#the actual rhyme is : something old something new something borrowed something blue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peeterparkr · 3 years

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memories & misconceptions|tom holland

chapter one: right where you left me. friends get married

↳ read here where Tom was before the wedding. (harry styles fic)

I am so excited for this! As you all know PERENNIAL is ending but I’m beyond excited for this new fic, I hope you like it as much as me! Please comment and share!

This is a 2 fics in one, meaning I’ll write Tom’s fic and @erodasghosts will write a Harry Styles fic. It’s a choose your y/n, let’s say. The y/n for Tom will be named Thea on Harry’s fic, and Harry’s y/n is named Kat in this one. The stories are connected, it’s a group of friends coming back to an old town. story summary: After you were foolish enough to believe a summer would be followed by a romance, and that a friendship would become something more, you promised you’d never open up again. Not to Tom, at least. You’d keep your feelings in songs. And when everyone left, you were left with no choice but to stay on that old stupid town and build yourself a new life. So when Tom happens to be driving the perfect getaway car to escape the fantasy, you might be able to mend your friendship and perchance finally admit your true feelings for him.

chapter summary: You became the girl who lives in delusion, who got frozen, who got stuck. Time went on for everybody else but now you’re a bride who you barely recognize. Forgotten and broken friends are back to see you walk into the perfect fantasy. If you can make it through, that is.

pairing: band member! tom holland x y/n

friends to enemies to strangers to lovers idiots to lovers

warnings: smoking, angsty, wedding word count: 11.1k

story masterlist.

prologue next chapter

playlists: y/n | tom

wanna be tagged?

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe.”

You had been humming to yourself for the past half hour, even if it was ironic, the rhyme seemed charming and calming enough to make you forget the actual nightmare accompanied with it. Those were the only words concerning the event that you could bear, at least those rhymed.

The other ones like “There she is, the blushing bride.” Were not singeable, or not enough at least.. Though they were always said with joy and sweetness, and often accompanied by a wrinkled-eye smile and giggles. They were so blaring, and you usually never knew how to respond. You’d often just give them a worried smile followed by a deep breath.

You have had trouble breathing for a while, every time the subject came on. Your chest was tied, and you felt lonely. You were not ready.

Door locked, lights dimmed, music playing as you were trying not to lose the sanity that was left. Rushing, pacing around, your hands shaking, your chest sinking down, as you were trying to understand the current situation. Everything was packed now. Almost.

Shaking, shaking, shaking. Running out of breath. ‘Young Turks’ by Rod Stewart was playing in the background. A song that made you particularly happy.

“What else….?” You asked yourself as the night snuck from your window. Seemed like darkness was all left, and not the kind you liked. You wished you could talk to Kat. She would know what to say. But you were on your own.

But suddenly, you had to stop, a certain song started playing.‘Dreams’, The Cranberries..

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not that song.”

You hadn’t listened to that song in years. You quickly reached for your phone and realized you really were playing the forbidden playlist. You let the song play faded in the background, as you caught your reflection on the mirror, mirror with pictures of your friends, when you were young and happy. Pictures with Kat, with Andrew, with Harry… and with Tom, who seemed to be the very owner of the song that had caught you off rhythm. The owner to the reason as to why you had stopped listening to that song.

Pictures of the five of you, those pictures from that photobooth, back when the five of you didn’t care that you didn’t actually fit in that booth but you’d made it work.

You looked away, feeling guilty. Tom’s words were echoing through your room, fading with the song.

“You are not this,” he said.

You ignored it, changed the song and playlist and kept your gaze running through the room, a room that had not changed a lot through the years, but had been a witness to your own light being dimmed. You focused on your pictures with Nicholas, your future husband. His lips on your cheek, your cheek against his, with the brightest smile.

“I should pack those,” you said to yourself and continued the rhyme.

You were getting married. The very next day, you’d be walking down an aisle, where you’d say ‘I do’, the one sentence that was reduced to something so banal, the day you’d start your ‘happily ever after’.

How bloody terrifying.

“Something borrowed….”

The wedding dress was hanging, contending to be worn the next day, with those pearls and with those yellow carnations. You looked away but then your hand still had the ring on your hand, another casual reminder. How funny, an actual engagement ring, not a ring pop, like the ones you used to use when you played ‘wedding’ with Kat, when you were children. How many times had you not dreamed of this day. You were getting what you wanted, weren’t you? A perfect life.

A life where you were wanted.

The mirror was still staring at you, as if it was calling you out because you didn’t recognize your reflection. You decided to play the music again, to find yourself there. You barely felt like yourself anymore, whoever the perfect fiancée y/n was supposed to be had taken over you. A vague memory of who you were hung around the room, colored walls, music sheets and song lyrics, and those pictures of people who you thought you once knew. Whose life had continued. Owners of the music on the playlist, from Fleetwood Mac, thanks to Harry, 90’s and other divas like Madonna, courtesy of Andrew, The Beach Boys, thanks to Kat, 50’s thanks to you, 80’s to Tom and any song that the group decided that would fit you. Young Turks was a kind of anthem to the five of you.

You stared at the boxes. Still a lot to pack. Your blue heart was a stranger to you, covered in lies and deteriorated, a pondering heart insecure of the madness. Your heart wanted to listen to the music.

“Something old, something borrowed…. No, something blue?” The rhyme was forgotten.

You had to concentrate and calm yourself. The wedding was going to be perfect.

They had planned this for months. Perfect wedding. From the flowers on the aisle to the centerpieces that would be criticized by friends, because weddings though they are meant to bring joy it often brings the unsolicited attention from the envious bickering bitches.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. But would it? It seemed but an extension of the life you’d had now. You hoped you’d be happy.

Because your life had only been this plain existence. Nothing exciting, nothing thrilling anymore. Nothing like the life you used to have. You were still Y/N…. No, you were not.

You were a bride. But you weren’t y/n.

Everyone you cared for would be there. Almost everyone. People had come from the far off places they lived at now, like your best friends. The ones in the pictures hanging around in your room. The people who seemed to be the only light that could guide your way. The best people in the world, you’d often describe them.

The people who had left with part of you. Maybe that was why your mind could not be found right now.

But they were back. The best people in the world would finally come back to you. Harry, Andrew… and Kat.

Four out of five.

Friends. Or—people who used to be friends. Even if they had left and if you had stayed. Even if their stories had continued, with new poems, new clothes, new friends, new music muses. Turning pages.

Not you, you had stayed. With no choice to leave. Still same old perfect y/n. Or an attempt to be, for someone at least.

They were back, 3 of 4 at least you were sure, had shown up. After years of scarcely seeing each other you would finally be together. Four out of five seemed good enough.

Tom had not responded to your invitation. Not right away, at least. And then one day he answered.

“Congrats. I’m not sure if I can make it.”

You knew he wouldn’t. And what even was that response? So cold.Even if he’d always been cold.

Though they’d all left, Tom had been the one to truly leave you. And everyone else, really. Harry had said it was because Tom was not a friend person, sometimes you even regretted caring so much, but you always thought you’d remain friends. You had always been. Even when he broke your heart, you had remained friends. Not that he knew he’d broken your heart. Such shattering things they are, silent heartbreaks.

He could be a friend, like he had been after it, he could be one if he dared to show up at your wedding. There was a part in you that wished for it, for him to come and realize you were still there. But he wouldn’t.

Because you had pushed Tom away, with good reason. Or maybe not, maybe it was but your pride, and maybe Tom had been right about every very thing he’d said to you, but you wouldn’t admit that, not to him. Not to anyone.

His own words were shattering your head, echoing your deepest fears.

“You’re bullshit, y/n.”

You were complete bullshit, there was no choice left for you, because no one seemed to comprehend the piercing dreams that you loved to daydream about to forget about the illusion you had to pull. Easier to live in a fantasy.

You knew that Tom would see past the farce, had he shown up, he would’ve known what to say, and you know you would’ve loved to hear it. That was a lie.

Though Tom often didn’t care about anything, you knew he could—or he had cared at some point for you. He probably didn’t now. And he wouldn’t like the y/n you were today.

But maybe this was the most y/n you could be. The mess. Not the perfect y/n.

Y/N who had no inkling of what to do next, y/n who simply wanted to collapse.

Maybe Tom had been right, the perfect y/n was bullshit. This mess was who you were.

“No, no—something new,” you continued. You would not start thinking about Tom. It would only add to the mess. And though you were a disaster you knew you could not be a disaster tonight. This was the moment when you had to be perfect. The y/n everyone knew. Perfect little y/n.

He hadn’t come anyway, why should you even give him a thought? Your pride was bigger.

4 out of 5.

At some point you thought neither Kat or Andrew would show up either.

Harry had. He was the ‘maid of honor’. After you’d fought with Kat, he had given himself the title. You hadn’t offered. He had just decided it. On brand for him, honestly.

It had been weird. Your best friend, Kat, for the first time, had not talked to you in months. It had all happened so quickly, and you were still angry. You still had invited her, though. And she did come.

You missed her the most. Because Kat was the one person you never thought you’d lose. Everyone would come and go, but not Kat. Kat was supposed to be your constant. Now she was out of your sight too. It hurt the most to lose her. It was your fault. Or maybe hers.

Kat had been your best friend for better or for worse, friends before even memory granted you to remember. It was always the two of you, ironic how you had fallen apart over an argument you didn’t even remember. Kat was usually a guidance. She was free, and open minded. She had her life solved, she was decisive, and even if she wasn’t she would make everyone believe that she was. Kat was perseverant, which could be translated into being very stubborn. Honestly, Kat was the baddest bitch to ever step in town, but she was cold and she knew you from head to toe, she probably was the only one to know without you actually having to admit out loud, your… thoughts on Tom years ago, not that there were any, but if one was to appear, she’d know. She knew you thought Tom was an idiot, that’s it.

Kat was beautiful, fierce, intelligent. Everyone around it saw it. Even… Tom. Which is probably why you often avoided thoughts concerning Tom.

You didn’t blame him. Kat was incredible. But you did blame her for your falling, because one can only give so much love to someone that won’t love you back.

She knew you perfectly, which was often a blessing. Until it wasn’t, hence why you’d fallen apart. Ish.

Kat had had the perfect life, until she blew it off, probably because she was too blinded to see it. Kat often lost things because she never let herself feel, and when she did, she exploded and hurt everyone around her. Often you and Harry.

You weren’t sure if you were going through what you called ‘a friendship breakup’, which might be even worse than actual relationship breakup. At least with relationships the breakup is talked about.

There is no: “It’s not you, it’s me.”, or no “You deserve better”. No, the problem with friendship breakups is you never formalize them, and just one day, you simply fade out.

You’d had them with both Kat and Tom now. You’d been holding your breath ever since.

At least with Tom you had said the words: “I never want to see you again.”

You hadn’t meant it. You wished he knew you hadn’t meant it. But maybe it had been the wisest choice. Finally letting him go.

But Tom was proud and an idiot. He’d been the first one to leave you, even when you had been there for him even when a summer hadn’t been enough. Him and Harry had a band, you used to like singing to-with him, you could breathe with him. But he was an idiot…Which only meant you missed him more, from time to time, but you wouldn’t tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. He had been an asshole before he left, without even saying goodbye. Without any warning.

So you decided you’d have your own pride for your own. And for your own heart.

He had been the only one you hadn’t seen since they’d all left. You were sure he would not come to the wedding. He had changed, probably. But at least there had been some sort of friendship breakup.

And with Kat it simply happened. After her breakup with Harry, she simply decided to put the blame on you. She let the emotions grow too far and then exploded. You were the casualty. Or maybe you’d grown tired of her, too. Blaming you for one more thing.

You were to blame for her breakup with Harry, she said. Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to encourage her to go to Paris. Because she always judged. She never spoke her feelings, and she would lose Harry, and she did.

Nothing you could do now. She probably did not care about losing you.

And there was Andrew, the fifth member. The only one who hadn’t changed, who hadn’t let life get in his way. The happiest of the five of you, probably the only one with a brain cell of his own.

You knew both of you could always count on each other. But he probably was on Kat’s side. But he was your future brother in law, he’d have to change lanes soon.

You thought Andrew wouldn’t come because Andrew had never liked Nicholas, even though Nicholas was his step brother. No one liked Nicholas. But Andrew was, unlike all of them, unconditional. And it was his brother, after all. So he had to show up.

There was a part of you that believed that Kat and you would eventually solve it. You had not, yet. She probably didn’t want to. She didn’t need you in her new life.

It probably would not help that her ex was your maid of honor. But even if no one understood, you had accepted it because you couldn’t afford losing another friend, and you knew that Harry, even if he only cared for himself, would be one.

It had all gone downhill after they'd left years ago to live in London, leaving you behind, with your very own loneliness, and Nick. At first, everything was fine, with all of them, except for Tom, of course. Whom you’d lost even before he’d left.

But then… it just broke apart. Kat had said the friendship had fallen apart because you hadn’t left. You blamed it on yourself too.

But 3 out of 4 showed up.

Not Tom, though. And it...barely hurt now. You would’ve thought that he would’ve. But you had said it, that you never wanted to see him, ever again.

You were great at losing friendships. Who’d be next? Andrew? Harry?

There was always that thought in your head. How the best of friends had drifted apart, how much you missed them, and how you probably didn’t belong with them anymore. You still talked from time to time, but you guessed that being the only one who stayed gave you some sort of disadvantage.

They had their lives in the city, jobs and busy lives and probably new friends. They’d all become distant. To you, at least. Why wouldn’t they? You were nothing new, silent in that corner, standing there perfectly, with that life that seemed picture perfect. Nothing new.

While they were actually living.

They would not even remember the perfect days, with music blasting from Harry’s car, as you all hung out in that one place no one knew, just to laugh with each other, no worries of what the future had ahead. You would remember, sometimes.

But you knew they’d grown past the need of remembering. They were all different now, not you, though.

But it didn’t matter now.

You….were getting married. New memories. Perfect y/n.

Though everything was perfect, it didn’t feel like it, however, everyone feels nervous before their wedding day. Therefore, you adjudged your current actions to the usual anxiety that came with weddings. Even if you were thinking of running away tonight, before anyone could stop you, so impulsive.

The thought had come to your head, ‘run away, y/n’, and it hadn’t left.

And it wasn’t because of Nick. You loved him. But the thought of walking down an aisle to a perfect play pretend was horrifying. You needed to get away. You needed to be a mess.

“Princess, I’m home!!” you’d heard someone yelling outside your house. You had specifically asked not to be bothered. You’d asked everyone to leave you alone. But only one goddamn person in this world called you princess.

You felt your heart stop as you stared at the mess your room was. You thought of jumping out the window and run away already.

“Y/N, it’s Harry, open the fucking door,” he yelled. “y/n! Princess! I-I’ll bloody-”

You opened the window to see him standing there, you peaked your head out.

“Harry?” You asked, surprised.

“No, the Wicked witch of the west, idiot, o’ course it’s me, bloody ‘ell, open the door,” he said.

“No.”

“Y/N, I’m the maid of honor, open the door.”

He would be able to help, he’d know what to do in this situation. And he was the maid of honor. You ran to open the door to him, and before he could do anything, you jumped to hug him. He was surprised, but hugged back anyway.

“What? A bloody minute ago you didn’t fuckin’ want me and now you’re-I won’t even ask.”

“I’m a mess,” you stated. But when you pulled back you realized he was a mess, too. He seemed off. Which was odd coming from him.

“Yes, you are, that’s no news, darling, now can we talk about what’s important here?”

“Right, I’m getting married-”

“No, why the fuck did you invite Kat to the wedding?” He stated, angrily.

Of course, he would not care about the obvious. This was Harry. You could only roll your eyes at him. Maybe this would help. He’d be able to get your mind elsewhere.

“She was my best friend,” you stated.

“Ah, so what am I, then? Fuck Andrew, Tom and me, huh?” He scowled but immediately smirked, laughing cockily. “Ah, no, never mind—Right Tom and you aren’t friends anymore. He is exiled.”

“Harry I don’t-” you felt your cheeks boil up as you shook your head. “I’m going to ignore that.”

“Weren’t you two angry at each other?” He questioned. “When you’re angry you don’t go to a person’s wedding. No right to come—“

You paused. Did he mean— “Who came?”

“Kat. Why did you invite her?”

Oh. Of course. Kat.. “You really thought I wouldn’t invite her when she’s been my best friend since practically diapers?” You scowled. “I may not be on the best of terms, but she’s still important. And you, out of everyone, should understand that.”

He looked away, he knew why you were calling him out. Though they’d broken up, you knew he loved her, and you knew that no matter how big his pride was, he’d still be there. Or you hoped.

“Your precious best friend,” he stated with venom, avoiding your gaze. “Ran away, I was mee’ing her and she bloody sprinted off” he scoffed.

It wasn’t usual for Kat to run away. But it wasn’t usual of Kat to avoid speaking to you, so lately she was full of surprises.

“I— she did what?” You questioned. You didn’t believe it.

“Ran away, so convenient, she called me and then… ran away,” he seemed confused.

“You saw her?” You questioned.

“Yes.”

“Did she really run off?” You questioned.

He looked away. No, of course she hadn’t. She had probably called him out and he hadn’t liked it.

“You know what, Harry? I can’t deal with this right now,” you walked into your kitchen, all your stupid house had wedding arrangements everywhere. Everything was reminding you of what was going to happen the very next day. You opened the fridge, there was a bottle of rosé wine waiting for you.

“Why does she even do that?” he followed after, snatching the bottle from you, opening it as you took out two glasses. “I can’t believe she’s being this immature. Now things really are over.”

How odd, you were getting married and they had broken up, when you thought it would’ve been the other way around. You thought Harry and Kat would eventually marry and that Nick would eventually break up with you.

Maybe you had wanted both things too much for a third outcome to happen. Which you easily ignored.

They were meant to be forever, now merely memories. Pride had been stronger. What could’ve possibly gone wrong between them? At least they’d had the chance, now they were strangers who would miss each other’s warmth in the middle of the night, or try not to follow the echo of each other’s laughter when they were in the same room.

Their love shouldn’t have unraveled and shattered so easily, how had they pulled away? If their very kiss hadn’t been enough to keep them together, what hope did you ever have?

Love often comes with regrets. At least they had loved. Choosing not to love can become a bigger regret. Choosing to love when it’s unrequited might be even more painful.

And so, you thought Harry would let his own pride blind him. As it usually did. Harry was not a mystery to you, the guy cared too much… for himself, but he cared too much for Kat, too.

Kat was proud, too, so it had come as a surprise that she had shown up even if she knew that Harry was coming.

You glared at him with irony as he poured wine only for him. “Really? Her? Immature? Did you just not question why I invited her?”

He handed you the glass and then simply drank from the bottle. You rolled your eyes, watching him. “Can you go talk to her?” He asked.

“No, I cannot, I don’t think she’d talk to me—Besides!, read the room, Harry!” you snapped motioning to your whole house, scattered with everything you’d need tomorrow. You snatched the bottle and then poured a glass for him, not fond of the idea of him drinking from the bottle. “Can’t you see it? I’m getting married tomorrow!”

“No, you’re scared to talk to her, or too proud,” Harry said, downing down the glass. “Like you always are—Because pride gets the worst of you and fear leads you to get away from people.”

“I am not,” you snapped. “And please don’t project your own problems onto me, I’m not the one to push everyone away—“you answered with poison. “Besides, this—Can’t you be a good maid of honor for once? I'm bloody getting married tomorrow!” You reminded him, yet again.

“Did you say bloody? Oooh, you’re angry then, swearing and shit,” he mocked, pouring more wine for him. “let’s get wild, but what the fuck do you mean? I have been the perfect maid of honor, darling. You were the one to ask me not to throw you a bachelorette party—You made me cancel your stripper—“

“Harry!” You complained, interrupting him. “Can you stop?”

Harry smirked. “I’m just—saying that you didn’t let me be a great maid of honor.” He side glanced at you.

“I will not deal with your crap right now, I know everything is about you, but today and tomorrow this is about me, alright?”

“It’s always about you,” he said, “perfect little y/n, ain’t it?”

You stopped. Those words were too familiar. You glared at him, with the same very threatening glare you’d given Tom years ago.

Harry smirked but you knew he was scared of continuing, “I’m messing with you, but wow, those get you, huh? No wonder you told Tom to fuck off, he used those same words didn’t he?”

You took a deep breath and avoided his glance. “He had no idea what he was talking about.”

“Did he not?” Harry scowled.

You looked up to stare at him, judgingly.

“Fine, bloody ‘ell, darling,” he hid behind his glass. “Are you going to exile me, too?”

“I might,” you sentenced.

“You won’t, because I’m the only one you have left,” he reminded you. Harry knew how to poke some guts. “Are you really going to push me away?”

Your glance relaxed, or sort of. Knowing damn well he was right, everyone had abandoned you so you were not going to lose another friend. “I’m just asking you to be a friend, Harry.”

“I’m just-pointing out, wasn’t this what Tom told you about?” His brows furrowed, he genuinely seemed interested in that subject. A subject you’d been very reluctant to talk about.

“I don’t want to bring Thomas into this conversation.”

Tom also played another big part. Ignored part.

“Fine,” Harry shrugged. “What is wrong with Perfect little y/n’s life?”

You downed the glass of rose, ignoring him. “I can’t get married.” you stated.

Harry nodded, understandingly. “Why not?” He questioned.

You paced, balancing on your tiptoes, around the kitchen slowly, you hated this. You couldn’t put your mind together. “I just can't get married, I can't—I just don’t believe it’s happening, everything is so overwhelming, and my wedding was supposed to be happy, and I--I have dreamed of this since I was young, but I don’t feel that joy I felt when planning it, I thought I--I don’t know I thought at least I’d have my friends here… Or my mother.”

“Is she not coming?” Harry questioned.

You took a deep breath and looked away. “No, she isn’t coming.”

Your parents had divorced, you were over it now, it’s fair to point out. You didn’t mind the divorce, however, the fact that your mother had left just as you were turning into a rebellious teenage daughter who needed her the most was something that did sting. Birthdays, Christmases, graduations, concerts, nothing. No event had seemed important enough for her to show, you would’ve thought she’d come to the wedding. She wouldn’t.

She’d never been when you had the one question about love, or when you needed advice over parties, dresses and hairstyles, she wasn’t there to reassure you it’d be fine when taking your driver’s license test, she didn’t give any boy advice, and she wasn’t to assure you it’d be fine when your friends had left, or to give you some wise advice when you’d fought with Tom, and now she wasn’t here to calm you down when you were too overwhelmed with this, the day before your wedding day. And she wouldn’t be at your goddam wedding.

Yes, you had Nana. But you hadn’t been enough for anyone else. Besides, you knew Nana was getting old, and Nana had to be taken care of. Not be overwhelmed.

There was that thought in your mind, how she wouldn’t come because you weren’t perfect enough for your mom. How flawed were you for her not to want you? Or how much did she despise your father for you to be a reminder of him that she thought was not worth it.

However, you’d grown past the need of worrying about it, you didn’t need her in your life, she hadn’t been a part of the past one, why did she have to be part of the new one?

“Please tell me you’re not fucking pulling a Sophie from Mamma Mia and only marrying Dickolas to fucking bring your three possible dads to the wedding,” Harry growled. “Or in this case, to bring back your friends and mother.”

“What?” You frowned. “No-This isn’t that.”

Harry watched you. Though he was the maid of honor, he’d been absolutely no support to the marriage. Yes, he wanted a party, but no, he did not want you to get married. He had been the one to constantly try and make you…

“What if I run away?” You asked.

“As if you would run away” He said as he stopped you to pour more wine into your glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You snapped.

He sighed, “Y/N, love, you are perfect, running away would mean to fucking destroy your plans, and we both know how much you hate ruined plans.”

“I do,” you admitted.

He opened a cabinet to get out some chips, “yes, so calm down.”

“I can’t! I’m s’pposed to get married tomorrow!” You yelled. “I can’t calm down. I’m getting married—“

Harry watched you, rolling his eyes at your sudden commotion. “You’re-You’re getting married? Really? To whom?”

You were about to kill him. “Oh my god, Harry!”

He laughed, “fine you’re getting married to Dickolas! Why can’t you accept that?”

“Can't you see it?” You questioned. “I am freaking out.”

He shrugged, “You always freak out, that’s who you are, darling.”

“But—I—” You glared at him,but you knew he was aware this wasn’t your usual freaking out. Yet he still played it cool. “It’s cause—I’m not—I am—I don’t know! It’s complicated, it’s scary to think the life I’ve been dreaming of is just—Coming, you know? It’s finally coming, and it’s just… Oh god, it’s what I’ve been planning since I was a kid. It’s—oh my god, it’s— I have been only planning this for my entire life! And I have done nothing but planning this and… I haven’t… I haven’t….” You didn’t even know what to say, so you decided to try and calm yourself down again you took a deep breath. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe.” You chanted to yourself again.

“What the fuck is that?” Harry was judging you, as he watched you having your mental breakdown. “Are you bollocks?”

“I—I don’t know, it helps me relax,” you admitted. “It’s cause—how—how did you do it?” You asked.

“Do what? I’m not married,” he frowned.

“But—you got engaged,” you reminded him. “How did you… How did you know how to… If you get engaged that meant-”

He took a deep breath. “May I remind you, we called it off, we fucking broke up...So... Don’t go there,” He seemed itched by that subject. “Do you really think I know what to say?”

“No,” you admitted but you really wished he did as you kept pacing around the kitchen. Kat probably would.

“Why are you even freaking out?” He questioned, watching you, probably slightly amused.

You only directed a single glance to him. “Who the hell am I?” Because that was the question you had been asking yourself for a while now. Why did it feel like every choice you were making was being made for you? As if you had absolutely no say in your own life. Seemed like you based your choices on however big their smiles were.

“You’re y/n, nice to meet you, I’m Harry,” he rolled his eyes.

“Harry!”

“Y/N!” He mimicked you.

He had to be the worst maid of honor of all times. You stopped. “It’s cause… It feels like...I am—not.”

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Am I Y/n? I don’t recognize myself, every time I look into the mirror...” you said, as you could see yourself reflected on the window. “Who the heck is she?”

Harry watched you and then stared at the glass of wine on your hand, taking it for him. “Maybe stop drinking.”

“I mean,” you took a deep breath. “I just… I saw some pictures of... Us, the five of us, and I saw that girl, and she seemed happy and then…What the hell happened to me?”

Harry seemed to know the answer, he, however, decided to avoid telling it to you.

“What happened?” You pushed.

“You fell in love with Dickolas,” Harry decided to say. Dickolas, the nickname that had come even before you dated. When Nick’s mother and Andrew’s father had married. Harry had come up with it, Tom had used it and…. you had started to date him. Such a turn of events it had been you ended up dating him. Dickolas. You were dating him. Even more surprising now, you were going to marry him.

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “I—I mean, I did but that’s not what happened.”

“You changed,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s… I guess being the only one left in town changed me,” you admitted. “I was abandoned by all of you.”

There was more to it.

“You decided to stay, but I’m sure that is not what changed you,” Harry watched you, “I know you’re going to hate me for this.”

“Don’t dare mention Tom,” you warned him before he could even start.

He smirked, “See? If you thought of him even before I could mention him-”

“No,” you avoided his glance.

He watched you, “I’m not even implying anything, and I shouldn’t, and I’ll stop even bringing that other subject, but y/n, you did lose him, and I know you’ve been avoiding talking about it all this time, but you lost a very good friend, and that shit changes you, you stopped singing when he left, and music was a whole fucking part of you, y/n,” Harry explained. And it seemed like it was the first time he was ever making sense. You really had stopped singing, “And you just lost Kat, too,” he continued. “Do you expect yourself to be the same? You’re not that girl from those pictures, you’ve grown.”

Everything he had said made some sort of sense. You had been forced to change. But you felt like you hadn’t changed at all. You had stayed, still, in that same corner in your room while everyone left you. You were same old y/n, sure, more hurt now. “No I guess… I guess not,” you confirmed. “But… What if- maybe Kat was right and I am a coward, and-and-I-I mean- lately all I’ve been hearing is Tom’s voice-”

Harry rolled his eyes as if he was finally understanding the situation. “Oh, see? Tom! now I know why—”

“Repeating over and over, how I was bull—How I was a lie, and maybe I am?” You said. Maybe you were. Just a lie. “And maybe yes, I’ve been hurt and everything. But… Have I shielded too much on my wedding? Maybe I am a lie.”

“You’re—You’re still you, y/n.”

“I just—am I really to become a wife?” You questioned, to yourself, mostly. “I don’t know how to feel, I am not ready. And I know you’re here, and I… I just needed my friends, you know? To assure me that it’s okay, that this is the right choice to make.”

Harry was quiet then. And he never was quiet.

“I can’t keep pretending I am perfect,” you finally said. What had been scaring you for a long while.

“Are you going to monologue, my dear?” He asked.

“Am I really to… become a wife who lives in that stupid white picket fence house?” You said and looked out the window.

“Oh, you are monologuing.”

“I… Harry! I can’t be a wife! I suck at everything that means being a wife like waking up early in the morning, and making coffee, and… Kids” You gulped, it was getting scarier. “And all the other wives, they’re reduced to that title! They go to the pub each Thursday afternoon to have a beer that warms up mid conversation, I… I hate warm beer, Harry! And they talk about boring things!” You yelled at Harry who only watched you with slight concern. “I mean they’re probably ignoring that their husbands are shagging someone else, and they all have hobbies? Like yoga or… Spinning, dunno, I hate yoga—” you took a deep breath, so bloody ironic. “And I’ll have to go to those parties and they never play music I like and always keep quiet and give fake smiles and then go home each night, to sleep next to a man, knowing that both them are miserable but they pretend their lives are perfect! But… How can my life be perfect if I don’t have any of my friends, and I know everyone believes I am perfect but...I… can’t keep pretending.”

Harry watched you, carefully trying to choose the next words knowing that whatever he would say to you, would make you change your entire life. “Ok, you’re fucked,” was his choice.

“Harry!”

“Y/N! What do you want me to tell you? I—you don’t want to get married.”

“No,—No! I mean I do, yes I do! I—I do!” You said, trying to convince yourself. “But I can’t.”

“Well, fucking walk away before it’s too late.”

“But I love Nick!”

Harry seemed just as panicked now. “Why? He sucks!”

“He loves me!”

Harry took a deep breath. “Fine, what if you postpone it, then? Or want to run away right now?”

“No, I… Maybe, I just, no, I need some reassurance, I am too nervous and I’m not…”

“I—look, everyone gets nervous—Even—I could’ve gotten nervous! And I never get nervous!” Harry started.

“Please you were terrified of your engagement, you called it off and broke up before you could even start planning the wedding because you’re an idiot.”

“Fucking rude, but see? I mean—you just said it yourself, you got to plan the wedding, eh? That means you wanted it!”

“I—I guess—“you realized.

“And it’s you, y/n, please, you’re always freaking out, so this is normal, you’re always a mess!”

You scowled and slapped his shoulder. “Hey!”

“I’m your friend I am allowed to say that,” he reminded you as he placed his hands on your shoulders in a lame attempt to calm you down.

“No, you’re not..”

“But I’m right, you’re always nervous and freaking out every single detail because you’re perfect little Y/n. And ‘perfect little y/n’ is scared because you want everything to be perfect. So this is fine, you’re good, it’s okay, the wedding will go perfect. As perfect as you are.”

You realized it. He probably was right. You were nervous but it was normal. That was it. “I’m—“

“And you’ve wanted this your whole life,” he reminded you. “The perfect life, remember? That picture perfect family, with the house and the kids and the dog… Yes you have to pay the price of being friends with those boring wives but you’ll be happy. And I’m still here, y/n.”

He was right, that was what you wanted, a perfect family and Nick could give that to you. The life you’d always wished for. Everything planned ahead.

“However, if you’ve been thinking about Tom,” he smirked. Harry had always bothered you with Tom. Rather baseless mockery that had made no sense. “When have you been thinking about him?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m thinking about what he said to me—when I—how he said I was becoming someone I wasn’t and—“

There was more. Though you had been at loss to make your feelings be what they truly were.

“What did he know? He doesn’t know you better than yourself,” he reminded you. “Y/N, Tom is a fucking idiot don’t ever dare to listen to him. Besides, that was fucking years ago. It’s okay.”

He was right. Tom was an idiot. And it had been years ago, he didn’t know you right now. “Right—but—-It’s cause I—I don’t even recognize myself anymore and how can I get married?”

Harry shrugged, “you can always leave the altar, that would be quite a show, very entertaining.”

You rolled your eyes, “don’t be an idiot.”

“Well, then, fucking relax, let’s get your ass drunk, and let’s pack something hot for your honeymoon, and make you forget you’re nervous.”

You shook your head, “I—No, I need to get my mind off the wedding—let’s talk about you and Kat.”

“No, tomorrow’s your wedding day, and even if you’re marrying a trash bin,” Harry said smugly, ignoring your glance. “I’m the maid of honor, ain’t I, darling? It’s my time to shine.”

“I find it really hard to believe you don’t want to monologue and complain about Kat,” you stated. “And if you want to be a good maid of honor, get my mind off the stupid wedding.”

He took a deep breath, “let’s go outside for a smoke.”

“I—know a better place for that,” you said.

Harry probably had not expected you to lead him to the old treehouse, at your Grandma’s house. The house you’d be going back to. Nick had had the brilliant idea to buy your old house from her to give your future children a childhood as magical as yours. She was moving somewhere smaller.

It felt weird. Nana was everything to you and now—It felt almost like losing her too.

“This place is still—as shitty as I remember it,” Harry pointed out, as he took out a package of cigarettes, lighting one, he puffed it once and then offered it to you. You had made sure to sneak in, just so your grandma wouldn’t know but you knew she probably did.

The treehouse. The place where the five friends would hang out and forget their problems. From when Kat and you were innocent children playing dolls, to the five teenagers sneaking some cigarettes and beers. The best memories you had of them, the ones you liked to hold on to. Dancing, laughing, singing. How many late night conversations did you not have there. Where all of you sincered with each other, like you and Harry probably would now.

“It’s not bad,” you said, chuckling, as you puffed the cigarette and he lit another one, keeping it to himself this time. “Nick wants to—Tumble it down.”

Harry turned to you. “Of course Dickolas wants to tumble it down.”

“He says our children deserve their own—“you shrugged. “But—“

“I’m surprised it hasn’t tumbled down by itself,” he said, looking around.

“Yeah, I’ve been—keeping it up,” you admitted. “I come here when I don’t want anyone bothering me.”

“Why?” He faked disgust.

You shrugged, “brings back good memories, when times were simpler, besides, no one knows about this place. Or they don’t care.”

“Who would?” Harry chuckled. “Well, I guess it does bring back happier memories, when the five of us actually were friends.”

“Yeah…When time was on our side. And… Nana always makes sure I’m alone if I need to be.”

Nana, your grandmother, who’d been grandmother to all your friend group, always ready with dinner and advice whenever anybody needed her. The woman always knew what to say, and she’d been the saddest when she’d learned you and Tom fell apart. She’d often try to get you to talk to him, but she understood why you didn’t. Seemed like Nana was just as surprised when Kat and you fell apart too. You knew the woman was well aware of your loneliness.

She had asked if your falling apart with Kat had something to do with Tom.

He seemed sad, too. “Yeah. How is Nana by the way?” Harry asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to her about life, but I haven’t had the time with the whole maid of honor duties.”

“Yeah, she’s fine…” Nana had been the only one to question why you were marrying Nick. You hadn’t been able to give her an answer but she hadn’t pushed. “Talk about what? About what happened with Kat?” You questioned.

But you didn’t want anyone talking to Nana. Nana had things to worry about herself and talking to stupid young adults about breakups was not it.

Harry avoided your glance as he leaned against the excuse of a wall that the treehouse had. He fiddled with something in his pocket.

“Harry?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

It was not usual for Harry to be quiet. Harry was… too much. Which was kind of the reason why you two were very good friends. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. Both of you were very alike, always trying to please everyone around. Harry could match your energy and you could match his. Kat once described the both of you as “arrogant bitches whom she loved”, Tom had agreed, ‘You’re too much’. Probably you were. Too much to handle. . Everything was a show for both of you, and you’d always compete to be the ‘most’, and that frequently led to both of you fighting for it.

Tom and Kat were alike. Harry and you were alike.

So this situation wasn’t alike for either of you. Please, your wedding was the one day where you’d be getting all the attention you had yearned for and now you were scared of it? And now Harry was avoiding his turn to give a dramatic monologue?

Something was off. You probably both needed Kat, Andrew and Tom. Seemed like getting the attention only from each other wasn’t as fun.

He finally pulled out a small velvety black box.

Oh.

“She gave it back,” he announced and then took a deep breath. “I--She gave it back.”

You understood then, it was over. Kat had given back the engagement ring. A real engagement ring. Like the one on your hand. Funny how both of you had worn rings at the same time, not ring pops this time. Real engagement rings.

But now you were the only one with one. It was weird, how many rings had she not stolen from Harry, and this was the one that he actually gave her. And now, she had none.

“She officially ended us,” Harry announced with slight faked amusement. “She…” Harry licked his lips. “I didn’t think she would and… She bloody said I was the one to decide that it had officially ended.”

“I mean, you broke up with her,” you reminded him. “You literally left her.”

“Do you know how tired I was of not knowing if she was indifferent?” Harry asked.

You sighed, “Well, she probably…” You rolled your eyes. “Wasn’t. But,” you sighed. “You should’ve known better.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Are you on her side? Even if she blames you for the breakup?”

“Maybe I am to blame, because I forgot how stupid you are, I—should’ve warned her not to date you,” you barked at him.

Harry rolled his eyes at you. “Can’t believe you—“Harry scoffed. “As if you didn’t know how it feels to not feel enough.”

You had. And he shouldn’t have said it. “I know better than anyone what it feels like to be left behind, and be blamed for it,” you stated. Ignoring the other statement.

Harry rolled his eyes, “This isn’t the same as what happened between you and Tom, dear.”

“Why the heck are you bringing Thomas up?,” You frowned. “Thomas and I stopped being friends. You broke up with her because you’re an idiot. Very different situations.” You knew Harry was the best at avoiding.

“I—.”

“I know Kat, of course she’d give it back.”

“You don’t know her anymore,” Harry said, letting out a big cloud of his mouth.

“Did you expect her not to? Is your ego that big that you expected her to beg you to come back? Please! She doesn’t want to do anything with you, you know her! She will be and actually was petty. ”

“I wanted to solve things, eventually,” he said condescendingly.

“You never gave her an explanation,” You scoffed. “Did you expect her to wait for you?”

Harry glared at you. “I just never thought I’d lose her.”

You didn’t either, and there you were. “Well, it’s on you. Seems like you walked out because you feared she would.”

“Seems ironic, coming from you, did you not wait for Tom all these years to apologize? Or to-”

“It’s different. Thomas was my friend, and he hurt me, and you know that,” you quickly snapped. “He was supposed to apologize. but— Harry, you broke up without any stupid reason and you are angry she was the one to call it off finally. Don’t avoid this.”

“You’re being too loud, y/n,” He fiddled with the ring. “She gave up on us—.”

“She?” You laughed. “You—you gave up on her! You effing gave up on her for whatever reason you decided this time!”

“Effing,” Harry chuckled at you, “But—“

“Is it your stupid pride? Did you want to have the last word? Is it?” You called him out.

He puffed his cigarette. “No.”

“If you loved her then why did you leave her?” You snapped. It had come from deep inside. Probably the question held double meaning. “How many things did she not give up because of you and you threw it all away?”

He glared at you, “I was—scared.“

“Scared?”

“You’re the last person allowed to judge for being scared of that kind of situation.”

“I am not.”

“You are, you fucking know I’m talking about being scared of your feelings for someone because you don’t know if they’re reciprocated and then—scared of holding them back, and then fucking scared of not being enough when the time comes.”

You knew a thing or two about it. Being scared of holding someone back. Being scared of not being enough. Though it was different, because you often avoided your own fear of not having your feelings reciprocated. You did not want to accept you knew what he meant. Because he probably referred to Tom, and you.

“I know about compromising,” you stated. “I know about staying better than anyone. So I have the right to call you out, look at me, I went beyond my own pride and ego and even gave up on some dreams for Nick. And I gave up on Tom.”

“Yes, you know about giving up,” Harry watched you with irony, he rolled his eyes, “You really are clueless sometimes, huh, y/n?”

You glared at him. “I may be but I accept it.”

“Love is so fucking complicated, y/n, I know you don’t know much about that because of how bloody perfect your life is, and because if your idea of love is walking down that aisle tomorrow, then you and I have a very different way of loving,” Harry clicked his tongue. “No, deep down, I am perfectly aware you know what I’m talking about, because you more than anyone know that giving up sometimes is the smartest thing to do.”

You glanced away.

“Loving someone, y/n, and you know this, sometimes means you have to let them go, for their own good,” Harry said. “Walking away may be the bravest thing one could ever do.”

You stared at your cigarette, knowing damn well you couldn’t get Harry to reason. You did have one question for him.

“Why does she blame me for the breakup?” You questioned.

“Why the fuck would I know?” Harry shrugged. “She blames you for everything.”

“Why did you let her blame me for it?” You questioned. “Why—? You didn’t even try to explain it to her.”

“I haven’t spoken to her,” Harry snapped. “Until today.”

“But—why?” You questioned. “I didn’t do anything—Why did you have to drag me down with you?”

“I didn’t.”

“But why does she blame me?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s like when you blamed me for you and Tom.”

“You are to blame for that, I am sure that by your stupid insinuations you drove him away,” you snapped.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Come on, are you still mad at that?”

“I don’t even know why you—why did you even—You were the one to make things awkward for us, ” you stated, “and then you—You’re so selfish Harry, I don’t blame Kat for ending it all.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everything has to be your way, and if it isn’t then you just give up and blame everyone around you. You think that walking away is brave when it’s only you being too arrogant to admit you’re wrong.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You can tell me you never want to see me again too after all of this is done.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot. But I still love and care for you, besides I know you love me too, you can’t leave me. I’m too good for you to leave me.”

“We’re all we have, aren’t we?” He sighed as he opened an arm for you, you walked to him, as he hugged you close. “You deserve better, y/n, than whatever you’re settling to.”

Harry and you, had always been best friends. Very close. The most magical thing about your relationship with Harry was that you could call each other out but hug each other seconds after. You could be honest with him. And he would be, too. Neither of you were scared of saying your feelings.

You sighed, “You’re right, the wedding should’ve been bigger.”

“What’s your something blue or whatever the fuck you were chanting?” He questioned.

“It’s the rhyme, the things that you should wear at your wedding… Something old…”You had to pause. “It’s an old hair pin, I…” You cleared your throat. “I… It’s pretty…”

Harry frowned. “A hair pin?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I have it since… I dunno, for a while, it’s the… The one that… Thomas bought for me, when the whole hair fiasco happened in that one concert,” you hoped you didn’t have to continue explaining it. You did not want to elaborate on your process making the decision to have something related to Tom on your wedding day.

You could tell Harry was trying to come up with a sly comment. He went with, “Oh, alright,” instead.

“Yeah, uh, something new…. My pearls, something borrowed… My dress… it’s Nick’s mothers dress,” you explained.

“Ah, that’s why it’s…” He didn’t finish the question. But you knew he was trying to say it was hideous. “Right.”

“And something blue,” you licked your lips, watching the smoke come out from the cigarette, a diversion you much required. “It’s… the bracelet that Kat gave me.” A bracelet you’d had for your whole life, your friendship bracelet. How much did it mean now?

Harry watched you, “I will….refrain from commenting on your decisions.”

“Great, because I won’t elaborate on them,” you said. But it was simple, you wanted to have both Kat and Tom close even if you were oceans apart from them, at least you’d have them in your heart. “And also, my dad’s s’pposed to give me a coin for my shoe, to wish prosperity or some crap.”

“Will he give you one?”

“No, barely anyone knows about that one part of the rhyme, but I like… singing it,” you admitted.

He chuckled, thinking to himself, then he finally popped the question he had been dying to make, “will you visit me now that you’re married? Dickolas can stay on the couch. Or not come at all.”

“Stop calling him that, and—Move out or make Thomas move out and I might.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m kicking him out soon,” he grinned. “But you could visit even when he’s around.”

“No.”

Harry bit his lip, “The group is finally broken, huh?”

“Well, Kat is friends with Andrew, Andrew… will be my step brother, you’re friends with me,” you said. “And you’re… friends with Thomas.”

Harry scrunched his nose, “It’s embarrassing, to admit I’m friends with Tom.”

You laughed, “he—he is a disgrace.”

“He is, but that fucker is still one of my best friends.”

You only looked up at Harry, how could he still be friends with Tom was beyond your understanding. “Great friend he is,” you poisoned. “He dated your girlfriend.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Tom was confused,” Harry explained. “Tom struggles with emotions. And I guess he was confused enough to misplace his… sentiments.”

“I don’t know how you could forgive him,” You said.

“You forgave Kat,” Harry snaked.

“Forgive her for what, exactly?”

“Well, Tom dated Kat, but Kat also dated Tom,” Harry was slick, knowing perfectly how to press an open wound.

“I do not understand where you’re going with that statement,” you lied, knowing he meant you hadn’t even blamed Kat. Because how could you?

“You do understand,” Harry shrugged. “Tom was as scared of his feelings for you-”

“There were none,” you rolled your eyes. “Can we please get over that discourse? It’s been five years.”

“Exactly my point, princess,” Harry clapped his hands together. “We were young, of course I forgave him. Kat was scared. Tom was scared and-”

“And now? You and Kat? You were the one who was scared,” you decided to so easily spill the truth.

Harry shrugged, “Maybe it’s for the best you and Tom never sincered, your fate would’ve been like Kat’s and mine.”

You rolled your eyes. Harry was sure there was something between you and Tom. You knew better, that Tom had been confused and then simply realized you were not of his interest.

“Well, Tom and I stopped being friends before you and Kat broke up, so yes, we were destined to fall apart.”

Harry shrugged, “But the fucker is great with the guitar, and we’ve written some melancholic songs thanks to you and him falling out so thanks for breaking his heart.”

You knew the heartbreaking songs were not about you, and you wondered how much it would take Harry to notice. “You should see the ones I wrote.”

“Oh, the ones about Tom, I assume, I find it hard to believe that Dickolas played any inspiration, and besides, people don’t write songs about people who are easy to get or who you want to run from. Tom would know. Maybe you and Tom have been speaking to each other through breakup songs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you sure it’s not your own breakup influencing the songs?”

He sighed. And stayed quiet, for a while and then turned to you, “I know you don’t understand it, but I mean it, y/l/n, sometimes giving up is the bravest thing, and sometimes walking away is the right thing.”

“Is it?”

“I’m just saying y/n, you could always walk away,” he reminded you. “And Pandora Signs could always use some back up singers, even if the main singer is so fucking good.”

“He is okay,” you rolled your eyes. Pandora Signs’ his and Tom’s band. Harry sang.

“Might sound better with your voice,” Harry pushed. “You should’ve hired us to play at your wedding.”

“Ah, sure, Tom would have agreed to that.”

“He misses you, even if he never admits it,” Harry said.

You shrugged. “He walked away.”

“Sometimes… the bravest thing is to walk away.”

Maybe it was...To walk away.

In the blink of an eye you were staring at a bride in the mirror, the conversation with Harry had barely gotten anywhere. From him denying his mistakes, to then freaking out all night because of your wedding. Harry had stayed to calm you down all night and had stayed with you until he had made sure every strand of hair was in place. He had been a friend.

The rose wine had given you a headache, maybe it was something else.

Before you even knew it you were holding your father’s arm and about to walk into it. Your nerves had intensified.Your engagement ring had slipped off from your finger, but your father picked it up quickly. It was raining outside and it just added to the horror.

Your father had adjusted your veil, “are you ready?” He had asked. “I’m so proud of you.”

You gulped with terror. But he kissed your cheek reassuringly, hand back on his arm. It was time to walk to embrace your perfect life.

The doors opened to reveal every single damn face. Family and friends. Every single stupid tear and stupid smile. All the attention. A spotlight on you and only you.

What a nightmare.

You couldn’t breathe but you blamed it on the dress. But they were expectant of you to walk in. You couldn’t. Your feet were nailed to the ground, just like your own very nails now gripping your father’s arm. And the other ones gripping the flowers.

Imagine like you’re with your friends, Harry had advised. And so when the music played, you were able to finally take one step on that long aisle. It had never looked this long, and you felt incredibly small.

Your inner Tom voice had gotten louder.

“You are bullshit, Y/N.”

But you tried to forget about him. Tom had not shown up to the wedding, so there had gone your chance to ever think of being friends with him anymore. But how come you had a song with him? How the hell did you have a song with a guy who had been just a friend? And you—did you have a song with Dicko-Nicholas?

You were trying to recall. Did you? Were you about to marry a man whom you didn’t have a song with?

Harry had also advised to stare into Nicholas’ eyes, waiting for you at the end with a promise to be made. A promise to be broken. Nicholas, who would father your children, and wake up by your side every morning. Him who expected you to be perfect little y/n. Him who would be perfect Nick. A song could come. Yes, the song you’d dance to.

What even was it? Dreams? No. No. Not that song. What song were you going to dance to with Nick?

Nick smiled at you. Wrinkled eyes, wild beam and even shaking, too. So he was nervous too.

Was he not able to breathe, too? Was he also tired of pretending?

You couldn’t keep your eyes on Nick, standing in that black tuxedo, so handsomely. He would look perfect on your side on the pictures hanging on the walls. Perfect life. Yes. With the house and the dog and the roses in the garden.

But he kept smiling back at you, with that kind of smile he had, fooling everyone into thinking that he would not eventually end up sneaking every now and then to have sex with some girl with perfect breasts. A smile that would fool everyone with a farce.

Nick and you were not that different. Both of you were so good at lying. But he did love you.

You, for the first time, couldn’t smile back, and until then you wondered if anyone could see past beyond the makeup and see the true fear. Your eyes landed on Kat. You knew she would.

The next step pained you, because you were walking into a perfect life planned ahead that would take away every single dream you had dreamed. A life that would take away your music.

But their glances were stabbing you. Nick’s mother, Andrew’s father, who was Nick’s step father, Nana. Not your mother, and until then, you realized it.

You locked eyes with Harry instead, his brows were furrowed but he shook your head at you. You looked away.

The guests still had their eyes still glued on you, waiting for you to give up your happiness in order to fulfill their dreams. What they’d been waiting for since high school

Y/N and Nick. Nick and y/n. The picture perfect relationship. They’ve all wanted this. Your father. Nick’s mother. Every person in town wanted this for you, finally your happy ending. Yes, everyone was happy for you. Yes, they wanted this perfect life for you.

The next step was harder. And the next one, and the next one, and then you were halfway there, your fear yet to be tamed. A nightmare, not a dream. A complete nightmare.

You couldn’t bear to take another step, you couldn' keep up this act, and though your father had tried to move you, you had glued to the ground. The white heels had stayed there. Abruptly.

You froze.

Before you could even dare to second guess it, a quiet “No,” had come out of your mouth. And that had been the first time it seemed you’d ever said that word.

Your father glanced at you with confusion.

“No,” you said louder, and shaking your head as you finally decided to take the first step back. You hoped you had been clear this time.

“Y/N?” Your father said. “It’s okay….”

“No! This is bullshit!” You yelled now, dragging your grip out from your father’s as you watched everyone turn their smiles into frowns, you even heard some gasps. You dropped the flowers, stepping back.

“Y/N?” Your father turned to you. He wasn’t expecting this from you.

“Y/N?” Nicholas said from the end of the aisle. You saw it, the fear that he had never had with you because you had been so good at lying.

“I can’t,” you said to your father, as if he was the only one deserving of an apology.

Harry had said it hadn’t he? You’d give them a show, very entertaining.

Before anyone could even react to it, you had run to the back and off the chapel, escaping from the nightmare. One of your heels had been left behind as you ran far away from it, but that did not stop you. Maybe you should’ve listened to Harry, he had suggested wearing slippers, it’d be easier to run in those than in your stupid heels.

Had people tried to follow you? You didn’t know, and didn’t care.

There was no plan to this, you didn’t know what you were doing but you were sure you were not regretting this. You needed to keep running.

Your hair had flown as soon as you had ripped the veil off, you made sure to keep the hair pin, but you snatched off the pearls from your neck, as they fell individually to the floor, you had swiped off your lipstick and you had cleaned it on your dress, staining the purity that they had all tried to convince you it had. Saying goodbye to the perfect bride. You were a mess.

Everything was going so fast, the rain was falling down heavily, but you saw someone in a car in front of the chapel just pulling in. Before any reason could stop you, you rushed to it and hopped In the passenger seat.

And then you saw the driver. Tom wearing a black tuxedo with the tie untied, a cigarette in his mouth. Wait. Tom?

Tom?

“Tom?” You yelled.

“Y/N?” He asked as he puffed the smoke out, coughing out of surprise.

You didn’t have time for this. “Drive!”

“What—? What the fuck? Y/n?” He snapped.

“DRIVE!” you yelled.

“What?”

“Get me the fuck out of here!” You ordered, as your hand was tapping on the board, as you saw everyone heading out from the chapel, running after you. “Drive drive drive!” You said.

“Fuck, I’m—Yes! I’m trying—“and he managed to step on the pedal.

“Have fun! Enjoy the lobster!” You yelled at the people from the window who had run out to see your escape, Tom didn’t even have time to complain properly as he had already speeded your way out.

“Faster!” You said, as you turned on the radio. But before it could even play any music you realized it.

You had run from your wedding.

↳ read here where Tom was before the wedding. (harry styles fic)

story masterlist.

prologue next chapter

playlists: y/n | tom

wanna be tagged?

@traveller-lover-dreamer @pignolithecookie @harryhollandsgirlfriend @rayofsunshine-28 @millennial-teenybopper @spideyspeaches @spideyspeaches @sleepingdancer @sippin-on-tea @countingstarsmylove

i’ll tag everyone from perennial

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland angst #tom holland writing #tom holland and you #tom holland reader insert

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion.

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them.

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then…

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.”

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone.

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains.

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly, “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves.

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake.

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow.

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek.

A Katakan.

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe.

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once.

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster.

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then...

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side.

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart.

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back.

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned.

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover.

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #whump and fluff #jaskier whump #katakan #yes i know they can also turn invisible #but that wasn't really gonna help the plot here so sorry #geraskier whump #whump with a happy ending #geraskier whump and fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #kissing #first kiss #getting together #jaskier in trouble #wounded jaskier #protective geralt

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Reid Fic)

*MY GIF

Summary: Despite her engagement to someone else, Spencer grapples with the reality that he’s in love with SSA Reader when he sees her in her wedding dress.

A/N: I am so fucking proud of Spencer’s speech that I wrote. Playlist: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe + FINNEAS This song hurts so good :,) Category: Fluffy happy ending! Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: possible unrequited love, soft angst Word Count: 6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Call it a superpower or a sixth sense, but I had this inexplicable, preternatural ability to detect when we weren’t heading in the right direction - a skill unaffected by even shut eyes or the deepest slumber.

It seems as though after all these years of being (y/n)’s passenger, my body has developed a survival adaptation in order to offer her guidance before she would even have to ask, or worse - lower her pride and admit she’s lost!

With as hard-headed as she is, she’d sooner drive us to Timbuktu before asking me for help.

I was half-asleep when I peeked through one half-lidded eye to observe where we were only to see she blew right by Gregory Boulevard when she should’ve turned left on it.

“Um, you should make a u-turn at this next light,” I gently advised her before returning my head to its previous position perched on my hand. I closed my eyes again with the presumption she would follow my navigation and make a u-turn, but when I didn’t feel the car change course, I opened them to see that she blew right past the stoplight, too.

“Hey, my apartment’s that way.” I gestured behind us while looking at her for the first time, catching a smug look on her face. That’s when I knew I was in for it. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

“You know I don’t like surprises,” I grumbled, slumping back into my seat with partially renewed energy. Her little antics never failed to get my heart racing. I never knew whether to expect a sweet sunset or a sea of snakes when it came to her. She was that polarizing. “Can I at least get a hint?” I egged on, considering she had yet to even reply to my first statement.

She was completely unfazed by my pleading. She didn’t even peel her eyes away from the road - that’s how little attention she thought I deserved. “Mmm depends. What’s the magic word?”

This blatant tease was successfully getting a rise out of me. “Pleaseee,” I dragged out the word as if it would do me any good to let her hear it for longer, but in reality, she just liked to hear me beg.

She took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth, a chupse, to express her displeasure before saying, “Ooh tough luck. The magic word was actually mushroom, but nice try.”

A mirthless chuckle escaped me for willingly falling for her tricks despite knowing she’d pull something just like that. This girl was the bane of my existence, but at least she still rewarded me with a hint anyway.

“Your hint is …” While pondering what hint to give me, her eyes traveled to the side, away from the road long enough to make my heart palpitate in a “if-she-doesn’t-pay-attention-to-the-road, we’re-both-gonna-die” kind of way.

“... something old.”

Again, she tore her eyes away from the road so she could register my reaction, but truthfully, I didn’t have one. I had no idea what that hint meant. Or rather I had too many ideas, far too many to limit to just one.

She could’ve been talking about the age of a location, the history of a place, the vintage appearance of something - virtually anything.

“There’s an infinite amount of possibilities about what that could mean,” I argued. “If you actually want me to guess, you’ll have to give me something more.”

As expected, she was not a fan of my whining and simply rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, stop complaining and use that big brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before we even get there.”

Although there was a high probability she was right that I could’ve solved it by myself, it was more enticing to feed off of what she could give me. “What if I ask you ‘yes or no’ questions?”

The gears in her head were turning as she weighed the pros and cons of humoring my offer. “You better ask some good questions then,” was her answer, which was the long way of saying yes.

“Is this ‘something old’ an object?”

She hesitated, then decided on, “No.” So I took that as maybe.

“Is this ‘something old’ a place?”

There was no indecision with this answer. “No.”

“Is this ‘something old’ as in appearance?”

Again, a partial hesitation, but still ultimately a, “No.”

Realizing I pretty much exhausted the tangible, I settled for something more abstract. “Is this ‘something old’ a concept?”

“Yes, you could say that.”

Her answer would prove to be redundant, as just seconds after we would arrive at our mystery destination.

Ellie’s Bridal Boutique.

“Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue.” I recited to myself under my breath when I finally unearthed the meaning. The rhyme was a wedding tradition that referred to the things a bride is supposed to wear on her wedding day that’s meant to provide protection and prosperity for the new couple - a superstition.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” She mimicked the sound of a winning buzzer. “And you are going to be my something old.”

A short chuckle left me as I stepped out of the car. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do - wear me?” I jested.

“Well you are a very pretty boy, but I don’t know if you’re pretty enough to wear down the aisle.”

“So then how am I going to be your something old? I’m only two years older than you.”

She stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk to reach for my hand. I’d be lying if I said the chilling warmth of it didn’t make my breath hitch. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, but they rose to look at her again when she finally spoke.

“You’re the very first person I met when I started working in the BAU, which makes you my oldest friend on the team, and since you were the first one that saw me, I wanted you to be the first one that saw me in my dress, too.”

I was already aware that she’d picked out her wedding gown months before, so this appointment couldn’t have been anything more than an alteration update. The only reason I knew that, besides the obvious, was because I could still remember with perfect clarity the morning she came into work after her fitting. She marched right up to my desk to wave a picture of her in the garment right in my face. It wasn’t until I drew back with my head that I could see the image clearly. The dress, while incredibly stunning on her, ‘didn’t fit right’ - her words, not mine.

“But that’s not how it’s actually gonna look on me. I asked them to take in the waist, change the neckline, and alter the length.” She vividly described to me, letting her finger run over the digital photo of the dress as she spoke. “Do you see what I mean?”

I lied when I said, “Yeah, I do,” because really, I didn’t need her to describe the details to me - I could already see the vision. Even if the dress was the wrong color, length, and ‘poofiness,’ I’d still think she’d look lovely.

It was my only hope that her future husband would think so, too.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here for my alteration with Reagan at 4.” Just as quickly as she introduced herself to the receptionist, she was being whisked away by an older woman who seemed to have recognized her.

“Oh, (y/n)! It’s so good to see you again! Come, come, your dress is ready. I just know you’ll love it.”

Before she slipped out of my vision completely, (y/n) turned around to address me. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Just wait here.”

I raised my hand in the air to give a short acknowledgment goodbye and followed her instruction to sit in the chair that lied directly in front of a circular raised platform.

“Are you the groom?” A soft voice from beside me suddenly asked. I looked up to see it was the receptionist holding a tray with a glass of champagne.

“Oh, I’m okay thank you,” I denied the alcohol with a shake of my head. “And no, no I’m not. Just an … an old friend.” Again, her words, not mine.

It would come as a surprise to both me and you that with as much as I know about the world, I had no idea how long this would take before I saw her again. With my estimates, it should take maybe fifteen minutes maximum before she walked out in her dress, but who knows? It’s (y/n) after all. She runs on her own clock. The sun rises and sets on her.

At least in my world it does.

By around minute 17, I realized my estimates were way off and there was no way she’d be coming out any time soon, so with all that I could do in that store having been done already, the only thing left for me to do was read. Nothing of quality, though. Just those frivolous bridal magazines on the coffee table beside me. I didn’t even want to think about the germs and bacteria that were harboring on these reading materials, but if it meant it’d cure my boredom then perhaps the contraction of microbes would be worth it.

To say I wasn’t well-versed in fashion would be an understatement and reading the subscriptions only emphasized that further. To put it in perspective, you could style my future bride in a medieval frock and it wouldn’t discourage me whatsoever because I simply have no understanding of what a ‘good’ wedding dress is, therefore, I cannot make an accurate comparison.

Take, for example, the dress on page 17 of Modern Bride. The model was donning a high neck, long sleeve creme satin dress. I thought it looked quite nice and classic, but the excerpt described it as totally out of style and too old - a faux pas.

But when comparing that dress to the gown on page 24 of The Bride’s Guide, I couldn’t spot a single difference between the two, yet this passage was written in complete adoration. “This dress is vintage done right,” said the article. But to me - they were exactly identical! What was wrong with the first one?

Maybe it was a good thing grooms weren’t allowed to help pick wedding dresses because if I had to assist my bride in picking her’s, then, of course, it would be bad luck! I’d probably pick something utterly horrendous!

I had to admit it was slightly humiliating to confront my incompetence relating to wedding dresses, so before my self-esteem plummeted any further, I set the magazines back in their rightful place on the coffee table so they could once again be what they were always intended for - extraneous decor.

With a flick of my watch, I noted the period of waiting had only increased by three minutes. Again, I had yet to master the art of wedding garment fittings, but how was 20 minutes not enough time to put a dress on? However, unlike my better half, I had (relatively) zero problems admitting my ignorance, whereas she’d rather drive us off a cliff or into a lake before letting me know she was lost.

In surrender to my lack of knowledge, I rose from my seat to approach the receptionist and ask if she had a more accurate estimate for how long it would be until I saw (y/n) again. But as it turns out, any estimate she might’ve been able to tell me would’ve been completely wrong for she wouldn’t have even been able to finish her answer before the aforementioned future bride entered the space behind me.

Remember before when I said I had no gauges of good fashion to outrank a medieval frock? Well, I stand corrected.

(Y/n) in her dress is what I will measure everyone against. And no one will ever compare.

“Wow…” The word came out of my mouth before I could think to stop it. My tone was so honest that it scared me. “I’m - You’re …” I was at a total loss for words that I had to sit back down to hopefully regain some clarity. She laughed at my stupidity with a laugh so gentle, I couldn’t not laugh back.

“That good, huh?”

I wordlessly nodded while my mouth lied openly in waiting. But the right words never came out; there just weren’t any that could capture this vision of perfection in front of me.

My mannerisms had clearly already given away the true level of my admiration, so in an effort to lessen the enormity of my obvious wonderment, I reluctantly broke my gaze away from the angel in white and picked up a magazine on the table to perfect the notion of nonchalance.

“You look . . .” She impatiently waited for my addition, even doing the most adorable little twirl in her dress to give me the full view in the meantime. “Nice,” was the adjective I settled for, as it was such a thoughtless response that perhaps it would convince her that there weren’t a million thoughts on my mind. The most recurring one, and arguably the most troubling one being: I think I’m in love with you.

“Nice?” She repeated like the word stung her tongue, more out of mock offense than earnest disappointment. “You’re reading your magazine upside down so it’s gotta be better than nice.”

I bashfully looked down to find that, sure enough, her words were true. The magazine was upside down and therefore a total revelation of just how ‘nice’ I really thought she looked.

I tried to hide my smile behind my knuckles as I pressed a fist to my lips, deciding on the most sincere compliment I could give her.

“Nobody holds a candle to you, (y/n),” I nodded in affirmation. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

After saying so, I nonchalantly - well as nonchalantly as one could when caught slack-jawed and completely in awe - reoriented the catalog. Had I glanced up even a second later, I might not have caught her reaction to my words and the way they made her smile uncontrollably. I looked back down at the magazine with a smirk, giving it a brief flick to open up the pages all the way to me and parrot the motions one would make if they were actually reading.

We both knew I wasn’t though.

It seemed I never left that wedding boutique because even as we arrived outside my apartment later that day, my mind was still there, stuck on the future bride in her gown.

“Earth to Spencer!” She waved her hand in front of me to grab my attention despite already having it. “We’re here!” She announced. Who was I kidding? She always had my attention. I only wish it didn’t take me this long to realize that the reason she was constantly at the front of my mind was that I loved her.

Nearly about to exit the car, the millionth and one thought rang in my head like a bell - wedding bells, if you will.

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

At a tantalizingly slow speed, I released the doorknob and turned back towards her.

“...I love you.”

She furrowed her brows and shrugged with her mouth, forming a confused pout. “I love you, too, Reid?” She kind of laughed when she said it, so I knew she thought this was just a friend sending off a friend goodbye, but I couldn’t let her think that’s what I meant.

“No, not like that.” I clarified with the utmost candor. “I’m in love with you.” I shook my head when I said it which, in any other context, might make you think I was lying, but the shake of my head was merely the physical manifestation of every bone in my body knowing I shouldn’t be saying this, but my heart still having the audacity to do it anyway.

I confessed with that brutally honest tone again, the one so raw and vulnerable it leaves you nauseous and breathless all at once as you anxiously anticipate the other person’s response to your vulnerability. But I couldn’t even meet her eyes, I was too scared. Even if I had, they would’ve been vacant. Her spirit had vanished from her body, and in its departure left just the shell of a woman who was completely void of color. Her flushed face was a remnant of the shock that paralyzed her and it wouldn’t disappear even as I tried to bring her color back.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I wish I had better timing - trust me, I will beat myself up later for not saying it sooner. But I promise you, I am not trying to ruin things between you two and I would never actually try to stand in the way of your wedding - you have to believe me. I want you to be happy and if he’s what makes you happy, then I will live with that. I just had to tell you now because ... if you married him without ever knowing how I felt, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

This was true - I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t said anything - but now that I have - will she be able to forgive me?

Vacant stares turned into piercing glares that drove, what felt like, a thousand daggers right through my heart. She was looking at me as though I were a stranger - completely unrecognizable to her.

(Y/n), it’s me. It’s Spencer. Don’t you remember me? My heart pleaded. I’m still the same guy I was before. I’m the first friend you made on the team, remember? I’m your something old. Please, please remember me.

By the time I came to the woeful conclusion that she wouldn’t reply, at least not now, there was only one question weighing on my heart heavily enough to make me ask it before I left her car.

“Would it have been better if I didn’t tell you?”

My question stayed answerless even as I lingered at the door after getting out, waiting for one. I knew I should’ve closed it, but I couldn’t. In many ways, it would’ve been shutting the only open vessel to her, formally closing myself off from our friendship. The possibility of losing her as soon as I walked away was too real, and I wasn’t ready yet.

“Please, (y/n), talk to me.” It was a trending theme to have every word I spoke be underlined by this profound piteousness. “Say something.” Say anything.

“I ... I need to get home,” She quietly whimpered, practically begging me to let her go. Up until then, I didn’t want to, but I suddenly wished I had shut the door sooner so that I might not have had to hear the quiet addition, “To my fiancé.”

The color she was so void of in her face? It seems I must have recompensed, for not only was I crowned her something old that day, but I was also her something blue.

_ _ _

If there were a guidebook on all the things to do as the love of your life’s wedding (to someone else) nears, I’d like to think I was following all the protocol.

Since my not-so-subtle confession, I had yet to press the subject or force her for an answer to my final question, which I think she was thankful for. I also hadn’t plotted a giant scheme to ruin the wedding, nor did I have any intentions of doing so.

For all intents and purposes, I was acting as a gentleman (who’s in love with you but whom you’re not marrying) ideally should.

You would think that after my big declaration, (y/n) would do everything in her power to avoid me. It’s what I would’ve done. But she’s no coward. That exact heart of gold I fell in love with made no exceptions. Because even after what I did, she still had it in her to extend her kindness to me.

She’s stubborn like that, remember?

And though she was showering me with a treatment I didn’t deserve, it still wasn’t enough for my greedy heart.

The true pain lied in the pretending. Every day I would have to come to work and talk with her and laugh with her and smile with her - I would have to be her friend … pretending that was all that I wanted and nothing more.

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was acting just as she always had with me. It may seem weird to have expected, nay - wanted - a different reaction from her, but I just wanted something. At least, if she was angry, then I would know what I said had some effect on her, but she was just so indifferent. Like what I said didn’t matter.

It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hatred. Hate and love both seem to be involved in the neural processing of what is sometimes referred to as the arousal effect of emotion - this is a technical term, so arousal can be negative. Scientists studying the physical nature of hate have found that some of the nervous circuits in the brain responsible for it are the same as those that are used during the feeling of romantic love – although love and hate appear to be polar opposites. Therefore, the same brain circuitry is involved in both extreme emotions. So, as strange as it may sound, if she didn’t love me, then I at least wanted her to hate me, just so I’d know she had any passion for me that matched my burning passion for her.

But as it turns out, she would never go on to display signs of hatred or love, for she never acted passive-aggressively, never gave me the silent treatment - nothing. Nope, she just acted as if it never happened. She went on with her life, essentially expecting me to do the same, but how could I carry on with life while she was still carrying half of my heart with her?

It’s an impossible feat, that - to walk around with half a heart. And it’s one that has not gotten easier with time. If anything, time has made it worse, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more difficult it became for me to hold back. And with this exponential growth, it was only inevitable that the pinnacle of difficulty came right before the wedding.

Before shit hit the fan, she arranged, or rather insisted, that I give a speech at the dinner rehearsal. That hadn’t changed, despite almost everything else having done so. Up until the minute I arrived at the venue, I could’ve recited that speech a million times, forwards and backwards, in my sleep, or even in Russian. But I lost any ability to form coherent thoughts from the second I laid eyes on her.

As soon as I opened the door, she stood at the entrance to greet her guests, having taken a radiant form that I could only imagine would not pale in comparison to what she would look like tomorrow on her actual wedding day. That thought alone scared me shitless.

If this is how beautiful she looked tonight and it was only just the rehearsal, how would I ever be able to resist her less than 24 hours from now when she would be marrying a man I could only dream of being half so lucky as?

“Spencer!” Familiar crinkles formed around her eyes as a result of her gigantic smile when she saw me and hugged me thereafter. Her embrace was strangely tighter and lasted for longer than usual, not that I was complaining, but I had to wonder if she was compensating for something. What’s that saying - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Was she killing me with kindness? That might’ve been wishful thinking though. Because the same flash of indifference I’d been dealt in recent times came back into her face and tone after hugging me. “You’re at table five with the rest of the team.”

“Oh, thanks.”

That was it? Just a ‘Spencer!’ and then a nudge in the direction of my seat? No questions about my speech? No threatening comments to not say anything that would ruin the charade we’d been playing for months now? Had she forgotten I was even giving a speech?

“Oh, wait, Spencer!” I felt her hand on my shoulder before I heard her voice. “You left this in my car a couple months ago. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but I didn’t remember until today.”

The first thing that raised a red flag was what she was saying. I’d left something in her car? That would imply that I’d forgotten something, and we both knew that wasn’t possible. But the second suspicious element was the matter of what she claimed I’d left behind. She was handing me a book with the back cover facing me. From the looks of it alone, it wasn’t mine. Clearly, it wasn’t mine. I knew every single book that resides on my shelves and this one has never once crossed them. That, on top of the new book smell and the lack of a wear in the spine, was enough to tell me that not only was this a book I’d never read nor was one to grace my bookshelf, but it was most certainly not one I would have left behind.

She was lying.

She saw the realization dawn on me, but knowing I would mention it, her hand’s grip around my wrist, which I hadn’t noticed was even there in the first place, tightened, sending me a message.

She knew I saw the deception. There were so many flaws in what she was saying, that she couldn’t have possibly been clueless of them. It was too easy. Or maybe that was by design. She wanted me to figure out it was a lie. But why?

What was she hiding?

The final thing to leave me when she did was her hand. In its place, it had left a a near perfect indentation in my sleeve. How flawlessly it sculpted to her hand told me just how tightly she was holding me. What was she trying to say?

That’s when I flipped the book over to see the cover.

Can Love Happen Twice?

And right on the inside cover page was scribbled - in a handwriting so distinctive it could only belong to one person and one person alone - “Yes.”

_ _ _

My heart was racing the entire night as I anxiously awaited for the moment to give my speech. Nothing seemed to ease the tension. Not a sip of water, not the loosening of my tie, not the self-soothing bouncing of my leg. But all it took, all it took was one glance from her and suddenly, the storm within me had settled.

“Next up we have a speech from Spencer Reid!”

I rose from my seat like a floundering mess, as to be expected, because how can you possibly catch your bearings as you’re about to make a speech to a room full of people?

“H-hi there. I’m Dr. Spen- I’m Spencer Reid. I’ve worked with (y/n) for several years now and - and so I, um, I wrote this speech for her, so, so I’m gonna read it to you all now,” My stammering had gotten the best of me, so before I could unravel into the mess I surely came off as right about now, I spun from my previous position facing the majority to facing only her. I needed to see her. I needed the reprieve of her eyes again, and she was happy to give it to me.

“(Y/n), from the moment I met you, I thought who is she? And I mean that quite literally because I had no idea who you were and why you were there,” Laughter from the crowd erupted, but her laugh was the only one that mattered to me. “But also because there was just something about you that told me I needed to talk to you. I had no idea what that instinct to strike up a conversation with you would lead to, but I trust my gut a little more now because that very intuition gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

To my words, an endeared pout formed on her face. She was touched, and I was glad.

“Over the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years we’ve spent together, I have enjoyed every single measure of time with you. You have taught me more about life and myself than I could have ever learned otherwise - which says a lot,” This once again brought her to laughter. “So I thank you for that, because without you, there would be no one to tell my campfire stories to, there would be no one who could recite Jung or Freud with me, and there would be no one I’d have to correct when they drive down the wrong path,” My own chuckle cut my sentence short.

“Life with you has simply been made better, and my only hope is that tomorrow, as you get married, you too, will experience that eternal bliss with which you have surely bestowed upon everyone who has had the privilege of knowing you.”

By now both of us were on the verge of tears, hers more apparent than mine as she used the palm of her hand to stifle her sniffles.

“There is so much more I could say about how great you are, but your favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has said it best. ‘She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful’,” A tear ran down her cheek as my own eyes welled up beyond their means. “So to you both - may you have a life as beautiful as the bride.”

Even if that life isn’t with me.

I tuned out all the clapping and cheering, and set my focus solely on her, giving me full liberty to see the way she rose from her chair and escaped the room. Not even shock could paralyze me or stop me from running after her. I sprung so fast into action, which required the maximum amount adrenaline, although I could not credit my speed to the rush, but it was more the exclusive motivation to find her that powered me. The entire time I kept calling out her name as I frantically chased her out of the venue.

“Spencer.”

I didn’t even see her there at first, probably because I was half-expecting her to be jumping into a cab or running away from me some more when I found her, but just as before, she made it too easy for me. She was waiting for me, standing there in no spectacular fashion.

The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face that were not so large so that I couldn’t see the red rings around her eyes that were caused by the irritation and formation of tears. She was simply staring back at me with this look in her eyes as if she wanted to say something.

In the silence, I could still appreciate how astonishingly gorgeous she was. How badly I wanted her. I would’ve whisked her away and taken her as mine if I knew it would make her happy. But that’s just it - I didn’t know.

I needed her to say it. So say it.

Say it, darling.

Spoken through a congested voice (which spoke volumes in reality because of the mere revelation that she was indeed crying) was the plainest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she vanished back into the restaurant, leaving me to my devices on the sidewalk.

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to.

_ _ _

Perhaps the false confidence in my speech or what little she had to say to me after it or even the hidden message in the book got to my head, but whatever it was, I was feeling suspiciously alright. Luckily, that feeling didn’t deviate even as I made my way to the church.

Upon arrival, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so consequently the lack of something out of place did not adequately denote what lied just beyond those doors. Or should I say what didn’t?

Much to my mortification, it was a completely empty church. Every pew, though decorated for a wedding, was uninhabited and showed no indications of having been such recently. As I walked further in, the door automatically shut behind me with a loud bang. It would’ve shocked me more had something else not caught my attention already.

It was (y/n), standing at the altar … completely alone.

Suddenly, it felt like I’d been drawn in by this invisible gravity, which was now floating me down the aisle. My feet could not carry me to her fast enough.

I was sure this was some kind of dream simply by the way the light gleamed through the stained glass windows, casting banners of golden luminescence on her. It was as if heaven itself had come down with the specific delegation to illuminate the vision of one of its fallen angels.

“(Y/n)?” My voice reverberated throughout the chapel, ricocheting off the high, painted ceilings and back to me. “Where is everyone?”

It wasn’t until I reached a certain point in the middle aisle, that I realized her veil had been covering her face this entire time. The angel in white only turned more heavenly when she flipped the veil backward, revealing herself to me.

It took her a moment to answer, but it was her head that answered first before her mouth did. She began shaking her head slowly, followed by a short, unequivocal, “No.”

As you might imagine, I was dumbfounded. “No?” That answer wouldn’t have made sense in the context of what I had previously asked.

“No.” She repeated, with somehow even more definitiveness. I decided it was best to stay silent and wait for her explanation.

“No, it wouldn’t have been better if you didn’t tell me.”

There was my answer I’d been searching for.

“God, Spencer - what took you so long?”

From the breathlessness and the rushed cadence of her voice, I knew precisely what was coming next. She instantaneously abandoned the bouquet she’d been clutching in favor of her hands’ ability to pull me in. The pressure on my fragile skull when our frenzied lips finally met was not a punishment so much as it was a reward. And just as we began to find our rhythm, I slid my hand into her hair, which I began to regret when I realized just how much time and effort probably went into its structuring. I pulled away the moment I felt a carefully placed pin lodged within her hair slip between my fingers.

True, for a moment I was unable to open my eyes afterward from the sheer elation I was experiencing, but as I came to, I found myself looking at the hairpin I’d accidentally extracted from her curls, one that I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fellow coworker of ours donning in the past.

“Is this -”

“Yep, it’s Penelope’s.” She admitted through the most debonair giggles. After giving her a quizzical, and only partially judgmental glance, she managed to blurt out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It was my ‘something borrowed’!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid kiss #criminal minds #juniorgman187 #something borrowed something blue

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Note

Here is the first one

Second :D

And last..he's looking at you 👀💦

ALRIGHT you know WHAT—

There’s…a lot going on here. So much so, that I have decided to create

CONTEXT

for these three images that is

COMPLETELY FAKE

because I think it’ll be a fun writing exercise. kind of a cringe move on my part, but consider: i have fun making up ridiculous lies about characters who don’t exist in real life.

(which is how I’m treating these, by the way. yes, they are pictures of kaneko nobuaki, but for my purposes, they are NOT actually him. they are distinct fictional characters who are not real.)

so if you’re feeling adventurous skip below the cut and watch me break it down:

Image 1: Accidental “Date” Makes Cousin’s Wedding Less Terrible Than Originally Expected

The year is 1999. Your cousin (who you are not particularly close to) is getting married…on a cruise ship. Your mother insists you attend. You insist upon spending 90% of your time sipping margaritas on the deck and flipping through the latest issue of Marie Claire while trying desperately not to think about the fact that you are surrounded by nothing but open ocean.

One of the (very drunk) bridesmaids tries to toss you a beach ball because you have been, and I quote: like, a total bummer this whole time. She misses. It hits the person next to you in the face. Great. Awesome. You think: well now who’s being, like, a total bummer?

Luckily the person who got hit in the face laughs the entire thing off. He says your friends seem…’lively.’ You say that’s pretty rich coming from a guy who looks like a rejected member of ‘The Clash.’ He insists that he left them, not the other way around.

You slip into conversation. You tell him that you’re here for a wedding. He offers his condolences. You accept them. He says he actually likes weddings—something about two people making a life-changing commitment speaks to him on a soul-level. That and the open bar, of course.

You suggest he crash the wedding. He says he’s not sure if he can make it—there’s a shuffleboard tournament that evening that he would just hate to miss, plus the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest is waiting on his bedside table just begging to be opened. You say that’s perfectly understandable, but, if he suddenly finds himself caught up on the latest All My Children gossip, he can meet you back here at four.

Surprise, surprise: he shows up. He’s wearing the same shirt he was before, but buttoned up this time—and with one of the most hideous neckties you’ve ever seen, which he apparently borrowed from the kind old man next door. Instead of complimenting his attire (because it is truly un-compliment-able), you take the opportunity to mention that this is a Titanic-themed wedding. He says that having a Titanic-themed wedding on a cruise ship is “kind of fucked up” and you solemnly agree.

Everyone is very surprised and pleased to see that you’ve brought a date—even the bride, who tells you that you’re “just like Jack and Rose.” You agree, much to her delight…until you say that, if the ship goes down, you also won’t share the door and let him freeze to death in the icy water. He insists he’d be the guy who jumps off the ship and hits his leg on the propellor—that’s his favorite part of the whole movie, and it’d be an honor to re-enact the scene.

The wedding is…a wedding. Vows, toasts, pictures—and you’re sipping champagne through the entire thing. The two of you spend the evening getting completely wasted and telling everyone a different story about just who your ‘mystery date’ is. Highlights include: the captain’s unruly son whose been tasked with following in his father’s sea-faring footsteps; professional cave-diver who discovered a new species of slug and is spending his reward money on a nice vacation; head of marketing who gives all those clever names to the nail polishes at OPI; the guy who folds everyone’s towels into animal shapes.

You end up where you started: on neighboring lounge chairs, with a margarita, and talking to this stranger who has recently crossed into “acquaintance” territory. You chat about how “My Heart Will Go On” is actually a good song, and he promises not to tell anyone that you said that. He also says that this is the best Titanic-themed cruise ship wedding he’s ever been to, and he can’t wait until somebody decides to do Jaws.

Eventually, you both stagger back to your rooms with promises of seeing each other at breakfast. Unfortunately, you have the worst hangover of your life the next morning and even the thought of ‘breakfast’ makes you want to roll over and die, so you don’t manage to stumble out of bed until it’s time to disembark.

You see him at port, and you each offer each other a little wave before going your separate ways. Six weeks later, you get a Polaroid of the two of you together, sitting at the bar and laughing at something that must have been very, very hilarious.

You don’t remember most of what happened that night, but you remember it was not as terrible as it could have been.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 2: Extremely Weird Guy On The Street Has You Questioning Your Sanity

It’s 6:00 in the morning—a truly terrible time to be awake, but a necessary evil. Your flight leaves at 10, and since it’s an international thing, you want to make sure you get there in plenty of time to get to your gate (and maybe sample all the fancy perfumes you can’t afford at one of those high-end stores that are always in airports.)

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few random pedestrians and a handful of passed-out salarymen snoozing on the curb. The sky a rainy gray-blue as the sun tries to rise behind the springtime cloud cover—it’s no doubt going to be another dismal day, as is common during this time of year. Hopefully there’s not too much turbulence on your flight…

You stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the little walking man signal to show up on the light across the way. You’re soon joined by another person—a man in a soft-looking jacket who supplies you with a small “good morning” bob of his head. You respond in kind, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It’s nice that he too understands that it’s entirely too early to be having any kind of conversation, even if it is just a simple verbal greeting between strangers on a street corner.

The light changes, and you both begin your trek across the street. Your fellow walker is faster than you—or, more likely, has longer legs and, ergo, a longer stride than your own—and is nearly halfway across by the time you get your wheeled suitcase over the curb. He seems decent enough. You hope he’s going somewhere nice.

It’s then that you make the mistake of looking up. It would have been much better if you had just continued watching the white painted lines on the road and thinking about how it reminds you of piano keys—and how you hated the six months of piano lessons your parents forced you to take in the first grade.

But no. You noticed someone walking towards you, and you just had to look up.

The first thing you notice is a rainbow tie-dye shirt. The second thing you notice is that the rainbow tie-dye shirt is on a very cheerful looking gentleman, who seemed to be bobbing his head in time with a song only he could hear.

The third thing you notice—and this one’s the real kicker—is the large blue-and-green reptile sitting on his shoulder. It’s bulging eyes are hooded in pleasure as it’s red-pink tongue darts out to eat the green something—maybe a grape or a small piece of melon?—from the rainbow tie-dye man’s hand. It is nothing short of a spectacle, honestly, and you feel a piece of your sanity evaporate.

The rainbow tie-dye man continues on, uncaring of your confused stare at his strange pet. You even turn around to make sure that you weren’t somehow hallucinating, and sure enough, there is definitely some kind of creature draped over this stranger’s shoulder. It’s tail even sways in time with the man’s steps, which is both cute and confusing.

Because it would not do to stand in the middle of the street all day, considering the existence of rainbow tie-dye man and his exotic pet, you do the only thing you can do: turn back around and continue on your journey. You need a coffee. Maybe with an extra shot of espresso, after witnessing whatever the hell that was. Something to set you right again.

“Was that…?”

The other man—the soft-coat long-stride one—is speaking low enough as to not draw attention, but loud enough for you to hear as you make your way towards the sidewalk. His expression reads ‘concerned, but trying not to show it’ which you suppose is the polite and mature way of handling the situation.

“…an iguana? Yeah,” you answer him, “I saw it too.”

The man’s brow furrows. His mouth puckers into a small frown as he considers…well, something.

“…Okay, then,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders, “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah.”

And you both continue on your way. He turns left at the next intersection, you turn right—but even though your paths may now be different, you will forever share an unbreakable bond over the fantastical sight you’ve witnessed today.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 3: Near Death Experience At Open Mic Night

You are not a poet.

Well, not professionally, anyways. You’ve been known to dabble in the written word, often scribbling little snippets of rhyme in a notebook over your lunch break or tapping a verse or two into the notes app on your phone. It a kind of outlet, you suppose—a way to keep the creative energy that bubbles inside of you from boiling over.

It’s also worth mentioning that you are not a confident public speaker. Not since that unfortunate incident in the third grade where you forgot the single line you had in the school play and ran off stage, tears streaming down your face and—actually, no, you’re not going to think about that right now. Or ever again, hopefully.

So when your (tipsy) coworkers decide that it’s a good idea to push you onto the stage at the local dive bar’s open mic night—while shouting at you to “read the one about the night-blooming jasmine”—you freeze up. There are at least seven strangers staring at you, expectation rising with every passing second of your inaction. It’s nerve-wracking in the way that the third-grade incident was not, and you gulp against the nervousness that rises in your throat.

Shaking hands scroll frantically through your phone, looking for the requested poem—and after a few agonizing moments, you manage to find it. Your voice cracks rather embarrassingly as you begin to read, trying your damndest to get the words out right so you can slink back to the bar and drown the rest of the night in Chardonnay.

Everything is going well—or, at least, as well as can be expected—until you notice that the room is suddenly feeling very hot. That’s the last coherent thought you have before the room goes dark and everything falls silent.

Next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling. A man who you do not know is leaning over you, and his mouth is moving—oh, he’s probably trying to say something to you, but it’s very difficult to tell what he’s saying over the throbbing pain in the back of your head.

You ask him if you’re dead. It’s a possibility after all, that you’ve somehow died and landed yourself in some kind of special public-speaking hell. That’s what this feels like, anyways.

The man says no, you are not dead. You say ‘dammit’ in response. He tries to hold back laughter, offering to help you up by extending his hand. You take it and—ouch, ugh, ew, going from laying to standing is not a fun experience.

You thank him (albeit awkwardly) for helping you up, and he insists that ‘it’s cool.’ Passing out in front of an audience is not even remotely cool, but you nod and thank him again, anyways.

Before you’re able to converse with the helpful stranger any further, your coworkers have come to collect you. You are whisked away by someone from accounting, who offers to escort you home—an offer you gladly accept, very excited to leave the site of your failure behind you.

Safe to say, you never go back to that particular bar again.

#writings and such #thought you’d get me with a thirst post WELL I JUST THREW DOWN AN UNO REVERSE CARD BAYBEEEEE #‘he’s looking at you’ YOU TRYNA MAKE ME BLUSH CUZ ITS WORKIN OKAY???#fun fact: the second one was inspired by MULTIPLE real-life events #can’t wait to wake up tomorrow morning and regret this <3

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everythingisawayoflife · 3 years

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JOSH AND DONNA WEDDING HEADCANONS!!

first of all, josh wakes up, or more likely, is already awake late at night, and calls sam

“i’m gonna do it, sam”

“like now?”

“what’s the likelihood she’ll say yes?”

“at this hour, not likely.”

josh then decides to call toby directly after and is met with a lovely string of sleepy curses about how it is the middle of the night and there was no reason to call him at this “ungodly hour”

he softens when he realizes why josh called so late and that there is a reason

josh acts incredibly weird around donna for the next two weeks

one minute he’s tense with her, the next he’s as clingy as a koala bear

he asks her weird and vague questions—by proxy

he gets cj to subtly mention engagements and marriage subtly to see what donna would like

“my cousin, tracy, she just got engaged.”

“oh really?”

“yeah he asked her in central park.”

“i wouldn’t like that, being around all those strangers. but i guess if you’re in front of friends and family, it wouldn’t be too bad”

*cue cj secretly taking notes*

sam is his test dummy, as in he uses sam to practice proposing to donna

“wow you’re really bad at this”

“i’ve never done this before, sam”

“i have and i can tell you right now you have it all wrong”

sam was actually pretty reluctant but once he found out he was gonna be josh’s best man, he warmed up

josh recruits sam and toby to write a speech of some sorts

he gets so stressed about it, toby slaps him and tells him to pull what little shit he has left together

since we all agree that jed is basically like josh’s second dad, josh goes to bartlet right before he does it

little sidenote: abbey knows because cj let it slip that josh was proposing and because i believe mrs bartlet is the number one josh and donna shipper, she insists the that she’s in on it

abbey throws a dinner party in manchester that is really a disguise for donna’s proposal

donna can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at her

everyone is here: jed, abbey, toby, cj, sam, ginger, bonnie, charlie, ellie, and zoey

after dinner, abbey invites everyone into the parlor for some “celebratory”champagne

in true donna fashion, she asks what their celebrating

everyone directs their eyes to josh because well it’s his fucking turn to speak and he hasn’t said a damn word all night

josh gives his little spiel about his and donna’s relationship (with donna’s little quips in between) until he finally asks her

donna doesn’t say anything at first

then she takes the ring out of his hand, studies it, then puts it back in his hand

he thinks that it means no and so does everyone else (abbey’s silently cursing) and his eyes even start to well up despite him not wanting them to

“well, are you just gonna look at or am i gonna be the future mrs. josh lyman?”

the look on josh’s face was a mix of relief, love, and happiness—to donna, it was priceless

they kiss of course

abbey is the first to see donna’s ring

which, of course, looks like this:

josh loves saying “my fiancée”

donna secretly (not so secretly) also loves saying “my fiancé”

SUMMER WEDDING (specifically the middle of august)

abbey insists they hold the wedding at the bartlet farm and while josh initially declines, abbey sits him and down and tells him they’re gonna get married under this roof or “so help me god”

SIDENOTE: this is really me letting my inner wedding planner (and chronic self-projector) out of me so prepare yourself

PEONIES & GARDENIAS (gardenias are my favorite flower)

donna was one of those who dreamed of a white wedding but it clearly didn’t go to plan

SHE’S the one calming down josh because he absolutely is going berserk and is panicking

abbey becomes donna’s right-hand woman, going dress shopping with her and giving her advice as a former bride and current wife

donna is superstitious—she goes by the now famous rhyme something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue

her something old is a pearl necklace from her mom

her something new is a little belt that goes around the waist of her dress

something borrowed is a pink ribbon her childhood best friend tied around her wedding bouquet

the something blue are these little blue earring studs josh got for her before they were engaged

abbey helps donna pick out her dress along with cj, ginger, her mother, and bonnie

she eventually picks this dress:

AFTERNOON WEDDING

(i actually used this game to design the dress that i felt suited donna—go to azaleasdolls.com and go to exclusive games, scroll a little, and there should be that wedding game)

to be frank, i do not know what the respective bachelor and bachelorette parties would be like, but i know i would prefer to be at the bachelorette party

donna starts crying right before she has to walk down the aisle but manages to pull herself together before walking out

sidenote: jed would gladly walk donna down the aisle if her father could somehow not make it (thats just a cute one bc donna and jed friendship is totally underrated)

i’m telling you right now, this is one of the only times josh lyman has cried in front of people

he sees her walking to him and he just mentally kicks himself because he didn’t see what was so perfectly clear for everyone else

god he loves her

when donna gets next to him, she whispers “stop blubbering or you’re gonna make me ruin my makeup”

the wedding vows are unbelievably so josh and donna-esque

even sam starts crying a little bit

charlie likes to bring it up but sam denies it ever happened

“my allergies just happened to be very inflamed that day and i had spring fever”

“sam it was the dead of summer”

RECEPTION TIMEEEEE

sam’s best man speech is a little drunk but who cares it’s funny and josh and donna watch back the tape in their free time after they first get married

they have a fairly decent sized wedding

guests consist of family, friends, former and current staffers

when they cut the cake, donna 100% smashed a piece in josh’s face

it was a vanilla, three-tier cake and it was gorgeous

in response, he gently dotted her nose with frosting before absolutely demolishing a piece on her face

their first dance is to just the way you are by billy joel bc i really like that song and i’m self projecting again

josh LOVES saying “my wife”

it is “my wife this” and “my wife that”

and donna wonders why she married the dork

she takes his last name but also keeps her so she becomes Donna Moss-Lyman

she does typically go by mrs. lyman when being addressed though (she thinks it has a nice ring to it)

THEY HONEYMOONED IN ITALY—i’m talking the amalfi coast (i’m only saying that because i just happen to be a huge harry styles fan and that’s where the golden mv was filmed and we’re getting sidetracked so that was just a little tidbit)

they went to rome and to that statue thing audrey hepburn and gregory peck put their hands into in Roman Holiday

y’know this one:

in conclusion, the wedding was very beautiful and josh and donna really got the wedding of their dreams

also sidenote just because: josh and donna have three lovely children, two girls and one boy

also this post is dedicated to @stars-on-the-cuffs-of-her-jeans and @meanderingstream who inspired me to write this!

#the west wing #josh x donna #donna x josh #josh lyman #donna moss #josh and donna wedding supremacy!!#wedding hcs #sam seaborn #abbey bartlet #jed bartlet #toby ziegler #cj cregg #sidenote this took two days #pls dont let this flop i worked really hard on it #charlie young

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therappundit · 3 years

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***Best of the 1st Half of 2021: SONG EDITION***

Six months into 2021 and since 2020 wrapped up...some things in the world have changed, while other things remain the same (for better or worse). Folks, it’s time to talk about rap music in 2021...

One trend definitely has continued well into 2021: the underground rap world - I’m talking the artists, the aesthetic, the sound, the full projects, every box you can think of - continues to kick the mainstream rap world’s ass. There are already signs of the two imaginary separate worlds intermingling more and more, and we will have to deal with the pros and cons of that down the line...but one thing is for sure: rap music runs deeper, and more sonically diverse than ever before, and as long as there is an internet to enlist the ears and talents of artists from all over the world, the art form will continue to divide, change shape, borrow from the old and add some new, again and again. And we will all be better for it.

So let’s dive right in. As usual there are about 1,000 more songs that I would love to cram into this list, but there are only so many spots...and I’m married with a toddler, so even though I am listening to rap music for a concerningly large portion of my day, it takes a lot of extra coffee and less sleep to keep these posts going (but it’s still worth it, I love connecting with folks over the same under-discussed but ridiculously dope songs and artists).

There are many lists but none quite like this one, here is THE RAP PUNDIT’S LIST OF THE BEST RAP SONGS FROM THE FIRST HALF OF 2021....hope you find some joints you never heard before and really enjoy. And to all of the MCs, Producers, mixers, singers, curators, readers, writers, critics - anyone that contributes something to this music I love....thank you, as always. 🙏

[Bonus joint] 55. “GANG GANG” - Polo G feat. Lil Wayne

https://soundcloud.com/polo-g/polo-g-lil-wayne-gang-gang?in=polo-g/sets/hall-of-fame-675200176

[Bonus joint] 54. “Furious Styles” - Illa Styles feat. Nickelus F https://illastyles.bandcamp.com/track/furious-styles-ft-nickelus-f

[Bonus joint] 53. “Box of Churches” - Pooh Sheisty feat. 21 Savage

https://soundcloud.com/ceo-mrpooh/box-of-churches-feat-21-savage

[Bonus joint] 52. “Beating Down Yo Block” - Monaleo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnMPEfV0bSA

[Bonus joint] 51. “BUZZERBEATER” - Rahiem Supreme feat. Al.Divino & Estee Nack

https://franksvinylrecords.bandcamp.com/track/buzzerbeater-feat-al-divino-estee-nack

50. "A Man Apart” - Rx Papi

https://soundcloud.com/rxpapi/a-man-apart-prod-by-noisy?in=rxpapi/sets/100-miles-walkin

(Face it: you’re either feelin’ the Rx flow or you’re not. The endlessly quotable MC is not always taken seriously, but similar to how the saddest clowns are most adept at masking their pain behind a smile, Papi needs to be taken seriously as a talented rap artist.)

49. “Moving On Up” - Evidence feat. Conway The Machine

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5F35OOXvQ4c

(Evidence, Babu, Daringer and Conway all joining forces on a record feels like a timeline altering reach between two completely different generations of elite underground hip-hop artists, but in the case of “Moving On Up”, it’s not just a “hey wouldn’t it be dope if” fantasy, it’s a sweet reality. Ev has connected with the Griselda camp before and of course the results are dope. Add this one to the list, one of the many fine moments off of Unlearning Vol. 1.)

48. “Gordon Ramsay Freestyle” - Remble

https://soundcloud.com/remble2/gordon-ramsay-freestyle-prod-by-laudiano

(An attention grabbing MC if ever I heard one, Remble clearly hails from the same camp as Drakeo The Ruler - Stinc Team - but with that flow and sense of humor, he may develop a lot more than just a strong following out on the West Coast. Look out for Remble, he is knocking on the door of blowing, he’s just one key feature away...)

47. “The Shifts” - maassai feat. AKAI SOLO

https://maassai.bandcamp.com/track/the-shifts-feat-akai-solo

(If you haven’t checked out one of 2021′s most quietly impressive albums, I cannot recommend With The Shifts enough.)

46. “BOXINABACK” - Bris feat. Alphie Blood

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3ai7WYivGo

(The career of Sacramento’s Bris was really beginning to pick up momentum in 2020...sadly, he was killed the same year. I cannot pretend to be an expert in the Sscramento rap scene, I just know that it’s been bubbling for a while, and this song really captured my attention as soon as I heard it. RIP, Bris.)

45. “Last Day Out” - Rio Da Yung OG

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sB51CUUod1w

(Right before Rio Da Yung OG entered the penitentiary, he dropped “Last Day Out”, a song that perfectly captures what the rap game will be missing while he’s gone - and more brutal honesty than we are accustomed to hearing from Flint, Michigan’s punchline killer.)

44. “Thousand Miles” - MAVI

https://mavi.bandcamp.com/track/thousand-miles

(The whole EP is impressive, but I think this joint most actually captures MAVI’s rhyme skills, flow and song writing ability. With young talent like this bubbling up from the underground scene, the future of rap music is as strong as ever.)

43. “Appletree” - Valee & KiltKarter

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPO2AXgZMSc

(Not necessarily a vibe that everyone will be into...but one that if you are into it, you will reap the rewards in abundance. It’s so enjoyable to hear Valee applying his unpredictable cadence to new music once again, made that much more enjoyable by the fact that he has already dropped THREE mixtapes in 2021 and it’s only July!)

42. “Next Chamber” - Peter Rosenberg feat. Method Man, Raekwon & Willie The Kid

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1amHQefki98

(Admit it: this is the type of production we have all been wanting on Wu-Tang albums for years. We won’t get it, but this is closer to the sound that they represented....and of course let’s not forget about the always welcome WTK feature, who does more than hold his own over the NY legends.)

41. “St. James Liquor” - Skyzoo feat. Aaria

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWC_tFzqUz8

(Pen game’s don’t come much finer than Skyzoo’s. The Brooklyn MC put a lot of work into All The Brilliant Things, and the final result was a collection of thoughtful rap songs like this one: descriptive, autobiographical rhymes over beautiful instrumentation that conjures memories of classic Roots records, and the headspace that only the greatest early 90′s East Coast lyricism could provide. Great song, great album.)

40. “10″ - Drakeo the Ruler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIRJoQFyS6c

(One of the best stories in 2020 rap music was when Drakeo hit the street once again, after a painfully long stretch of time in prison. He really hit the ground running in 2021, dropping one quality track after another...but then again, he never really stopped making dope rap in the first place, be it in the studio or over prison phone.)

39. “MASSA” - Tyler, The Creator feat. DJ Drama

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vGz0bFutZs

(When folks were saying that Tyler was RAPPING rapping on his new album, this is what they were talking about. Not since Kanye West has a polarizing rapper-producer excelled so well at spilling his guts all over a track, and moments like this "MASSA” make Call Me If You Get Lost the standout project that it is.)

38. "DARTGUNZ” - Chuck Strangers

https://soundcloud.com/chuckstrangers/dartgunz-produced-by-samiyam

(Chuck Strangers remains low-key one of the best MC / Producers in the game, but Chuck is merely flexing his bar-work on this Samiyam produced gem.)

37. “Messy” - Nappy Nina & JWords

https://nappynina.bandcamp.com/track/messy

(Big shout-out to Pitchfork for putting me on to Nappy Nina within their rap song of the day section, The Ones. I love her music, and when paired with the incredibly gifted producer JWords - who I was only somewhat familar with thanks to previous terrific collaborations with MIKE and maassai - the result is a dope ass album like Double Down.)

36. “Nobles” - The Alchemist feat. Earl Sweatshirt & Navy Blue

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQoKO_v93g0

(The instrumental sounds as a triumphant as you could expect music from this trio to sound. My only complaint about This Things Of Ours was that it wasn’t 10-50 songs longer.)

35. “Nothing Like The Sun” - Tree feat. Roc Marciano

https://mctreeg.bandcamp.com/track/nothing-like-the-sun-feat-roc-marciano

(Okay so for the past few years, I had been pressing Tree, Closed Sessions, and just about anyone that would listen that a less than a minute clip from an old Tree promo featured an unreleased Tree & Roc Marciano joint. So finding out that this joint would *finally* being released on Tree’s Soul Trap album, it felt like Christmas morning. Now the world finally gets to hear two of the finest rap artists from the past decade plus!)

34. “nine lives” - maassai

https://maassai.bandcamp.com/track/nine-lives

(A great example of a song that seems to get better and better as it goes on, maassai & that horn sample are undeniably good on here.)

33. “Lemon Pepper Freestyle” - Drake feat. Rick Ross

https://soundcloud.com/octobersveryown/drake-lemon-pepper-freestyle?in=octobersveryown/sets/scary-hours-2-1

(This one really radiates, “YES, you have heard this before”...but when it works so well, that’s not such a bad thing. Drake came ready to rap, and it will propel this joint to the top of many lists you will find on those other web sites.)

32. “triboro.” - Remy Banks feat. Mr. Muthafuckin’ eXquire, Wiki & A-Trak

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwSJ-DtZRBk

(I dig this in a big way. A few of NYC’s finest, flexing over what feels like blasting Kraftwerk out of a boombox on the L Train? I’m so on board.)

31. “Safe To Say” - Good Gas, Fki 1st & Band Gang Lonnie Bands feat. Band Gang Biggs & Glockboyz Teejaee

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aykhcv625u0

(Of all my favorite projects that dropped in 2021 thus far, I don’t know if any have been as inexplicably under-discussed as the Good Gas, Fki 1st & Band Gang Lonnie Bands banger, Street Dream Team. I stumbled upon the project completely by accident one week while thumbing through all of the new joints that dropped from Detroit MCs one week, and I have kept it in heavy rotation ever sense. While not necessarily a spot-on snapshot of Band Gang Lonnie Bands’ typical sound, for a Michigan outsider like me, it makes for a great entry level intro to one of my favorite rappers out of the Motor City right now.)

30. "Early Exit” - Lloyd Banks

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BUofKVrb-A

(Yeah the Roc Marciano verse sounds like it was recorded over an old radio on cassette tape, but as someone from the real mixtape era, I’m not going to let shaky sound quality distract from the fact that every other part of the song is fantastic. The bars are there of course, but the beat and hook are all spot-on, and sound quality be damed it’s just great to hear Banks & Roc together.)

29. "Yonkers” - Wiki & NAH

https://wiksetnyc.bandcamp.com/track/yonkers

(Rife with experimentation and half-freestyles, and sonically living somewhere between Company Flow and Ratking, the subterranean metro sounds of Wiki and NAH’s Telephonebooth might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but if you have been checking for Wiki’s music prior to this point, chances are you are going to be feeling this collaboration with NAH, a producer that I was previously not familiar with, but became a huge fan over night thanks to cuts like “Yonkers”.)

28. “John Wick” - AKAI SOLO & Navy Blue

(Whether you still believe “lo-fi” rap is a legitimate sub-genre or not, there’s no denying the abilities of these two gifted writers/artists. The wind is blowing in this direction my friends, I just hope you get on board soon and stop neglecting all of the great rap music rising from this corner of the underground.)

https://akaisolo.bandcamp.com/track/john-wick-prod-navy-blue

27. “Let It Roll Interlude” by IAMNOBODI feat. Phonte & BeMyFiasco

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVA1hXEnwnE

(Hard to believe that arguably the strongest rap verse of 2021 would be so under the radar, but here we are...)

26. "Taylor Made Suit” - Evidence

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qLIuc3z7KQ

(Perhaps the thing I love most about this new Ev - both the song itself, as well as the entire album - is how incredibly effective he sounds over minimalist production throughout. “Funeral suit, same as my wedding suit”...shout-out to the legendary MC and producer, both for everything that has has endured in his personal life and his ability to turn his pain into art.)

25. “GOOFIEZ” - Mother Nature and Boathouse feat. Valee

https://mothernaturebarz.bandcamp.com/track/goofiez-featuring-valee

(When Chicago talent gets busy on a record, not many can hang with them. Be on the lookout for more and more big things from the likes of Mother Nature, Valee, and Boathouse.)

24. “Peach Cobbler” - Navy Blue

https://navybluethetruest.com/

(I’m not sure if there is a “chosen one” right now, someone destined to reach such levels of success and/or respect that Drake & Kendrick-esque waves are felt over a generation...but if there is, the mega-talented producer/MC/skater/whatever he wants to be Navy Blue might fit the bill.)

23. “Rose Gold” - 42 Dugg feat. EST Gee

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhmKfKZr-PQ

(There are more than a few songs off of 42 Dugg’s Free Dem Boyz that belong in my Top 50, but “Rose Gold” gets the nod off the strength of the menacing beat paired with 42 and one of the most scorching hot rappers walking the earth right now, EST Gee)

22. "MANIFESTO” - Tyler, The Creator feat. Domo Genesis & DJ Drama

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnDXCoHRl4o

(The Selena Gomez/Justin Bieber bar will garner most of the hype around this joint, but don’t let it distract from the fact that this song is one of the best collaborations between former Odd Future members since the collective’s creative peak.)

21. “What’s Next” - Drake

https://soundcloud.com/octobersveryown/drake-whats-next?in=octobersveryown/sets/scary-hours-2-1

(Pay attention to this Drake guy, I think he has a shot of making it. He makes it seem so easy, yet he has no peers at his level right now. There’s the growing underground elite...then there’s Drake, and little competition to duke it out with him when it comes to smash rap hits....assuming that is still supposed to be a thing?)

20. “MOMENTZ” - Mother Nature and Boathouse

https://mothernaturebarz.bandcamp.com/track/momentz-2

(You would be hard pressed to find a more enjoyable, high quality tape than SZNZ. The Chicago MCs rock a beat that sounds like a Camp Lo leftover - and I mean that in the best way possible - and show a natural penchant for earwormy choruses that should serve them very well in this biz.)

19. “Grace Jones” - maassai

https://maassai.bandcamp.com/track/grace-jones

(Somewhere between spoken word and where Lyricist Lounge-era Rawkus resides, you can find the warrior poet that is maassai: quite simply one of the most impressive MCs in rap right now.)

18. “How It Feels” - Lil Baby & Lil Durk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAsRTTO8L2k

(I know how it feels to care relatively little about a collaboration project between two of the game’s more revered Lil’s, then be blown away by both of them rapping their asses off for like 20 songs.)

17. “Falling Out the Sky” - Armand Hammer & The Alchemist feat. Earl Sweatshirt

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctmTme9cG74

(There’s wavy, and then there’s wavy in the hands of The Alchemist, Earl Sweatshirt and Armand Hammer. One of Haram’s many standouts, this one is probably not what fans expected when they first saw the album’s tracklist, but it might actually be more special than we expected.)

16. “Capitol 1″ - EST Gee

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ng7Sg1_RTM

(Mark my words: by the time we reach the end of 2021, EST Gee will be in the top 10 of every reputable rap site’s best MC list. At least I know that he will most likely be on mine.)

15. “LUMBERJACK” - Tyler, the Creator feat. DJ Drama

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WOjaYotX1c

(Who knew we needed Tyler to join forces with DJ Drama to rap over a Gravediggaz joint? Never one to do what everyone expects, when this cut dropped about a week before his new album was released, it was clear that he was ready to pick up where he left off with his impressive bar-work on a flurry of features in 2020. Now that I think about it, after “Something To Talk About” and “327″ maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that Tyler dropped one of the hardest joints of the year.)

14. “The Stellar Ray Theory” - Mach-Hommy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3GWJrL2ht0

(The single that Mach & Griselda stans were terrified to hear, at the risk of revealing their no-longer-a-secret project to be a painful example of how far the parties had drifted since their over-publicized fallout, only to find the opposite: Mach & Gunn didn’t just find their chemistry once again, they improved upon it.)

13. “Sandra” - MIKE

https://mikelikesrap.bandcamp.com/track/sandra

(With his new Disco! album, MIKE managed to step outside of his typical lane of delivery, showing how nimble he truly is as a MC, and even takes his skills to another level as a producer, delivering what might be the most enjoyable album of his career thus far.)

12. "No Time” - Your Old Droog feat. Wiki

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Y8Ozq9tMLE

(The new YOD album sounds so painstakingly written and executed, you would never believe it just casually dropped out of the blue one evening. Few are better at crafting themes without compromising the joy of listening to the music, Droog delivered once again.)

11. "What The Money Taught Us” - Skyzoo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JV2QEbxMYgU

(This new Skyzoo album has so much beauty to unpack, please dig in if you have been keeping it on the back-burner for some reason.)

And now the Top 10...

10. “Folie Á Deux” - Mach-Hommy feat. Westside Gunn & Keisha Plum

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LF1-VvJsbqI

(Conductor Williams does it again, putting his own unique touch to one of Pray For Haiti’s standout cuts. The song is almost beautiful sound if it wasn’t for Westside Gunn, Mach and Keisha Plum pumping their own unique rawness into the beat. This one represents everything going right with Griselda right now.)

9. “Hallways” - Peter Rosenberg feat. Roc Marciano & Flee Lord

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrDrvozDzo4

(Superior to anything on last year’s Mt. Marci, Disco Vietnam really blessed Flee Lord and Roc Marciano with the type of late night loungin’ in New York banger that Roc knows how to knock out the park better than anyone. “Hallways” screams late night underground radio in a way that feels both nostalgic and fresher than just about anything out right now.)

8. "Seeing Green” - Nicki Minaj feat. Lil Wayne & Drake

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diUcHDlCqMo

(Many have tried to recapture the skill, swagger, and star power of The Roc in the early 00′s, but most have not been able to come close. Leave it to the diamonds in Young Money’s crown to come through and capture the pomp and circumstance so successfully, it’s amazing that Just Blaze wasn’t somehow involved. If you aren’t feelin’ at least one of these verses, time to join a hater support group.)

7. “Prayers Over Packages” - DJ Muggs & Rome Streetz & DJ Muggs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2r2AYxN20ZI

(Most underground artists must be so excited to have the legendary DJ Muggs lace them with a full project, and I’m sure Rome Streetz was honored. But while Muggs delivered another strong performance on Death & The Magician, it’s Rome that elevates the material to truly masterful levels.)

6. “Wants and Needs” - Drake feat. Lil Baby

https://soundcloud.com/octobersveryown/drake-wants-and-needs-feat-lil?in=octobersveryown/sets/scary-hours-2-1

(Yes Drake still has the touch, one of rap music’s few legitimate hitmakers left....but hot damn, it’s Lil Baby coming through to turn the joint to ashes that carries “Wants and Needs” to song of the year caliber levels.)

5. “S.R.D.” - Peter Rosenberg feat. Styles P, Ransom & Smok DZA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-tzSrIZ8tso

(Don’t overthink it: the watery boom-bap backdrop provided by Buck Dudley is exquisite, and all three MCs go in. I think it’s time to admit that if it wasn’t for the like him or passionately hate him aura around Peter Rosenberg, a lot more folks would. be praising this compilation as one of the finest since peak DJ street tape era.)

4. “Black Sunlight” - Armand Hammer & The Alchemist feat. KAYANA

https://armandhammer.bandcamp.com/track/black-sunlight-featuring-kayana

(What more can I say about this union by now? Al dipping into his breezy bag to bless the lyrical onslaught of billy woods and ELUCID was not something that I thought I needed, but after hearing them cook together I don’t know if I ever want Armand Hammer to go back to the bleak soundscapes they’re often know for. The contract in style was so effective throughout Haram, bringing out the best from all parties, in my not-so-humble opinion...hopefully even more to come from this alliance.)

3. “TV Dinners” - The Alchemist feat. Sideshow & Boldy James

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuUGrlVivic

(A slick, seemingly harmless little head nodder from The Alchemist, Boldy and the rapidly ascending main-stage level Sideshow. I felt this one right from the jump the day Al’s This Thing of Ours EP dropped, and it’s remained high on my list of 2021 favorites ever since. Give me a bunch of chill MCs doing deceptively slick pen-work over a jazzy but simple loop, and I’m set.)

2. “The 26th Letter” - Mach-Hommy feat. Westside Gunn

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7jcjW8h230

(Forget the albums that go for thousand of dollars. Forget the mysterious aura around him, forget the Twitter stan-dom and those that loathe them, and forget the flames of Griselda gossip that are fanned by both fans and doubters....and just imagine you never heard this MC rap before and you have just pressed play on “The 26th Letter”. )

1. “Kill All Rats” - Conway & Big Ghost LTD. feat. Ransom & Rome Streetz

https://bigghostlimited.bandcamp.com/track/kill-all-rats-ft-ransom-rome-streetz

(Whenever attempting to wrangle my favorite songs into one tidy list, there is one ex-factor that can elevate a collection of bars to an elite song: execution. You already know that when punchlines kings the caliber of Ransom, Rome Streetz, and Conway The Machine get on a record together, it’s bound to be a bar-fest....but to the extent of “Kill All Rats”??? Not expected. The name of the song itself invites a certain degree of redundancy, but when three great MCs jump on a track and write verses near the top of their skill level - and when a producer like Big Ghost sounds equally incensed with the instrumental that he brought to the table - even a straight-forward posse cut can end up being the best rap song of the year thus far.)

*COMING SOON: BEST RAP ALBUMS, AND RAP VERSES OF THE FIRST HALF OF 2021...stay tuned.* 👀

See also:

https://therappundit.tumblr.com/post/649527317251670016/best-of-the-1st-quarter

https://therappundit.tumblr.com/post/638904640503726080/the-best-rap-songs-of-2020-great-songs-that

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hazelbeka-blog · 3 years

Note

Do HAZEL for the fanfic ask meme? :D Your choice of fic for [insert fic]~

Thanks for the ask, Kage! <3

H: How would you describe your style?

God, what a question! I’ve reached a point where I do have a feel for what my style is but can I explain it in words??? I think the main cornerstones of my style currently are evocative descriptions, witty dialogue, and a mixture of darker themes with humour

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

Let’s go with Something Borrowed because I was quite proud of that one. The basic concept is that a ghost bride is possessing people on their wedding days, so the title is a play on words. It comes from that old rhyme about what a bride is supposed to wear to their wedding: ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’. Since possession is ‘borrowing’ someone’s body, it fit very neatly into both main themes!

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

I have technically written it in From the Dust, though it was a non-permanent MCD. I’ve read a few stories with MCD endings though I have to be in the mood for a tragedy. I don’t know if I would ever write permanent MCD – I’ve had a couple of ideas involving it but on the whole I tend towards hopeful or outright happy endings so I don’t know if I could actually go through with a sad ending!

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

Let’s stick with Something Borrowed. I think it would be fun for Iruka and Kakashi to become the ANBU team who get stuck with all the weird cases after their ghost hunting shenanigans. Any time something vaguely supernatural comes up, they’re assigned to it, to Iruka’s constant chagrin. I don’t know what the plot would be, but Iruka and Kakashi flirting and bantering their way through a spooky mission while they’re also fighting ghosts/youkai/monsters would be the general vibe.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

It varies wildly. Oneshots I generally just pass over once for some light-touch editing and then I might also do a proofread unless I’m feeling lazy. For longer fics, though, I do most of my macro editing as I go – so the big stuff like rewriting/deleting/adding whole scenes, adding/removing characters, changing plot points, etc. I’ve been known to rewrite the same scene four times, whereas other scenes I get right first time. Once I’m happy with all that bigger stuff, I finish the chapter/fic and then come back over to do a sentence-level editing round. I say sentence-level, but I might also delete/rewrite whole passages at this stage. Then I’ll do a final proofread and maybe neaten up the prose a tiny bit more before I post

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freebooter4ever · 4 years

Text

Eugene’s First Date

AU where Sledge and Snafu meet before the war - if Snafu was 18 when he joined the Marines after his parents died, that would make it about 1940 when Sledge was still 17 and living in Mobile, which was one of the first cities in the south to mobilize for the war effort, starting in 1940 and drawing in thousands of migrant workers from all over the country. As part of the CCC, Snafu probably would have been used to and maybe still looking for temporary work during that time, so I'm pretending that he ended up in Mobile for a while.

The boy laughed at him, and said Eugene's drawings were too talented to not be dangerous. "With the amount of detail you got in there...," Shelton reached around Eugene's shoulder to tap at the sketch, "Get that drawing in the hands of the enemy, and they'd be able to remake the entire ship from scratch. Don't need no schematics if they've got you."

The boy's voice was teasing enough, friendly enough, that Eugene managed to keep his cool when he turned around, only to be met by the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen - eyes the color of Mobile Bay. And on top of that a head of curly hair and a secretive smile suggesting the boy knew something Eugene didn't.

They got to talking and Eugene found out his name, where he's from, and why he's here on temp work in the lumberyard. Eugene also noticed how skinny Shelton looked, like he hadn't ate in a while. Eugene offered - then and there - to buy him food. Something more nutritious than the cigarette he was puffing on.

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

Eugene stands in front of a strange half-built house, on the edge of a field containing rows of similar half-built houses, and tries not to fidget. He is suddenly conscious of the brand new, sparkling clean 1940 Chevrolet his father let him borrow to drive into town, and which is now parked behind his shoulder. Eugene is beginning to guess why the charming Cajun boy looked so sardonic when Eugene asked what address he could pick him up at.

Eugene met Shelton at the docks earlier that day. Shelton had been working, Eugene had been sketching the giant freshly built tanker set to leave port - bound for Europe. Shelton took his smoke break, came up behind Eugene to watch him draw, and said in his infuriatingly casual voice, "Shouldn't be recording shit important to the war effort. Could leak valuable intel." Feeling angry and defensive, Eugene had snapped that he wasn't about to meet any Germans being stuck in Mobile, unable to do his part, so his sketches would be of little consequence. And then did his best to ignore the man's stare Eugene could feel trained on the back of his neck.

Shelton at first turned him down. He argued he had to be back at work in a few, but Eugene stayed strong and insisted he could pick Shelton up after work instead. Shelton rolled his eyes and gave him an address, which Eugene recognized as a local park. Eugene had assumed Shelton meant his residence was one of the tree lined brick boarding houses across the street from the park.

But now, standing in front of the makeshift house he had been directed to when he knocked on the wrong door at first, Eugene realizes he was wrong. Shelton is not living in a boarding house, Shelton is one of the migrant workers recently arrived in town without even a pillow to call his own.

Not to be outdone by embarrassment, Eugene squares his shoulders, steps up to the door (the only part of the shack that actually resembles something off a normal house) and knocks.

The door immediately swings inward to reveal Shelton standing in the one room dwelling. For a minute, Eugene forgets why he's even there.

Sid always says Mary Houston takes his breath away every time he sees her, and Eugene never really understands what he means...until now.

"Gonna stand there gawping like a fish, or are we going to dinner?" Shelton asks with a devilish smirk on his face.

"Uh…" Eugene says.

"Can't say I haven't heard great things about Mobile's seafood, but if I'm honest, with that fish face, you're already enough of a meal for me, boo," Shelton says, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. He looks at Eugene in a way no one has ever, ever looked at Eugene before.

Eugene chokes. He unzips the collar of his jacket and pulls at his shirt. "I, uh…" Eugene says, "I was thinking I'd take you to my friend's barbeque. Up the river aways." He gestures awkwardly in the general direction. "Best pork chops in the state."

Shelton's grin widens. "Sounds good," he says, "Just one tiny little thing." and he throws the door all the way open.

And standing there, on the tips of her toes, is a tiny little thing of maybe eight or nine. She's got a wrinkled dress with a full skirt and a gigantic satin bow tied on the top of her head, but lopsided like she did it herself without a mirror.

"Sledge, this is my sister," Shelton introduces them proudly, "Mairzy, this is…" He trails off as he realizes he doesn't know Sledge's name.

"Eugene," he says and crouches down so he can be level with Mairzy's eyes when he extends his hand, "Pleased to meet you."

She grins shyly but shakes his hand with great aplomb.

"We're a package deal," Shelton says smugly, still leaning against the door frame and looking at Eugene as if he's just won the lottery.

"Lucky I brought the car with the extra seat belts then," Eugene says.

"What are seat belts?" Shelton asks dryly, breezing past Eugene on his way to the car. The little girl follows and when she runs ahead of Eugene, he can see she has a mud stain all up the back of her dress from hem to collar. He almost laughs, but works to keep it in check. He tries to close the house door, since neither Shelton nor Mairzy seem to be inclined, but the door has no lock.

He closes it as tight as he can and trips over to the car.

Shelton is sprawled in the front seat and Mairzy is sitting in the middle of the bench playing with the radio.

"Uh, hold on a sec," Eugene says, and guides Mairzy to step out of the car. He presses a lever and flips the front seat forward so she can crawl through to the back. Once she's safely in the backseat with her nose already pressed to a window, Eugene slides into the front seat next to Shelton. Shelton grins at him.

Eugene has a funny feeling his face is going to feel perpetually flushed around this boy.

"Mairzy, seat belt please," Eugene says gently. He turns around and fishes between the backseat cushions to find the belt and hands it to her. She stares at it like he's produced a snake.

"Never used seat belts before," Shelton shrugs.

"Well, you might be excused, but she isn't," Eugene says. He manages to convince the little girl to put the seat belt on after she sees that Eugene is wearing one himself, and then away they go.

It's only a half hour drive to the barbecue, but Mairzy talks a mile a minute. Meanwhile Shelton silently lounges calmly in the seat next to Eugene staring at him, and does nothing but grin and grin. Eugene does his best to answer all of Mairzy's questions, but some of them stump even him. After twenty endless minutes of Eugene trying to keep up with her conversation, Shelton eventually takes pity on him and fiddles with the radio.

The static it produces only serves to drown Mairzy out. As far as Eugene can tell she continues talking. He is torn between telling Shelton to turn it off so he can be polite and listen to the girl's chatter, and feeling relief at the mental break.

Eugene watches Shelton's deft fingers twist the knob this way and that, too quick to land on any actual station.

"Here, I know which stations come in clear still," Eugene offers. He leans over to take Shelton's place at the knob and their hands brush against each other. Before turning control over to Eugene, Shelton's fingers run lightly down the back of Eugene's wrist. And then Shelton scoots farther away, as close as he can get to the window without falling out, and sits on his hands.

As flustered as Eugene feels by the exchange, he nevertheless perseveres and finds a delta blues station without static.

"Good choice," Shelton nods.

By the second song Mairzy starts singing, and by the third Shelton joins in. But instead of singing along, Shelton twists around in his seat and smiles at Mairzy. It's a genuine smile, without the artifice of the ones he saves for Eugene. And once Eugene looks past the beautiful smile, and starts listening to Shelton's singing, he realizes Shelton is changing the lyrics as he goes. Mairzy loves it. She yells encouragement, and tries to join in though her invented lyrics are not as clever or well rhymed as Shelton's.

Eugene laughs at Shelton's bizarre lyrics, but he taps one hand on the steering wheel in applause when they finish. And Shelton turns his winning smile at Eugene and Eugene finds himself smiling back.

The barbecue on the riverbank where they pull the car in to park at is nothing more than a large hut on stilts leaning over the water. Two rusted portholes take the place of normal windows on either side of the entrance, and an old plank boardwalk raised above the ground, winding through trees, leads them safely to the door.

Shelton looks impressed when Eugene holds the door open for them to go in.

"Not what I expected, fancy boy," Shelton says. He nudges Eugene with his shoulder as he walks past.

They're seated at a table on the two level balcony overlooking the river. The table contains the bare basics: a jug for water, stained towels for napkins, ketchup, house seasoning, cutlery, and nothing else. But the place has the best recipes in the state. People come here for the food.

And Shelton certainly appreciates food. He devours two pork chops, and Mairzy only proclaims herself full after her third. And the three of them polish off an entire bowl of coleslaw together. The only thing the two Shelton siblings look askance at is the side salad Eugene orders for himself and offers to share.

"Looks healthy," Shelton accuses.

"That's kinda the point," Eugene says as he nudges broccoli onto Shelton's plate.

Shelton stares Eugene down and eats every bite.

Afterwards the two of them sit on the edge of the lower level balcony, lean against the rail, and dangle their legs over the water. The kid runs up and down the length of the dock, chasing some kind of invisible bug as far as they can tell. She ignores them utterly, caught up in her own world.

Shelton munches on an after dinner apple in the most obscene manner Eugene has ever seen.

Shelton takes it the wrong way when Eugene grabs his wrist to put an end to the slurping. In addition to stopping, Shelton extends the apple out to Eugene for a bite. Eugene seizes the chance for revenge, and, holding Shelton's wrist steady, he leans in and bites a chunk out of the apple. Some of the juice dribbles down Shelton's thumb and Eugene considerately sucks his skin clean for him.

"Gonna get us in trouble," Shelton grins as he pulls his hand away and resumes eating his treat.

"Just helping you out," Eugene retorts.

"Ooh la la," Shelton drawls, "I'd be happy to watch you help me out anytime."

Eugene laughs and shoves at Shelton's shoulder. Shelton elbows him back. A playful scuffle breaks out and somehow in the mix they scoot closer together. Until their sides are pressed against each other - shoulders, arms, knees, hips, and thighs. They're sheltered enough out here from the public eye, and Eugene is close enough friends with the owner, that Eugene dares to take a deep breath and rest his head on Shelton's shoulder. He feels Shelton stiffen underneath his touch, and he sees Shelton glance around cautiously. But once satisfied that they're safe, Shelton casually drapes an arm behind Eugene's waist.

They sit like that uninterrupted for a good long while and Eugene starts to rethink his stance on romance being trivial and unproductive.

Mairzy is the one who breaks them out of their reverie. She holds up a piece of junk machinery she found trapped at the edge of the river and demands their attention.

Shelton sighs, "Put that down before you get tetanus."

But Eugene, realizing the faster way to convince the kid to stop touching the rusted metal, carefully extends his hand and offers to examine the thing. He places it on the balcony beside him and picks up a stick to poke at it with, pointing out any interesting parts he recognizes. Mairzy props her chin on the railing and watches with fascination.

Shelton looks on in amusement. Until something else catches his eye and he eagerly leans over the rail.

"Those boats down there..are they available for rent?" Shelton asks.

"Huh?" Eugene turns, "Oh, I don't know. I've never asked."

"I'm gonna ask," Shelton announces, leaving Eugene and Mairzy to their junk.

Turns out the boats are available to rent, if you're Shelton and can charm your way into anything.

Mairzy loses interest in the junk machinery pretty quickly at the prospect of a boat ride, and Eugene watches a little money exchange hands between Shelton and the dishwasher boy. Shelton herds them onto the boat and starts getting it ready to shove off. He pats a seat for Eugene on the side. Shelton proudly announces "No seat belts here," and starts the engine.

The ride begins smooth as they cut through the water cleanly like glass but then Shelton changes something on the engine, informs Eugene: "This one's got that new flathead supercharger. Same one they use on those hydroplanes," and suddenly they take off like a rocket.

Eugene clutches the side of the boat in fear. He clings for dear life, watching the trees whip past them in the distance. The river is fairly smooth, thank goodness, and there isn't much traffic at this time of the evening, but the change in speed is enough to send Eugene's heart thumping out of his chest.

The boat slows a little and Eugene looks back to find Shelton watching him, eyes wide with concern. Shelton reaches out his hand and places it on top of Eugene's.

"Faster!" Mairzy begs.

Shelton looks to Eugene.

"I'm fine," Eugene nods, turning his hand over and threading their fingers together.

Shelton smiles and turns up the speed.

They're flying. The wind is sharp and yet sticky like soup. For a while Eugene forgets his nerves and just enjoys. He leans into the bow of the boat next to Mairzy and laughs. It's the most freeing sensation, like they've already outrun all their own problems and are now leaving even the rest of the world behind.

Shelton starts singing, and it's something in French with a heavy accent. Eugene leans back to face him once more and sees the broadest grin on Shelton's boyish face as he expertly handles the boat. Eugene settles happily against the sidewall, more content to watch Shelton in his element than to watch the scenery.

They don't make it back to the dock by nightfall. When the sun finally sets, Shelton slows the engine down to a crawl and sticks to one side of the river as they float along. They have no lights, and even with the bright moonlight, neither of them want to risk getting stuck somewhere.

Mairzy stretches out on one of the seats and falls asleep. Eugene carefully wobbles his way to the back of the boat and sits down heavily beside Shelton. He would take Shelton's hand again, if he could. But the other boy is too busy keeping tight control of the boat and keeping a sharp eye out for any obstructions looming out of the darkness.

They sit in silence. Eugene wants to say something, but he can't think of anything to say with his brain too crowded full of the ache to touch.

"Mer," Shelton says quietly.

"Hmm?" Eugene asks.

"My name," Shelton says, "Didn't seem like you were ever gonna ask so I figured I'd tell you."

Eugene's face floods with warmth again. "I didn't want to be rude. But I thought...Mair...zy…" He points to the little girl, "You're both named…?"

"Merriell is my full name," he replies, "Merriell Shelton."

"Merriell," Eugene repeats, stumbling over the pronunciation.

Shelton grins, "I think my mom ran out of ideas after picking the name 'Mare' and then just decided on variations of the theme. Wanted her kids to have unique names but couldn't be bothered to get creative about it."

"Eugene Bondurant Sledge," Eugene says in return.

"Bondur-what?' Shelton laughs.

"Bondurant," Eugene confesses, "Think my parents thought they'd be raising a bootlegger instead of a sickly homebody."

"Sickly?" Merriell asks with a confused expression.

"Yeah, I have a heart murmur," Eugene says bitterly, "Means I can't do much of anything sometimes."

"And you let me speed this boat down the river without a care??" Merriell exclaims, sounding worried.

"Don't start," Eugene insists, "Please don't, I get enough mollycoddling at home."

"All right," Merriel says suspiciously, "But if your heart starts murmuring again, you let me know."

"Will do," Eugene says with great passion and looks Merriell straight in the eye. "Though...I'm pretty sure it's been murmuring since this afternoon," he adds quietly.

A glowing smile stretches across Shelton's face. He leans his shoulder into Eugene's and knocks their knees together affectionately. By this time, the barbecue is finally in sight.

Merriell cuts the engine and snatches up Eugene's hand as he drifts the boat back into the dock. Eugene lifts their hands and presses a quick kiss to Merriell's knuckles.

"Yeah, you're gonna be trouble," Merriell says, but whatever worries him is still not enough to wipe the damn smile off his face.

Eugene ties up the boat while Merriell carries Mairzy to the car. The kid is still fast asleep and doesn't even wake up when Merriell buckles her into the seat belt. Thus the two boys believe they're home free, and Eugene openly clutches Merriell's hand during the first half of the drive, holding their clasped hands tight against his thigh. Then Mairzy wakes up. It's as if the long nap gave her extra energy. She leans forward over the seat and insists on musical accompaniment. When she starts singing again, even without the radio on, Shelton slouches in his seat to rest his head on the cushion, groans and looks at Eugene with tired but happy eyes.

It takes a lot of effort for Eugene to get out of the car when they arrive in front of Shelton's house. Mairzy, on the other hand, vaults out of the backseat the minute Eugene snaps the front seat down. She goes running into the house. Eugene snaps the front seat back and stands awkwardly beside the car, trying to figure out etiquette protocol in this situation. He waits for a few before realizing Shelton isn't getting out.

Eugene leans down and peers at Shelton still inside the car. "You coming?" he smiles teasingly.

Shelton smiles back, but a little hesitantly, like he's nervous. "Can't," he says, "I'm stuck. Seat belt's tangled."

"What??" Eugene asks in confusion. He doesn't even remember Shelton putting his seat belt on. Eugene bends down and crawls over the driver half of the bench seat to help. "I've never had a problem with the front belts, it's always the back seat…"

Shelton shuts him up by dragging a hand through his hair and pressing his lips to Eugene's. Eugene's breath entirely leaves his body and he tries, desperately, to kiss back but he's afraid he's not very adept at it. He wobbles on the car seat in the dark to get a better angle and ends up unwittingly placing a hand in Shelton's lap, which elicits a lusty gasp from Shelton and a surge of embarrassment from Eugene who immediately tries to back away. Shelton laughs into the kiss and catches Eugene's hand to position it in a less awkward place. Eugene allows himself to resume his enthusiasm.

And they kiss. For an altogether too short of time span, in Eugene's opinion. Before long Shelton is backing away and opening the car door and winking at Eugene and saying "thanks for the meal," and then disappearing into the night.

#sledgefu #bad germs

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ts1989fanatic · 5 years

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TS7 is finally here!

If you’re like me or any of the millions of Swifties out there, the arrival of this next era is just as exciting as a brand-new bookshelf full of reads you get to experience for the first time.

After listening to the album on repeat all weekend, I decided to celebrate Lover with a book roundup inspired by each of the songs (since it’s the only thing I’ll be listening to for the foreseeable future, don’t @ me.).

ts1989fanatic an interesting perspective well written obviously a swiftie.

1. “I Forgot That You Existed” (Best Friends Forever, by Jennifer Weiner)

You heard it from Taylor first: indifference is the new vengeance. This solid album-opener is upbeat and poppy, a nice contrast with the lyrics about the (final?) end of a broken relationship, friendship (or feud), when you actually forget that the person you once had so much ire for still lives. She transitions from “Your name on my lips, tongue-tied/Free rent, living in my mind” to “forgot that you existed/and I thought that it would kill me, but it didn’t” with ease. But of course, insisting that you forget someone existed while singing about them would introduce interesting tension into any relationship. It reminded me of Jennifer Weiner’s Best Friends Forever, about what happens when a former friend shows up on your doorstep in a crisis, insisting you’re the only one who can help them out of a tight spot (when you’d rather do anything but).

2. “Cruel Summer” (Do You Want to Start a Scandal, by Tessa Dare)

Lyrically and sonically, this is one of my favorites on the entire album (it’s so good it should have been a single!) It’s got an Out of the Woods meets Getaway Car vibe in terms of the melody. Wistful, a bit haunting, but also a total bop. “So cut the headlights, summer’s a knife/I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone” describes a low point in Swift’s life (Summer 2016, ugh), juxtaposed with the high of discovering new love. There are so many books I could have picked for this, but “I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you” reminded me of the Regency romance trope where the heroine has a secret, or finds herself in a situation where her reputation is at stake, but is still tempted by a handsome rogue who might lead her into temptation and true love. (Sound a bit familiar?) Do You Want to Start a Scandal by Tessa Dare feels like the perfect accompaniment to this song about a woman who must prove her innocence in the face of a sullied reputation or be forced to marry a man she doesn’t think she could ever love.

3. “Lover” (Roomies, by Christina Lauren)

The title track (and the one I’ve been singing in the shower for days) is a swoony daydream of a couple in complete harmony, as Swift spins wedding vow-like lyrics such as “With every guitar string scar on my hand/I take this magnetic force of a man to be my…lover/My heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue/all’s well that end’s well to end up with you/swear to be overdramatic and true/to my…lover.” But Swift is all about balance in her songs, so imagery of keeping up the Christmas lights in “our place” is juxtaposed with suspicion that “everyone who sees you wants you.” This track reminded me of Roomies by Christina Lauren, with its musician main character and the trope of having to share a space while inevitably falling in love.

4. “The Man” (The Whisper Network, by Chandler Baker)

The double-standards between men and women have been explored in songs and novels since both art forms existed. Swift has already confronted the media’s perception of her as a victim, as a girl who goes on too many dates but can’t make them stay, etc. But in “The Man”, she more directly confronts how different she’d be treated if she were the opposite gender. How could I not think of the new thriller The Whisper Network, about a group of women who come forward about their male boss’ behavior of harassment in the workplace. Instead of continuing to suffer in silence, they tell the truth, resulting in an explosive conflict. I sort of saw the ending coming, but was very glad I was right.

5. “The Archer” (Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

Another slower, lyric-driven track on the album with gut-punching truths about love, friendship, and holding on to the one who has your heart. “The Archer” is associated with being a Sagittarius (which Swift is), but also her dynamic with the world. “Who could ever leave me, darling?/But who could stay?” is self-aware in a new way for Swift, as is “I never grew up, it’s getting so old” or “I see right through me.” This is one of my favorite tracks on the album, as Swift confronts her cultivated image as both archer and prey of fame and of love. Listening to the rising energy of the track as it builds to a anti-fairy-tale crescendo plus Swift’s lyrics made me think of Pride and Prejudice: Elizabeth Bennet is forced to acknowledge how her own prejudices have made it difficult for others to love her, but that she is deserving of an imperfect love. (And how could “All of my enemies started out friends” not remind you of awful Mr. Wickham?)

6. “I Think He Knows” (The Duke and I, by Julia Quinn)

After a slower song, this heats things up a bit, describing the early sizzle of a relationship before it even starts. For an entire album that sings the praises of a man, I liked the moment in the pre-chorus where she says “He’s so obsessed with me, and boy, I understand.” Own your worth, girl! The bridge was my favorite part of this song (as it often is with Swift; girl knows how to bridge) as it played with tempo and rhyme. “Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh/We can follow the sparks, I’ll drive.” Swift explores the tension of the moment between seeing someone and initiating contact—songs like these always sting with a bit of danger, too, because the man knows she wants him but neither of them say anything in public about it. She’s whispering in the dark, which gives me serious secret romance vibes. The Duke and I by Julia Quinn is about Simon, who is planning to propose to his BFF’s sister even though he doesn’t actually love her. It’s an arrangement that suits them both, but before they both know it, Daphne is giving Simon serious “I Think he Knows” vibes.

7. “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” (The Cheerleaders, by Kara Thomas)

If you don’t get the oft-spoken adage that “politics is like high-school,” this song takes the metaphor to the next level. Subtly political but 100% heartbreaking, Swift reimagines the political sphere (and her role in it) as a high school romance, moving from “American glory, faded before me,” painting the democratic 2016 election loss as a ripped-up prom dress (from Miss Americana, who assumed she would win.) Oozing drama and storytelling the way only Swift can, I love the moody elements of the brokenhearted girl contrasted with the new riff on a cheerleading chant (Go Fight Win!). This song is about mourning loss and then finding the strength to say “I know we’re going to win,” but it’s haunting melody and lyrics led me to pick a Cheerleader-inspired thriller. The Cheerleaders is about a string of cheerleaders murdered in a small town five years ago… and just when everyone thinks it’s time to move on, one girl becomes the center of a mystery that never truly died.

8. “Paper Rings” (The Royal We, by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan)

I’m on my fourth listen of the album and this might be my favorite track on it (though that changes minute by minute, with an album as dynamic as this—just to further accentuate the point, by the time of posting this piece, my new favorite might be I Think He Knows?). It’s a totally retro, ’60s style song—a totally fresh sound for Swift, and one that fits perfectly with her new aesthetic. (Makes me wonder why this wasn’t one of the singles released before the record.) It is a gold-mine for Swiftian lyricism, with so many gems I can’t possibly call them all out, and it moves so fast (like a good read) that you both want to cascade over them and pause to hear each line at least 5x before it passes you by. It’s an unabashed love song, relishing in the joy of knowing you’re with the one you love so much that “I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings”. The line that stuck out the most was “I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this,” which made me think of when Bex Porter goes to Oxford in The Royal We and, completely by accident, falls in love with the heir to the throne.

9. “Cornelia Street” (Passion on Park Avenue, by Lauren Layne)

“Cornelia Street” is sort of the antithesis to I Think He knows. It’s about remembering the early days of a new relationship (“We were a fresh page on the desk/filling in the blanks as we go”) and being more than willing to give up all the good that comes with fresh starts in order to settle into something real. It aches with melancholy, because any time we give something up should be a little sad—but it brims with hope and Swift’s trademarked optimism about love. “I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends/I’d never walk Cornelia Street again/ That’s the kinda heartbreak time could never mend.” I had to pick an NYC-set story for this, like Lauren Layne’s Passion on Park Avenue. The city is another character in the romance between a successful jewelry-business owner and the son of the woman her mother used to work for.

10. “Death By a Thousand Cuts” (Please Don’t Go Before I Get Better, by Madisen Kuhn)

Inspired by the Netflix movie Something Great, this is one of the few sad songs on the record, about a girl going through a breakup who can’t help but linger in happier memories. (For the record: “I dress to kill my time” is genius, as are so many of these lyrics.) Only Swift is so good at pairing such devastating messaging with a pop beat you can’t help but want to sing. This song was the hardest one to pick a book for (especially because it’s already inspired by a movie) so I decided to go with a poetry collection! Please Don’t Go Before I Get Better is all about the aches and sun rays of growing up, told in a staggeringly relatable voice that will make you want to curl up on the couch and cry your eyes out.

11. “London Boy” (Red, White and Royal Blue, by Casey McQuiston)

This is 100% about Joe Alwyn, but also… Taylor dated at least two Brits that we know of before him, so this song is also about what we already knew (“the rumors are true”): she has a penchant for London Boys. Essentially a road map of her favorite places in the city, this indulgent ditty trades “Tennessee Whiskey” for “A gray sky, a rainy cab ride” and of course, her man by her side. Red, White, and Royal Blue is the perfect pick for this song, about two boys who fall in love (after a rough start where they were almost enemies) amidst those gray, rainy skies… but one of them happens to be the son of an American President, and the other, the current Prince of England.

12. “Soon You’ll Get Better (feat. Dixie Chicks)” (Swamplandia! by Karen Russell)

Of all the songs on the album, this one gave me the most vintage Swift vibes. There’s no denying that she is an astonishingly talented songwriter, especially when you listen to what is essentially her greatest fear laid bare on this track with just a bit of guitar and the Dixie Chicks harmonizing in the background. Here, the story shines: Swift’s mother has been sick for a number of years, and while they’ve mostly kept the details of that battle private, this is the most vulnerable moment of love for her mother on an album mostly about finding true love. “Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you/Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus, too.” A friend of mine recently lost their mother just after getting married, and it made me marvel at how life often delivers us highs and lows to grapple with simultaneously. While all of this was going on—Kanye and Kim, Joe and London, another world tour, another album—in the background, Swift has been terrified of losing her mother. This song made me think of Swamplandia!, a novel about a young girl living in a gator-wrestling theme park where her mother used to be the main event, until she passed away. Now, in the wake of her death, the girl and her siblings must grapple with their mother’s legacy as a competing business rises up to swallow the success she built on the swamp.

13. “False God” (City of Girls, by Elizabeth Gilbert)

Is that a saxophone in the background of a Taylor Swift song? This slow, jazzy number is all about love and desire—and how we come back to it even when the world around us (and sometimes we, ourselves) put it in jeopardy. “And I can’t talk to you when you’re like this/Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town/I’m New York City” and other lyrics referencing New York seem to be the grounding force in an otherwise tumultuous relationship. Multiple times on this record Swift has alluded to rough patches in her current happiness, but connection is always the solution to fixing it. She seems to say that if you treat your relationship like it’s your religion, you can get through anything. This is one of the sexier songs on the album, but it’s also got serious NYC vibes, so I’m picking City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert: a novel all about relishing romance in the glitzy 1940’s New York Theater scene, but also how desire can either set us on the road to ruin, or redemption.

14. “You Need to Calm Down” (The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, by Taylor Jenkins Reid)

This song has done what Swift does best: inspire conversation and a bit of controversy. Acknowledging that it was past time for her to be an outspoken ally for the LGBTQIAP+ community, YNTCD tackles the various ways communities are pitted against one another (especially on the internet.) The first verse examines her personal haters (“Say it in the street, that’s a knock-out/But you say it in a Tweet, that’s a cop-out), the second calls out homophobes (“Shade never made anybody less gay”), and the third examines how her relationships with her female contemporaries have often been antagonistic, something she herself has been responsible perpetuating in the past with songs like “Bad Blood” and “Better Than Revenge” (“We all know now, we all got crowns/you need to calm down.”) The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is about a famous actress who hid the great female love of her life behind multiple male partners and uses her platform to tell the truth (all while hiding one last devastating secret). While Taylor herself has not come out as part of the LGBTQ community, she has come out as an ally, and this book made me think about the issues of privacy, platform, allyship, and identity that the song also confronts. If there’s more to the story of Swift’s relationship to the LGBTQIAP+ community, she’s going to share it on her own terms.

15.“Afterglow” (Queenie, by Candice Carty-Williams)

This song ranks high on my favorites from the album, and it’s a rare genre from Swift: the apology song. (The other famous one is Speak Now’s “Back to December.”) In this mid-tempo song with slamming drums and a breathy falsetto, Swift yearns for the partner she pushed away to meet her in the moments after the fight ends. “It’s all me, in my head/I’m the one who burned us down/ but it’s not what I meant,” she insists. There’s still hope here though, as opposed to earlier songs on the record that signal the doom of a friendship or a breakup after-the-fact. Queenie, by Candice Carty-Williams, is a novel about a girl coming to terms with her role in a failed relationship, a career she can’t seem to succeed in, and friends she unknowingly betrays. “Why’d I have to break what I love so much?” is a question asked in this song’s chorus, and one Queenie must answer in order to find real, lasting happiness.

16. “ME! (feat. Brendon Urie)” (Crazy Rich Asians, by Kevin Kwan)

This self-love anthem is bubblegum sweet and full of earworms: the “Shake it Off“ of the TS7 Era. It makes me think of lightning-fast beach reads that you can’t put down and that feel so good to read but also have a deeper meaning to them. Just because it’s not the most lyrically advanced of her songs doesn’t mean this bop doesn’t deserve to be celebrated— it reminded me of how romances constantly get a bad rep (lol, see what I did there?) as somehow lesser than other genres. I love that Taylor doesn’t care about what other people think and is 100% focused on being her authentic self— just like the heroine of Crazy Rich Asians, Rachel Chu. When confronted with the wealth and expectations of her boyfriend Nick’s family (who don’t think she’s good enough for him), she insists it’s her individuality that makes her the perfect partner for him.

17. “It’s Nice to Have a Friend” (This Love Story Will Self-Destruct, by Leslie Cohen)

This track might be my second favorite? It’s so different (Ukulele? Trombone? Is that what I’m hearing?) and such a contrast to the beginning of the album, the opener closes the door on a once meaningful friendship. It’s also a deceiving song, in that I’m still not 100% sure what it’s about. I think Swift is exploring the importance of friendship in all its forms: in childhood (“School bell rings, walk me home”) to adolescence “Something gave you the nerve/to touch my hand”) to romantic love (“Church bells ring, carry me home/rice on the ground looks like snow”). Ultimately, she may be saying that the most important thing about a romantic partner is that they make you feel like you have a friend—when you’re young, the thing that matters most is feeling seen by other people. If your lover is also your best friend, then you know they always have your back. A love story that takes place over two characters’ twenties, This Love Story Will Self-Destruct is about the missteps, betrayals, beautiful moments and connection that forms between two people over a decade.

18. “Daylight” (Evvie Drake Starts Over, by Linda Holmes)

“My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in.” What a way to begin this album closer. Swift’s last tracks have a tradition of being the ones that are most emblematic of her current state of mind, but they also have developed certain themes over time. Renewal, starting over, self-reflection, and hope are all subjects “Daylight” sheds a little light on. She acknowledges past failings (“I wounded the good and trusted the wicked”) and what she wants for the future (“I once believed love would be [burning red]/but it’s golden”). A book that feels like daylight on your skin is what’s needed for this song, and I think Evvie Drake Starts Over is the perfect pick: a story about a woman still grieving the loss of her husband but who finds herself moving on with a former major league baseball player. Both of them have pasts they are healing from, but together, they find hope for the future. “I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night/and now I see daylight.” And, unlike (I think?) any other song in her catalogue, she speaks in the end, not sings, in a direct appeal to her audience. Her very last words are “You are what you love.” Well, I love Taylor Swift. I love a good song lyric to sink my teeth into, or to sing. I love love. And I love a good story, whether it comes from a song or a book, and when you’re done with the album, I hope you find some here.

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crazycinemas · 5 years

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Something Borrowed Tom Holland x Reader

So I wrote this a while back but procrastinated editing so hard 😂 But I really like the idea so I finally made myself edit it this afternoon so I could post it tonight 😊

A big thanks to @unholyhaz for helping me out when I got stuck!

Enjoy, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!

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

You stare into the mirror, admiring the reflection staring back at you. The silver sequins at the bottom of the white dress perfectly matched the ones at the hem of your veil. The soft material of the dress shimmers as you move it, flaring out when you spin.

Lifting your dress slightly, you smile to yourself when you see a pair of silver converse hidden underneath, your secret. They were the ‘something old’ for your wedding. You had worn them on your first date with Tom.

Smiling at the mirror, you played with the veil. It was a beautiful lace, with lilies sewn into the design. The edges of it had sequins that perfectly matched your dress, flowing down your back, giving you a cape of sparkles, reminding you of pixie dust. This was your ‘something new’.

You look at the bracelet that had belonged to your grandmother, the sapphire stones shining in the light. ‘Something blue’.

The only thing you hadn’t been able to set up, in all your planning, was something borrowed. As selfish as it seemed, you didn’t want to use something in your wedding, knowing it didn’t belong to you and you would eventually have to return it to its rightful owner. So you had neglected to borrow something, and it was beginning to bother you, being the one thing you hadn’t planned. But having already seated the guests, it was a little late to change plans and find something.

You go back to focusing on the mirror, making a few last minute adjustments to the dress. It was ballgown style, making it easier to walk in, especially combined with your converse, which made you feel a tiny bit better.

After all the planning, you were finally marrying the love of your life. Tom and you had clicked as soon as you had met, but the two of you wanted to move slowly, which is why you were only engaged after five years of being together. Not that you would trade that time for the world. You loved every minute you spent with him, and after today you would officially be introducing yourself as ‘Mrs. Holland’. Smiling to the mirror, you hear a knock on the door, followed by Tom’s voice.

“Darling, it’s me.” You almost teared up at the sound of it. You could hear the smile he wore and the nervousness he felt.

“Tom, baby, don’t open the door, you can’t see me in the dress yet.” You go over to lean on your side of the closed door, and you hear him do the same.

“I know, y/n. How do you feel?” You smile, not hesitating.

“Terrified.” You hear his laugh from the other side of the closed door, and you have to fight the urge to open it and throw yourself into his arms at the sound.

“Me too, Darling. Is there anything I can do to help?” Your mind goes back to the rhyme. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

“Actually, yes, I need to borrow something.”

“What do you need, Darling?” You shake your head, resting it against the door.

“Anything, really, just something small.” He doesn’t answer, so you explain. “There’s this rhyme, like a good luck sort of thing, and I have everything else, something old, something new, and something blue, but I don’t have something borrowed.” He still doesn’t say anything, and for a moment you’re afraid he left. “Tommy, you still there?”

“I’m here baby, just thinking.” You smile to yourself while he ponders. “I know, you can wear my chain.” Gasping, you start to decline.

“Tom, baby, you never go anywhere without it, are you sure?” When he answers, you hear his voice more clearly than before.

“Darling, I’d give you the world if you asked for it, this is a small price to pay if it makes you happy.” You know he wouldn't say something that cliche if he didn't mean it. Your smile growing, you nod before remembering he can’t see you.

“Tommy, I love you.”

“I love you too, y/n.” You both sigh, anxious to say those words to each other during your vows that would be happening in less than an hour’s time.

“Okay, Tom, I’m going to crack the door just a little so you can hand it to me, but don’t look, okay?” His response comes immediately.

“Of course, Darling. Just stick your hand out.”

You open the door barely enough to push your hand through the crack. Feeling his hand take yours, you smile when he presses his lips to your palm before gingerly placing the chain in your hand and closing your fingers around it. His hands linger on yours for a moment, pressing one more soft kiss to your fingers before he pulls his hand back, and you do the same before closing the door.

“Thank you, Tommy.”

“Anything for you, Love.” You look at the chain, admiring it before tying it around your ankle.

You both are silent for a moment, enjoying the quiet before your life together begins. Both of you have been waiting for this moment since you met each other.

“Tom?”

“Yes darling?”

“I can’t wait to see you.” When he replies, you know there is a smile on his face.

“I can’t wait to see you either, my love.”

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

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Unknown Subject

Yes this one is named after an episode of Criminal Minds. Sue me. (Please don’t though CBS you would not have much of a case but I don’t have the money for it even if you tried). Anway, this was a request from the lovely @lettersofwrittencollective and should I be writing other things? Yes. But hey! I got inspired, okay?

Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for the mind of an unsub as the team tries to navigate their way through a tricky series of puzzles, but...are things what they seem?

Warnings: Generally disturbing themes of violent death. The usual Criminal Minds murder stuff. Also, I’m giving the reader a brother, so if you don’t have one...just pretend you do. Y/B/N is Your Brother’s Name. Also, the reader is in their mid-twenties for plot purposes.

Wordcount: I could have counted the words in this fic but instead I got distracted staring at Spencer Reid’s beautiful hair. Like...who is his stylist? I need to know for science and also because I’m considering a haircut.

“Well this is interesting,” Rossi grumbled, examining the body lying cold on the table.

“The kill was fairly efficient, but inexperienced as you can see,” the ME said. “The victim was poisoned, but judging by the blood samples we have, it was clumsier than intended. We’re guessing this was a first kill, since no experienced poisoner would use a mix like this.”

“So the swelling on the face and the purple coloring are a result of that?” Spencer leaned in closer.

“That would be exactly right. The victim actually asphyxiated from other problems caused by these chemicals before the poison could reach his heart. It should also be noted that it doesn’t take much to get these ingredients. Most of them can be found commonly around the house. Take bleach, for example.”

“How did the unsub force the victims to take poison like that? It can’t have been administered orally,” Rossi said.

The ME shook her head. “It wasn’t. Interestingly, it seems the unsub injected it through the victim’s nose, like one might with a nasal clearing device, the kind you would normally put saltwater in. It would appear that the victim’s mouth was taped shut, and if the killer plugged their nostrils, they would have had no choice but to swallow.”

“It would have been a reflex,” Rossi said.

“Exactly. We can see this in the chemical burning in the nostrils as well as the mouth. Additionally, it appears the victims were all lured from well-populated places, then drugged and taken somewhere more remote.”

“What could convince these men to follow someone out of a party though?”

Reid was leaning in closer to the body. He spoke into the brief silence. “What is that? In the throat there?”

The ME reached for her tools, fishing in the victim’s throat until she found...a note.

“Something borrowed and something blue

Only he can save me from you

Where men fall to their knees and wind chimes don’t sing

When you are ready, give me a ring.”

Rossi recited the poem aloud.

“Well call me crazy, but it sounds like this unsub wants to get married,” Jennifer said.

“Yes, but look at this,” Reid said, pointing to the second verse. “‘Only he can save me from you’. What does that mean? It almost sounds like it was written from the perspective of the victim...But then who is he?”

“Maybe the unsub imagines all of these men to be unworthy suitors. I think, given the victimology and this message, we can safely conclude that this unsub is a woman. We know that she’s kidnapped multiple men all with roughly the same physical appearance between the ages of 20-30, and we know that the kills have been clean and efficient with no signs of sexual sadism or torture. Maybe ‘he’ is the one true love who will save her from all of these other ‘lesser’ men,” Hotch suggested.

“Maybe, but something about it doesn’t quite add up. If we know she’s holding multiple men hostage, then why the specific usage of ‘you’? Why send this message to us, the FBI, to find? In fact, if it’s meant for some white knight, why leave it with the body at all? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah. What about this line with the wind chimes here? What does that mean?” Morgan pointed it out on the board where Reid had copied the message over.

“It would appear to be a clue to the unsub’s location,” Rossi said.

“This lady has got to get better at her clues,” Garcia said from where she was on speakerphone.

“Garcia, can you look up levels of low wind activity in the city and neighboring towns? This unsub has a pretty clear comfort zone, so this might narrow it down some, assuming that ‘where wind chimes don’t sing’ is a specific reference to geographical location.” Reid spoke.

The sheriff of the town poked his head in. “There’s been another body found.”

“Well, our unsub is definitely getting bolder,” Morgan observed.

This body had been left out in a park, in contrast to the carefully hidden body that had washed up on the riverbank before.

“Check for a message in the throat,” Reid suggested.

Sure enough, there was another one.

“I hope that you can understand

Know that this was not my hand

All the cards are on the table, but who signed the deed

Can you solve the riddle, Dr. Reid?”

“Oh that ain’t good,” Morgan said.

“So it’s a riddle for Reid?” Hotch questioned.

“It would certainly seem that way,” Morgan said.

“Listen to this, ‘know that this was not my hand’. That almost sounds like the unsub is saying she didn’t do it.”

“Well it seems pretty clear to me that she uh..did,” JJ pointed out. “Y’know, seeing as she’s leaving notes in corpses. Plus, look at the line about all the cards being on the table. Maybe she’s saying it wasn’t her hand of cards.”

“Even if you’re right, though, that still implies a claim of innocence. Like the unsub is deflecting blame,” Rossi said.

Reid set down his coffee cup on a map, and Blake moved it so that it wouldn’t leave a stain.

“I just got the toxicology report from the lab. It looks like the same chemicals as before were used, just a more refined combo. You guys...I think we need to look at the very real possibility that we might be dealing with a younger unsub here. Maybe even a minor. If you combine the fact that her victims are mostly in their early to mid-twenties with what we know about her poison of choice...these are all common household cleaners. Something you could snag while your Mom wasn’t looking.”

Reid shook his head. “The text doesn’t match up with that theory though. Both notes are written from an almost poetic standpoint as if whoever wrote them comes from an educated background. Someone with this kind of literary prowess would have to either be very well-read or much older than you’re suggesting, likely both. Look at the rhyming patterns and the choice of words. This kind of messaging system, this kind of crime is simply too organized for a teenaged girl to pull off.”

“Wait...you guys.” JJ stood, crossing to the board that still had the first message sprawled across it for comparison. “Remember who we couldn’t figure out who ‘you’ could be? What if we’re dealing with multiple unsubs here?”

Rossi’s eyes lit up with understanding. “And one of them wants out.”

“Likely the submissive one,” Hotch said, latching onto the theory. “If we assume that the line about this not being her hand is a claim of innocence than it’s entirely possible that the dominant one roped her into this against her will somehow. It could be that the submissive one is the one luring these men away from the clubs and bars most of them disappeared from and drugged them, but it’s the dominant one doing all the killing.”

Spencer stood from the table, crossing to the board. “But by that logic, we’re assuming the older party is the submissive one, which almost never happens.”

“The unsub could have leverage against her,” JJ suggested. “Garcia, look up all missing men that fit the age parameters and type of this unsub, and then check to see if they have sisters, mothers or even aunts that have also gone missing recently.”

“On it!”

It wasn’t long before Garcia had an answer for them, with a search that specific.

“Bingo! Your hunch was right, my clever crime-solving friends. Y/B/N and Y/N Y/L/N both went missing when they went on a road trip together two weeks ago.”

“That’s right when the kidnappings started. Garcia, is it possible that Y/B/N was the dominant unsub’s first victim?” Reid asked.

“Oh, definitely little Einstein, but not for the reason you’re thinking. It was actually the sister who filed complaints of a stalker with local police. They assumed that the stalker nabbed the two and that at this point, they were probably long dead.”

“Was a suspect ever identified for the stalker?” Morgan asked.

“You know there was, lover. And you’re never going to believe this, but the suspect was, in fact, a teenage girl. Joanna Bridges, 18 years old, still in her senior year of high school. Apparently, Y/N was something of a friend to the girl. Reportedly Joanna was a bit of a loner, and Y/N, a senior, took pity on her lower classman. That all changed though when she went off to college.

“Joanna brought a whole new meaning to separation anxiety and things got real nasty real fast. As one would suspect, fights ensued, the friendship fell apart, and then for the next four years our dear Y/N thought no more about it. Flash forward, she’s coming home, and Joanna is finishing up her senior year of high school, but she is less over it. She starts showing up at Y/N’s house making all kinds of unwanted advances, but after being rejected several times, she turned to more subtle methods, including but not limited to lurking in the background, leaving anonymous gifts, and just generally being creepy. Unfortunately, the police could never find concrete evidence, which brings us to the present. And before you ask, yes, I have addresses for both parties, and I am sending them to your cells now.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan said.

“You can thank me when you get home,” Garcia purred.

“Reid, you and JJ go to the Y/L/N house. Rossi and Morgan can go to the Bridges residence, and Blake and I will stay here and see what more we can find out about the wind chime clue.”

“Okay,” JJ said, coming back from interviewing the parents. “Apparently, like most teenage girls, Y/N pretty much lived in her room. Everything we could possibly need to know about her life before she went off to college is going to be here. If this is all really about her, then maybe we can find some clues here.”

“I mean, that much is obvious. Look at this room. It’s lived in,” Reid said, tracing a finger over a picture frame on the desk. “There’s dust here, but not much, indicating that the room was cleaned at about the normal intervals for the girl she would have been at the time.”

“Okay, Y/N, where did you hide your secrets? A diary?” JJ checked the bookshelf and then classic hiding places for a diary. “Nope. Doesn’t look like she’s kept a diary in years. Not since before middle school, even. That’s weird. Reid, if you were a teenage girl, where would you keep a diary?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t keep one. It’s like asking someone to read your thoughts. The concept always seemed incredibly invasive to me. The only journals I kept were scientific. I’d much rather have people read my work, personally.”

“Wait, Reid, that’s it. If Y/N was like most teenage girls, she would have been intensely private. But you said that her writing was advanced. Not just the work of someone who well educated, but someone who was a literary enthusiast. What if, instead of keeping a diary, she wrote poetry about her life? That way, if anyone asked, she could just dismiss it as a story.”

“Her writing does indicate experience. That was part of why I thought it couldn’t be a younger unsub. It’s too well established, too firm in its identity and style. It would make sense if Y/N is as clever as we think she is. With her poetry, she would have been hiding in plain sight, just like she was when she left us those notes.”

Sure enough, after further going through the girl’s room, they found notebooks filled with poetry. Upon first glance, they could have been mistaken for school notebooks, classic yellow and black spiral bounds, but their contents read very different.

“Look at this, Spence.” JJ ushered him closer from where he stood reading across the room reading at a much faster pace than she could. “This one talks about someone in her life who tried to hold her back. Someone who couldn’t grow up and was mad at her for trying to. That sound like anyone we know?”

“Here, let me see that.” He flipped through the notebook in a matter of seconds. “From the sounds of it, there was some serious emotional manipulation happening her. Joanna guilt-tripped her hard and made some serious attempts at gaslighting. If she had been a little older and more experienced, she might have met with more success, but her attempts were too clumsy for Y/N not to identify them as what they were eventually. She wanted to believe the best, but Joanna aggressively drove her away. ironically in an attempt to keep her close.”

“Well Joanna is older now, and probably has enough experience to be a master manipulator if she started that young.”

“We have to tell the others, see if they found anything,” Reid said, dialing Morgan’s cell and explaining what they had found.

“Yeah, that’s pretty consistent with what we’re seeing here,” Morgan said. “This girl could write the textbook on emotional manipulation, from the way her family tells it. Not that they knew what was happening. They were just as under her spell.”

“Wait, Morgan...do you think the kidnappings could be to try to manipulate Y/N into killing with her?”

“Could be,” Morgan said. “I mean, think about it. It would be the ultimate sign of dedication. I would die for you, but would you kill for me? Just do this one thing and everything will be forgiven.”

“The only problem is, Y/N doesn’t want to be forgiven. She’s smart enough to know that she’s not the one in the wrong here.”

“It’s only a matter of time though before eventually, Joanna convinces her otherwise and she breaks though.”

“Well let's hope we get there first,” Spencer said before hanging up.

While he and Morgan had been talking, JJ had been wandering the house, investigating. “Spence, come take a look at this!”

He headed out onto the back porch where JJ was, only to find dozens of wind chimes.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, where did all of these wind chimes come from?” JJ asked.

“Oh, they were gifts. Most of them were from that sick, twisted stalker who kept sending her all the anonymous messages.”

“Were any from Joanna?” Reid asked.

“As a matter of fact, one was. She used to make them, and she made one for Y/N before they grew apart.”

“Which one of these is it?” JJ asked.

“Oh, it’s not any of these. It hangs inside, in the kitchen window. The glass it’s made out of was stained by hand, and it will fade if left out in the weather. Most of these are the same, but Y/N never cared if any of these got damaged. I think the only reason the first one is still in the kitchen is because it reminds her of a better time.”

“Ma’am, you said these were made by hand?” JJ said.

“Why yes, I believe so. Joanna’s family had some land by the water, I think, and they used to melt down the sand into glass. Very crafty, they all were.”

JJ whipped out her cell to call Garcia.

“Your resident Bill Gates impersonator in the house, what can I do for you darling?”

“Garcia, can you tell me if Joanna and her family had any kind of craft business having to do with glass? Wind chimes, maybe?”

“One moment, please....Yes, as a matter of fact, they did. The Bridges own a little arts and crafts store famous for their beautiful wind chimes made from sand gathered from a plot of land they own near the water here and all-natural dyes. Unfortunately, these little beauties have to be kept indoors to stay at peak condition, meaning that they will never make any cheerful tinkling noises.”

“That sounds remote enough to be a holding location. Garcia, can you give me an address on that beach house?”

“Sending it your way now sugar plum. PG out!”

The team raced for the house, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Something told him this girl wasn’t a bad person. Well, actually, she had told him that. Specifically him, which was odd. How had she decided that he would be the one who could save her, and how had she even heard about him?

When the team made it into the house, they found Y/N held at gunpoint by a hysterical Joanna. The missing men must have been held somewhere else, but one that resembled Y/N lay on the floor unconscious.

“Joanna Bridges, FBI! Put the gun down,” JJ said.

“No!” Joanna screamed. “She doesn’t understand. I did this all for you. I never cared about him.” She gestured with the gun towards Y/B/N. “It was only ever you. I brought all of these men here to show you. They could never love you like I do. Don’t you understand?”

Spencer locked eyes with her. She was terrified, not that much younger than him. For a second, they seemed to click, and the look in her eyes changed.

“I understand, Joanna.” She reached out even though she looked like she might puke. “I understand now. You don’t have to do this anymore. It’s over.”

Joanna shook her head frantically. “Not until you kill one of them. You have to prove...you have to prove it.”

“Prove what, Joanna?” Spencer asked. “Prove that she loves you? She’s already proved that. She kept all the wind chimes you sent her. She wrote about you, in her poems. She loves you, I know she does. Don’t you, Y/N?”

You nodded frantically. “I do. I do, so just put down the gun JoJo.”

“You love me?” Joanna softened.

“Of course. Of course I do. So you see, you didn’t have to do this after all.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?” You asked, confused.

“Say that you love me.”

You swallowed, fighting the sick feeling in your stomach. “I love you.”

The second Joanna dropped her guard, JJ was on her, and you collapsed. You fell to your knees, but it wasn’t long before Spencer had an arm wrapped around you.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Your clues lead us here. You were so brave and so clever,” he muttered.

“I thought,” you said, your breaths coming in shuddering gasps, “I thought if they would just call in the FBI...I read about you. I knew you could save me if I just left the breadcrumbs.”

“You did great Y/N. You did great.”

“She said, she said if I didn’t do what she said she would kill my brother,” you cried.

“It’s all going to be okay.”

A couple months later, you and Spencer were meeting for coffee. In the process of studying you and your...somewhat unique case, you two had become friends. A little more than that, actually. It was safe to say that you had a crush on him, but you had no idea if the genius reciprocated. If you had to take a guess, probably not.

“Hey uh...sorry I’m late. Paperwork.” He fiddled with the straps of his bag, an undeniable smile tugging at his lips.

“You don’t seem nearly put out enough to have been doing paperwork. Are you lying to me, Dr. Reid?” You teased.

He made a face. You had taken to calling him Spencer or Spence, and only called him Dr. Reid when you were teasing him or flirting with him. Not that he noticed the latter.

“You know I would never lie to you. Besides, I’m a terrible liar.”

You laughed. “Now that I know is a lie. You forget I’ve seen you in action. Put you in the same room as a murderer and you are one smooth criminal, Spence. Pun intended.”

He shook his head, but laughed anyway, sitting down across from you.

“Took the liberty of getting you a coffee. It’s only half full though to leave room for the sugar.”

“Actually, sugar is highly soluble-”

“I know, Spence. I was joking again.”

“Oh...Right.”

He looked bashful, so you took pity on him, reaching out for one of his hands. It was your turn to be shy though when he intertwined your fingers. You blushed, finding it difficult to make eye contact.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I can not do that if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You took his hand back, pointedly intertwining the fingers despite your continued shyness. “No. It’s okay. I like this.”

“Yeah? That’s good because I like you.”

He blurted it out without thinking like it was one of his facts and he just couldn’t stop himself from saying it, consequences be damned. You could tell by the surprised look on his face that he hadn’t been planning on saying that.

“That’s a relief. I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way.” Your confidence bolstered by his confession, you leaned a little closer. “I like you too, Dr. Reid.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are you sure? Because you only call me Dr. when you’re teasing me.”

“For a genius, you can be really dumb sometimes, you know that? I don’t just call you Dr. when I’m teasing you. I call you Dr. when I’m flirting with you. Like I am right now.”

You had leaned in closer so that your lips were inches apart now.

“I’m all out of witty things to say now,” you breathed. “Your turn Spence.”

Spencer opted for action instead, kissing you gently.

“Mmm, you should do paperwork more often. I like what happens afterward.”