyes raw from crying. He managed to piece himself together well enough for your funeral, though he was unable to deliver your eulogy. He wanted to, but there was nothing he could say that would do you justice, that would make up for what he had done. Everyone offered their condolences to Loki, to which he responded with a numb nod of his head. It felt surreal, like he was walking underwater or in a never-ending nightmare. Everything was foggy.

Out of habit, Loki still talked to you often, speaking to the air, half-expecting a response. Deep down he knew, of course, that you would never answer again, but most days it felt like the only thing tethering him to his miserable life.

“It is like when I first came to Midgard, my love. I am terribly lonely. When will I see you again? I miss you. I love you.”

He was still in the habit of calling you, too, on the wretched cellphone you’d insisted on getting him. He was met with only dial tones, though somehow he kept hoping to hear you say hello. Those were always his greatest moments, he realized, the ones when you were with him. Now he struggled to find the reason why you were so violently taken from him.

Much like his sleepless nights, his days were spent in solitude. Every corner he turned, he saw your face, but it was just an illusion created by his tortured mind. He saw you in his dreams, too, when he finally slumbered, but even there you never recognized him. Sometimes he’d dream of you sitting in a peaceful field, and you’d offer him a seat.

“You seem familiar, as if I know you. But I don’t, do I?” you’d ask, quirking your head.

“You were the only one that did,” he’d reply before waking up in a cold sweat.

He knew why the dream went like that. He was still haunted by the way you’d called him a stranger. By the way he had been acting like one. By the way he let you walk out without saying what he really wanted. He loved you and he would until the day he died, and only then could he be reunited with you. But through the calamity of your death there was only one thing he wished for.

“Please, my love,” went his usual desperate plea, “come back to me.”

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schrijverr · 3 years ago

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And finally see what it means to be living

Eliot’s life, from his teen years to the disillusionment of the military through the soulless wetwork all the way to his team, seen through his connection to the song Fast Carby Tracy Chapman.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed any

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eliot remembered being a teen, lying on the grass in the middle of the night, having snuck out with a radio with as excuse to his father that he was with a lady friend. That was if he even cared to ask, which was never the case, but just to be safe.

He remembered one night in particular, the one that made him come back out there with the radio each night, hoping they would play the song he wished to hear most as he lay under the galaxy, wishing he was far away, among the stars.

It had been a bright night with clear skies, a full moon and a million stars in the sky. He was lying on his blanket, some radio station played that he tuned out most of the time. Then the radio announcer had said: “Next up is Fast Carby Tracy Chapman, gotta warn y’all it’s one for the heart.” And somehow it had gotten his attention and he’d listened.

He’d listened, yet somehow he’d felt heard.

Right there on the radio had been someone, who was stuck in a town as well, with a shit father, who wanted nothing more than to live and get out.

While he had nobody but himself to get him out of there, the song gave him hope. He hadn’t heard the full lyrics, but enough to hit home. The radio announcer had been right when he’d said it was one for the heart.

You got a fast car And I got a plan to get us out of here I been working at the convenience store Managed to save just a little bit of money We won't have to drive too far Just 'cross the border and into the city You and I can both get jobs And finally see what it means to be living

He found himself humming the song, singing the second verse under his breath the next day, letting the feeling of the song build up in his chest and carry him through the day as plans of getting away swirled in his mind.

Even now he knew that his best out was either a sports scholarship or the military and he wasn’t a college man. He also knew that his father would never let him join, so he’d have to wait until he was eighteen before flying away.

While he might not have a fast car, he and a few of his buddies had boosted one often enough that he could find one when the time came, he just had to get there first. Just until he was eighteen, then he was out of there and far away, for now he would just work at the hardware store and save the money to get out of here.

Anxiously, he had waited until he could sneak out again after that night, tuning into the same radio station, hoping it would be played again.

They didn’t play the song the first night, nor the one after that, but the third night they did. He was sitting next to the radio, armed with a tape recorder that he smashed on the moment the announcer introduced the song.

Afterwards, he played the song so often on his Walkman that the tape wore down until he had to record it onto a new one.

The late nights under the stars, alone with his dreams, stayed. He still played the radio on the same station that had first played Fast Car, but he often found himself listening to the tape, repeating it until he had enough peace to rest.

His mind got stuck on the first part of the song after a while:

You got a fast car I want a ticket to anywhere Maybe we make a deal Maybe together we can get somewhere Any place is better Starting from zero got nothing to lose Maybe we'll make something But me myself I got nothing to prove

He repeated the words to himself, alone in his room or in the safety in his mind whenever the world got too much. Well, his dad got too much.

Then he would just grit his teeth and tell himself that he had nothing to prove and that any place would be better, he just had to go somewhere. Didn’t matter that he started at zero, just like her, he would live.

Just a year more then he’d be eighteen.

Eliot had never belonged in that small stuffy town, no matter how well he played his part. He was never that into football or the girls at the school. He went through the motions, but wasn’t built for settling down, for taking over the store and staying there forever.

For a while he thought that Aimee got that, that she got him and that they would achieve the dream together and get away from the town where everyone knew everyone and the only good thing were the horses.

She was also done with some of the people at school, though she went to church and she loved the horses and maybe he should have thought more about it when he mentioned leaving and she stayed quiet, but he wanted to get out so bad that he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to stay.

So, slowly he started to picture them, in a car – maybe even one he’d bought – driving on the highway, the town disappearing the rear view mirror as they went off to see what it meant to be living.

It was a dream that got crushed.

Aimee wanted him to stay, tried to talk of the horses and what they could built and he’d just listened dumbly and nodded.

Faintly he heard himself making her a promise about coming back then and giving her the ring he’d bought for her birthday, hoping to make it real in a church that was not run by the same Father he’d been forced to confess his sins to since he was a boy.

And he wondered how he had ended up there when he had always told her about his dream of being far away.

But then again, maybe he hadn’t told her. Maybe to her, he was complaining about the town just like she did, like everyone did. Maybe in her mind she had built a future like he had, just on a different set, cast in different rolls. Maybe neither had said enough.

He snuck out again that night and laid in the field, his field. He lay on the wet grass and stared at the constellations he knew so well, wondering why the endless sky suddenly seemed less a place of escape and just another facet of his stupid town where everyone but him seemed to want to stay.

His mind was just not comprehending how anyone couldn't see there was so much more than what was around them. That there was more than church on Sunday, the footballs games, the potlucks or the gossip that had been recycled a thousand times.

On the tape Tracy Chapman sang:

You got a fast car But is it fast enough so we can fly away We gotta make a decision We leave tonight or live and die this way

He’d heard the lyrics a million times, but that night it was those lyrics that hit him in the heart, more than it usually did.

Aimee was a fool. He had a fast car, he could get out, fly away, just a few more days and he’d be gone. If she didn’t want to come that was her decision and that was fine, but it didn’t have to be Eliot’s. He wouldn’t remain here.

He would not.

‘Weleave tonight or live and die this way’ that’s what Tracy sung and he’d already known on that night when he’d first heard the song that he would be driving off alone. He had tricked himself into thinking Aimee would come, but there had never been a we. Not for Eliot.

So on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he told his dad he was enlisting and fought with him, trying not to think of the lyrics ‘somebody’s got to take care of him,’ because even Tracy had seen she’d deserved better.

Still, even after he packed the last of his stuff, he swung by Aimee, asking her again, more urgent, more permanent, before promising he’d back for her. In case she needed him or if she’d changed her mind.

Then he was gone, off into the sunset. And as he tore down the highway, a tune blasted out of the radio.

I remember we were driving driving in your car The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk City lights lay out before us And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder And I had a feeling that I belonged And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

And his foot on the gas peddle was intoxicating. He was going so fast that it was dangerous, but he didn’t care. He was riding to his future, to far off places and adventures. He was going to be someone.

That idea lasted approximately the ten weeks it took to train them, before shipping them out to an active war zone.

Though it had been chipped at relentlessly before already. Quite hard to be a someone in a cohesive unit. Not that it mattered to Eliot, he had a place to belong now, while his dream hadn’t matched Tracy’s, he was glad she had gotten him to this, with his brother’s in arms, even through all the horrors.

Yet, despite all she’d done for him, he forgot her and Fast Car.

There was not much room to listen to your own music and he was already a country hick, so he didn’t really need to amplify that more with a country music station.

He was fine fitting in the way he did. He wrote to Aimee, even if it was less and less, letters filled with empty promises made out of a sense of obligation to her and home. He didn’t speak to his father, nor his siblings. He stayed far away from everyone as his hands colored a dark red on foreign soil.

His bright and promising military career soon turned into a promotion to black ops where he didn’t exist to the government unless he came back.

The color of his hands didn’t change, it just got more pigmented as it dripped until wetwork was just a step to a better future. He had already killed so many people, getting paid almost nothing for a government that didn’t care. Why not do it for more money?

So, he had emptied his soul, filled it with money he didn’t truly need and more enemies around him, hoping it would be enough.

He had disappeared completely.

Eliot Spencer was no more, not really.

The man might still walk the earth, but anyone who met him didn’t live to tell the tale, so friendship was hard to come by. Maybe that’s why Moreau was such a welcome change in his life. There was a man, who might be powerful, but who would never have enough security against Eliot, smiling at him and offering him friendship – with money and a bit of violence thrown in – like Eliot was just another being he could own.

And by god did Eliot want to be owned. He once more longed to belong like he had done in the army, but he no longer was innocent enough for the army, which was an ironic sentiment that was true enough to hurt.

He had walked through pools of blood he had made, hoping no one would follow the bloody footsteps he left behind, but here there were others, who had walked through the same red sea as he had and who found each other under Moreau.

It was brutal work, soulless too. It was nothing more than destruction in exchange for power that was a fire with no ash left behind, just bare rock where nothing grew.

And Eliot was home.

Later, in a future he didn’t know he could have, when feeling returned to his limbs and he saw how his pools of blood had turned into seas had turned into floods and it was too late to turn back. Only then would he look back and hate himself, but not now.

Now Eliot was on top of the world. Sitting at the side of the most feared and most powerful of the underbelly of the underbelly, while remaining in an bright spotlight was the best place to be. He was untouchable and unfeeling.

He had always been weak for belonging, for seeing the world and making someone of himself and Moreau was the best salesman there was. He sold Eliot a unfulfilled dream with labor for Moreau as payment without the hitter every realizing.

So he went through the motions. He got more skills, he learned new things. He stopped enjoying life, though he would only later come to know that.

Eliot Spencer had disappeared under Moreau and not just from the records. He was no longer the boythat had driven out of a small town in Oklahoma to sign up for the army in the hope of being more than his neighbor.

Though, he supposed he had his dream. In a way. Here he was, more traveled than he could have ever hoped for with experiences so far from the norm that no one from his class could have ever matched his tales.

He had become what he had always dreamed to be, so why did he feel so hollow?

The answer came to him in the most horrific way he could imagine. He’d just pulled the trigger, he kept on doing it like he was supposed to but oh god- he’d done that. He killed them and he hadn’t even given them the time to beg, to spark humanity in his heart, because his heart had died long ago.

He needed to get out.

He needed to get far away from there.

From Moreau.

Why it had to be so extreme before he could finally see, he didn’t know. But it had. It had to get terrible, unforgivable. He had to see that the man he had been and wanted to be, was dead and that he was a devil with no chance at salvation.

As a hollow shell he’d ran. For a long time he had wondered if it was worth it to keep running, but slowly the people who chased him dwindled as less and less returned, until he knew he had been given a second chance. A chance to make it right.

It was Toby, who hammered in that lesson. The man might not have knownEliot’s complete tale, but he was familiar with the haunted look in his eyes, so he took Eliot under his wing and showed him how his hands were made for more than violence.

Eliot laid his guns down there and took up a knife, vowing to only fight where he could get hit in return, level the playing field. He’d never liked the power that came with a gun and now he wouldn't pick one up again to be tempted by that voice.

He wouldn't be that man anymore. He refused. He would stay in Toby’s kitchen for now, figure out a plan that would carry him forwards as a better person. Not good, just better.

So it came to be that, one night, when he was alone in the kitchen, slicing up some onions for the prep for the next day, while tune played on the radio.

At first he hadn’t even recognized it, but still he listenedclosely, now scoffing at some of the lyrics, until one of the last verses played.

You got a fast car And I got a job that pays all our bills You stay out drinking late at the bar See more of your friends than you do of your kids I'd always hoped for better Thought maybe together you and me would find it I got no plans I ain't going nowhere So take your fast car and keep on driving

How ironic, he thought. He had always been so focused on the start of the song, on the getting out and leaving everything behind that he had never fully listened to the ending. To the fact that Tracy never got the ending she’d wanted.

He’d been stupid to think he’d ever get a happy ending. He’d been far less deserving off it and fate was never kind. He always prided himself on knowing better, but he’d been more foolish than anyone in his class.

‘I’d always hoped for better.’

And by god, he had. He had wanted so much, dreamed so big and set goals so unobtainable that he would always have keep on climbing.

So maybe he had never been Tracy, maybe he’d been the dick that had promised her the world and then never delivered. He thought of Aimee and how he had never been a settler, but someone that kept on disappointing and leaving.

The far car had not always been a car in his life, but he had always been on the road, always had been going somewhere, or maybe he’d just been running away.

Maybe now he had stopped running? Though, if he hadn’t been running, he’d been hiding. Here in Toby’s kitchen he had made a little haven away from everyone that had hurt him and that he had hurt. And he didn’t deserve that. Not after what he did.

Eliot made a vow to himself that night, listening to Fast Carin the back of a restaurant, both reminiscent and nothing like when he had first heard it. He would leave there and face the world, never kill again, just survive and try to do better.

He could at least try to do better.

So, he said goodbye to Toby and went off into the world. Toby wouldn’t go anywhere, but Eliot had to. He would remember Toby, however, carry him with him whenever he ate a new dish or went on a grift as a cook. It was a good time, one of the best he’d had since the army, maybe even since Aimee.

Still, he didn’t look back, not to her or Toby. He had things to do, people to help, as well as himself a bit. All of his funds from working from Moreau had disappeared and he needed to survive if he wanted to repent.

Somehow that road led him to a prick named Nate Ford and a job to get the plans of a plane back. It led him to Hardison, a nerd he liked more than he wanted to admit, and Parker, who made him smile with her antics as well as give him heart problems. It led him to Sophie, who had so many masks that he could relate to her and feel safe in his nobody-ness.

It led him to a team, more than a team really. After a while it reminded him of the army with all his brothers, family was closer, but he had no reference for family, except them.

Even Aimee told him they were, because he’d come back to help her when she needed him and part of him felt lighter on that promise fulfilled. It felt like a start. Not a new start, because it would never be fair to everyone he’d hurt to erase those sins like that, but it felt like he had a bucket and soap and the color of his hands might fade to a light pink one day.

And Eliot worked.

He pushed himself into more grifting, learned a bit of hacking, scaled building hanging from a tiny rope and learned to think of more than just strategic exits and weaknesses in physique. He completed the jobs they were hired to do and he helped people.

What he had dreamed off when he had first joined the army, he found at Leverage. He found family, a home, a sense of duty and belonging. He was changing the world for the better.

It was amazing and more than he had ever hoped for himself, even on those nights alone with the radio, he couldn't have hoped it would end like this. He was someone. He practically had his own brewpub and a recent memory he could be proud off.

And he was proud as he reminisced alone in the kitchen of their office/apartment, where he was preparing some stuff for dinner for the next day. It was late and once this was done and in the fridge, he was done for today, but it would take a few more minutes.

Impulsively he put on the song on the speakers like Hardison had showed him. He hadn’t listen again since Toby, when he blamed himself and found himself on the other end of the song, but maybe now it would be different.

You got a fast car And we go cruising to entertain ourselves You still ain't got a job And I work in a market as a checkout girl I know things will get better You'll find work and I'll get promoted We'll move out of the shelter Buy a big house and live in the suburbs

Before he had never related to her dreams, just her drive to get away and make something of herself, but he could understand now. If he ever got too old for his job, then he wouldn't mind living the way he was now, with Hardison and Parker in the brewpub, making his own menu’s, serving people food.

He knew that for Tracy, she had to tell someone to leave, before she could make a move to get there. Still, he liked the verse now more than before. It spoke of a hope, of a view of the future and a certainty about the destination.

The lyrics he had scoffed at when he had just left Moreau, were dear to him now. ‘I know things will get better,’ it was stupid, but maybe- maybe Eliot could believe in that too now.

Without thinking, he put the song on repeat, before gathering the supplies for his marinade as he danced a bit around in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to catch him.

So, he remembered the stupid boy he had been, the heartless man who had forgotten and guy he was becoming now. Until the end of the song:

You got a fast car But is it fast enough so you can fly away You gotta make a decision You leave tonight or live and die this way

And it wasn’t the way the lyric was intended to land and Eliot’s life had went down a way different road than Tracy’s, but those lyrics where him.

He had a thousand ways to leave and had left a thousand more. He could fly away if he wanted, but it was in the fact that he had run that he had found strength. He was no longer a faceless soldier in the army or Moreau’s attack dog. He was Eliot Spencer and he was alive.

There had been a million moments when he could have made a different decision, but he hadn’t and even when it seemed he had been running away all his life, maybe he’d just been running towards this instead.

‘Leave tonight or live and die this way.’

Huh, he wouldn't mind dying for these people, he wouldn't mind living for these people. He was content to be and never leave. All those times he’d snuck out and dreamed, he had never dreamed here, but he was someone and he had found a place to belong.

So he made the decision and stayed. Till his dying day and all that.

A/N:

I love Christian Kane’s cover of Fast Car so much and I played in on repeat while writing this. The original version of the song also still has a soft place in my heart though.

((the song is not in order and some parts are missing, but you know, you don’t always learn a song in the right order and other parts speak to you at different times))

#RR writing #Eliot Spencer #Fast Car #Leverage #Fast Car by Tracy Chapman #leverage tv

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