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hockeywhhores · 3 years

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outlaw- m. tkachuk

Matthew Tkachuk x f!Reader

warnings~ swearing, miscommunications, alcohol consumption

summary~ The wags don’t really like you, what happens when they decide to stir shit up?

genre~ pre-established relationship, angst

word count~ 3K

Valentine’s week masterlist

main masterlist

remember that this is all fiction! I don’t think any of them would actually act like this!

Matthew knew of the reputation that preceded him. His nickname was Chucky, for god’s sake. Having such an evil reputation never bugged him off the ice until he met you. You never made him feel bad for the way he acted, in fact you were always defending him. Social media was not kind to him, and when you started dating him, social media also turned on you. Nasty tweets were always being thrown your way, but you just let it all roll off your shoulders. Your stubbornness always drew in Matthew. He loved how you didn’t take shit from anyone. Yet it messed with him, because he knew you were only taking all this shit because of him.

“Babe, I’m done getting ready!” you hollered from down the hall. Effectively pulling Matthew from his thoughts while he was semi-watching some sports channel. He heard your heels on the hardwood floor first, then he saw the mini sparkly black dress you were wearing. The dress was something you bought a couple months ago, but it still took his breath away whenever he saw it. It hugged you in all the right places, and the neckline plunged perfectly, catching the roundness of your boobs. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” He gaped at you like a fish, and you just laughed.

“You look gorgeous.” Matthew finally found words, but still didn’t think they were strong enough.

“You look handsome as always.” you smirked back, looking him up and down. Matthew was wearing a black t-shirt that captured how big his arm muscles were. His jeans also made his ass look great.

“How did I ever get you?” he rhetorically asked. You just shrugged and then grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the house. He locked the door, and you went down the elevator and to his car. The drive was perfectly fine with the radio station playing all the right songs with little ads.

The flames had their longest rest period of the season, so a lot of the guys were out tonight with their wives. You talked with one wife, before making your way to the actual bar. Matthew had made it up there before you and had already ordered. They served your drinks to you quickly. Then you dragged Matthew to the dance floor. You were moving your body against his, and just having a good time. Dancing like that for a couple more songs before you had to go to the bathroom. You tried to make your trip to the bathroom quick, but slowed when you heard some wag. The voice sounded like Katie’s, talking about you and Matthew. You kept hidden in the stall, trying to hear everything before you showed yourself.

“I don’t get what they see in each other.” Katie’s high-pitched voice was bouncing off the walls. “I mean, she looks like a slut, and he has some major anger issues.”

“I know right, did you see the dress she was wearing?” the second voice sounded like Jessica’s. “And how she was dancing on him. Doesn’t she know he is just going to leave her? I bet they will only last one more month, and then they are done.”

“With his track record, give it another week and he will be onto the next girl that will spread her legs for him.” Katie’s voice sounded off. You were sick of hearing what they were saying and showed yourself. You stepped out of the stall, and their heads snapped in your direction. You just smiled too sweetly and went to wash your hands.

“I would suggest you make sure you’re alone before you talk shit about other people.” You happily informed them.

“Why should we? You know we’re right. You just can’t admit to yourself. Matthew will never change his fuckboy ways for a girl like you.” Jessica was the brave one and spoke on her and Katie’s behalf.

“I’m not trying to change him, because he doesn’t need changed. So I suggest you shut your mouths, or at least know what you are talking about before speaking.” you walked out before they could say anything else. You went back over to Matthew, who was now sitting at the table talking with his teammates. You waved at him, and whoever he was talking to, then went to the bar to get something stronger. The bartender served you the shots you ordered, and then you went to go sit with Matthew. You would not let them ruin your night. Johnny talked with you, while Matthew continued his conversations with Mark.

“This season is getting crazy! It feels as if we have no rest time.” Johnny confessed to you. You nodded your head in agreement.

“It feels like that, because it is. You get like half a night to rest, before another practice or game.” you agreed with him.

“Hey, Isn’t that Chucky’s ex?” You heard Katie asked. You didn’t even realize that she was back at the table. Nevertheless, Matthew’s ex, Kelcie, was at the bar talking with the bartender. With her showing up and the conversation you had with them in the bathroom, you suspected them of inviting her. Matthew’s head snapped towards the bar, and you felt yourself stiffen. You had no hard feelings towards Kelcie. She was actually really nice to you whenever you had previously talked.

“Let's invite her over.” you suggested. Matthew was the one to stiffen at your suggestion. “Hey! Kelcie! Come sit with us!” you hollered at her. She heard you and came over. “How are you?” you asked in a sickly sweet tone. Patting the chair next to you, showing for her to sit down.

“I’ve been doing well. How is everyone else? The season looked good, but I bet you are all ready for the offseason.” Kelcie politely sat down.

“I’ve heard you kept busy, Kelcie.” Katie was the one to speak up in the awkwardness. “Does last Saturday ring a bell?”

“No. Last Saturday didn't ring a bell.” Kelcie looked genuinely confused.

“I heard you and Matthew had a nice dinner together.” Katie insisted. You felt Matthew to go stiff as a board, and you knew it was true. You quirked up your eyebrow, showing your interest in the conversation.

“We just had dinner and a glass of wine.” Kelcie quickly threw out. You looked back at Matthew sitting on your other side. He was already looking at you with guilty eyes.

“If you say it was just dinner, I believe you.” you concluded. “Sorry Katie, if you want me gone, you are going to have to try a lot harder.” If it was just dinner, then Matthew wouldn’t have lied about who he was having dinner with, but you would not let Katie win.

“I think we better get going, y/n” Matthew grabbed the back of your arm, pulling you out of your seat.

“Bye everyone! Kelcie, we need to grab some lunch soon!” You shouted out before Matthew could get you far enough away. “Why are we leaving, Chucky?” you asked, your voice as sharp as a knife. He just led you to the car. “If it was just dinner you didn’t have to lie to me.” you mumbled out.

Matthew was silent throughout the entire drive. The radio wasn’t even playing, and you were getting increasingly more worried. Why wasn’t he answering you? You were never so happy to see his apartment complex. No one said anything until you made it inside his apartment.

“Matthew, you have to fucking talk to me.” you finally got out. He now has no reason not to talk. “I thought you were going to stop fucking around. Please tell me you have.” you pleaded with him, tearing welling up in your eyes.

“I stopped fucking around.” Matthew finally answered you. “I can’t tell you why I was going to dinner with her right now. I just need your trust.”

“You need my trust? You do not have the most trustworthy reputation. Why can’t you just tell me?” you were now letting the tears fully fall.

“I just can’t tell you right now.” Matthew signed out.

“I think I need to be alone tonight.” you sadly huffed out.

“Please don’t leave. I just need some time.” Matthew now was the one pleading with you.

“I just need some time, Matthew. I need tonight to myself. Now I am going to take an Uber, and you will not show up at my apartment, until I can get my head together.” you explained. “I was happily proving all the wags wrong, and then you throw this shit at me.” Matthew nodded in understanding, and you got the notification the car you ordered was ready out front. You left with a ‘see you later.’ Not being in the talking mood and your driver understanding that, you kept to just listening to the radio.

You were exhausted when you opened the door to your apartment. It was cold inside and felt slightly foreign. You hadn’t been there in at least a week, choosing to just stay at Matthew’s. Quickly getting ready for bed, you didn’t waste any time getting into your queen sized bed. You didn’t sleep well at all. You missed Matthew’s cuddles and getting warm from his body heat. You even missed having something to wake up to, besides an empty bed. Tossing and turning you decided you should check your phone since putting it on do not disturb. You had a couple social media notifications, and some text from Johnny, Mark, and even Kelcie.

“It really was just dinner.” Kelcie had texted you.

“Matthew loves you, he is always telling us so. Please, just trust him.” Mark’s message read.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight, but I am so sorry for the way the girls treated you. Matthew loves you. Just hear him out.” Johnny’s message was the last one you read.

Bursting out in tears, you couldn’t believe what happened tonight. You did nothing wrong to the wives. Why did they hate you? You ended up crying yourself to sleep and woke up way past noon. The sun was already set high in the sky, and you have to force yourself out of your bed. Making yourself ‘breakfast’ and turning on the TV. You were skipping through channels, stopping when you saw Matthew doing a pre-game interview on Sportsnet. The Flames had an early, one time game against the Oilers, and then they were off to Montréal to play the Canadians. You honestly didn’t know if you were going to talk to him before he left.

Deciding to go against your brain, you sent him a quick ‘good luck’ text before shutting your phone back off. You had some work to do, and just let the game go on in the background. Cleaning your kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, before working on some spreadsheets you had taken home from work. You didn’t check your phone for the rest of the day, staying busy with work. The Flames ended up winning, and you got the horn sound through your TV. You still smiled when the camera zoomed into Matthew hugging his teammates.

When you turned your phone on the following day, you went out of your way to avoid all text messages from anyone that was associated with the Flames or Matthew. You just wanted to get through work and come home to have a bubble bath with some wine. And you did just that. You tried not to take too many breaks at work, because when you did all you could think about was Matthew. When you made it home and got into that bubble bath you’ve been dreaming of all day, you couldn’t help and think about how Matthew would hold you as you both bathed together. You pushed all those thoughts away, and slipped into the bath, letting the warmth of the water comfort you. You went to bed early and only ever looked at your messages when you needed to text one of your coworkers.

The next day was like Groundhog Day, where Billy Murray’s days repeated. You felt like a zombie. Work went as normal and you even got done early and could head back to your apartment an hour early. This was the last series of hockey games for the season. The Flames weren’t going into the offseason, but you were still proud of Matthew, anyway. You quickly texted Matthew a quick ‘good luck.’ He always said that was his good luck charm. Saying that he just plays better after getting that text. And who were you to mess up his game? You didn’t read any of the text he had sent you and watched the pre-game interviews. You weren’t paying too much attention until Matthew’s voice came out of your speakers.

“We have Matthew Tkachuk with us!” the reporter excitedly cheered out. “How are you doing, Matthew?”

“I’m doing fine, how about you guys?” Matthew answered back.

“We are doing alright! What are you doing to get ready for this game?” the reporter was just asking him generic questions.

“Well, I’m just doing everything I usually do.” Matthew seemed a little uninterested, but kept the interview going.

“Do you have anything planned for the offseason?” This question sparked your interest.

“Yeah, I hope to be spending it with my beautiful girlfriend.” Matthew conceded. The interview was over quickly, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew. You did really miss him. The Flames schedule was two games back to back, a rest day, and then the last game. Matthew had told you before that they were planning on flying home right after the last game.

The days were separated by how you spent your night. One night you went out to dinner with a coworker, another night you spent going to the movies alone, and the other two were spent trying new dinners recipes. When you tried the new red pepper pasta dish, you caught yourself thinking about how Matthew would like it, and how you should make it for him sometime. After you couldn’t get him off your mind, you spent the night crying about how much you missed Matthew. Without thinking, you checked the messages Matthew had previously sent you:

I love you.

Please don’t leave me.

Would you be willing to meet with me at my apartment tomorrow night? I have something I need to confess.

Nothing bad, I promise.

I really love you.

My mom misses you, and I do too.

You chuckled a bit at the last text. Before you could chicken out, you texted Matthew saying that you would go to his apartment after work. He answered back quickly, saying how he missed you and couldn’t wait to come clean. You didn’t sleep too well that night. Your brain was just stuck thinking about what Matthew could have to tell you.

The morning came too soon, and so did your alarm. You thought about calling in sick, but thought better of it. The morning was the same as any other, and you went to your plain-old job. Today your boss swamped you with work, meaning you would have to work a little later than you had planned. You rushed over to Matthew’s after you finished your last spreadsheet. You were definitely driving over the speed limit in some zones, but you just wanted to get to Matthew’s apartment. When you came to his door, you didn’t know if to knock or not. You haven’t knocked on his door in what felt like forever. You thought it would be better to knock, and Matthew opened the door in record time. “Sorry I got caught up at work.”

“No, you're right in time. I just finished making some dinner.” Matthew waved you off.

“You made dinner? Oh, no.” you chirped him, and he laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh.

Dinner was fantastic. He made chicken with some vegetables on the side. Conversation was easy between you guys; it always has been. Matthew told you stories of what happened during the road trip, and you told him what you have been up to.

After eating, Matthew became really serious. “Give me a minute, and I’ll explain everything.” After that, he left the dining room and went to his bedroom. You had moved into the living room and waited patiently for him to come back. When he did, he asked you to turn around, and you followed his directions. “Turn around.” he whispered.

Matthew was on one knee, with a ring box open in his hands, “Will you marry me?”

“I need some answers before I can give you an answer.” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you everything.” Matthew begged.

“Why did you lie about having dinner with Kelcie?” you questioned

“She was helping me plan a more romantic proposal, but I kinda ruined the plan.” Matthew explained. “Nothing ever happened between us. I lied because I didn’t want you to ask why I was going to see her. I just wanted things to be perfect.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“I wanted to wait until after the season where we could have some time to ourselves.” he explained.

“Ask me again.” you demanded.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me to marry you again, Doofus.” you chuckled.

“Oh, um. Will you marry me y/n?” Matthew questioned nervously.

“Yes!” you gladly said. Matthew sprung up and slid the diamond ring on to your finger. You kissed him passionately.

“You don’t know how excited my mom is going to be.” Matthew sighed. “She loves you. I think she almost flew out, when I told her what I did.” You just chuckled.

“I love you, Matthew, but never fucking do that to me again.” you said.

“I promise to never do that to you again. You stole my heart, future Mrs. Tkachuk.” Matthew whispered in your ear. The night turned out better than you expected. You couldn’t be more excited to show your ring to everyone, knowing the love of your life was right there beside you.

finished

#matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew tkachuk x reader #Matthew tkachuk angst #Matthew tkachuk fluff #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl fic #calgary flames #hockey #hockey fic #hockey boys

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into-the-afterlife · 3 years

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Why I Ship Johnny/Female V: Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 2]

This is Part 2 of my essay series on why I ship Johnny and female V. Back in part 1, I covered why I ship female V specifically with Johnny and not male V, as well as some thoughts on Johnny’s sexuality. This time, I’m looking at Johnny himself. (Content warning: there is some discussion of rape and how rape is handled in fiction.)

Johnny, ambiguity and age-old romantic tropes

Look, I’m just going to come out and say this: part of my interest in this ship is thirsting over Johnny. And when I’m interested in something, whether it’s an intellectual, creative or sexual interest, I like to do what I always do – analyse it to death. So what is it about the actor, the performance and the character that makes Johnny as attractive as he is?

Keanu Reeves himself, obviously, can’t be ignored here. He has a gorgeous face and voice, but crucially, he’s distinctively beautiful. Obviously, everyone has the right to be into what they’re into, and I don’t want to shame anyone for their tastes. But I do not understand people who are into the blandly beautiful. Sure, there’s nothing wrong about, let’s say, Chris Evans. But what’s right about him? Where are the snags that catch your attention and hold it? Where’s the life?

Reeves, meanwhile, is attractive because he’s unusual. He has long, dark hair, but he’s regularly photographed at public events with it mussed-up. He has a chiselled face, but his cheekbones are high enough that he looks alien. He has all the charisma of any Hollywood actor, but, whether this is him as he is or an especially well-calculated image choice, it comes off as genuine. When watching interviews with him, you feel less in the presence of a star and more an especially fascinating stranger at a party, one who, despite bursting with witticisms and stories, somehow wants to talk to you most of all.

There’s also an element of age ambiguity here. Reeves is in his fifties, and while age suits his looks better than youth did, it shows. Meanwhile, Johnny the character is in his thirties when he dies, and to match this, the animators smooth out Reeves’ face and darken his beard. They also give Johnny the (unrealistic but glorious) organic arms of a dedicated bodybuilder. So what Johnny ends up with is the presence, confidence and charisma of an older guy, combined with the physicality of someone younger. It’s potent, to say the least. It also adds to Johnny’s uncanniness as a character. He’s caught between maturity and youth, life and death, humanity and machine; he’s hard to pinpoint no matter where you look. And whether you express this academia-style, as, ‘the gothic associates uncanniness with sexuality’, or internet-style, as, ‘I’m a monster/robotfucker’, this is, as the kids say, pretty damn hot.

This uncanniness, as well as Reeves’ looks and performance, also offset some of the more unlikeable aspects of Johnny’s personality. This is best illustrated by the concept art created for Johnny before Reeves was brought on board. (Found courtesy of the lovely folks at r/LowSodiumCyberpunk.)

As you can see, they had a lot of Johnny’s look already nailed down. But this makes the differences all the more startling. This Johnny looks like he’s been dragged through the wringer. His hair is messier, and he seems to be getting premature wrinkles and balding. He’s strung-out, with a genuinely hopeless cast to his face. His look is also a lot more dated. While our Johnny has elements of the old rocker, the jean jacket, bandana, V-necked black jumper and aviators clipped to the tank top root this Johnny inescapably in 1980s music and fashion.

Why is all this relevant to shipping Johnny with V? Partially because I’m shallow, I’m not going to lie. But it’s also because making Johnny look like this would have made him much more obviously an intrusion. A guy dressed like this next to 2077’s booty shorts and space buns is like a ghost in a ballgown next to a woman in jeans. He’s not just out of time; he’s been irrevocably left behind. Johnny’s face here also has much less in the way of possibility. Where our Johnny says, ‘maybe your life would be better if you listened to me’, this Johnny screams, ‘my way is hopeless, but you can’t ignore it’. It’s leaning much more into the tragic aspects of Johnny’s character and of the genre of cyberpunk. And don’t get me wrong – I love that artwork, and think that angle would be an interesting artistic choice.

But making Johnny a tragic intrusion like this removes the element of seduction, so to speak, from his character. What makes Johnny attractive, ideologically, sexually and romantically, is a balance of certainty and uncertainty. On the surface, he’s passionately, blazingly certain of his politics, his music and himself. If you’re taking a leap of faith, whether that’s fighting against the corpos that rule your life or hopping into bed with an engram, what draws you to it is the kind of confidence that makes you doubt your own certainties. Yet too much of that can be off-putting. Nobody wants a partner who’s so cocksure (pardon the pun) that they don’t listen to what you want, and nobody wants a political ally who’s gone so far into their own rhetoric that they can’t convince those outside it.

Therefore, the common factor across all the ways Reeves’ looks impact our perception of Johnny is the balancing of two seemingly opposing things. Keep that in mind, because it only gets more relevant the deeper into this ship, and Johnny’s attractiveness, we go.

Of course, Reeves’ looks are far from the only thing he brings to the table. His acting, across body language, facial expressions and voice acting, is incredible. I want to take a look at his voice acting, as well as his voice generally, first.

I’m not familiar enough with the subtleties of American accents to pinpoint why, but Reeves’ accent sounds slightly different to the more generic accents of other famous actors. Perhaps it’s because he’s Canadian. Either way, his consonants are less harsh on the ear than other A-list actors, his vowels less elongated. He speaks slowly, sounding as if he just woke up. His voice is mellow and soothing; it’s the sort of sound you could take a bath in.

(For reference purposes, I’m listening to this Cyberpunk trailer as I write this, as well as, um, this video that I’ve watched far too many times. XD)

Obviously, to play Johnny he has to modify that laid-back aspect of his voice. But it’s interesting how his natural voice and his ‘Johnny’ voice bounce off each other. Reeves is able to pull off a much more belligerent Johnny than many actors could, precisely because of that laid-back quality his natural voice has. Think of that ‘impressive cock’ line. It’s made as funny as it is because of the total lack of shame in how Reeves delivers it. But in the mouth of an actor like, let’s say, Robert Downey Jr, that level of shamelessness would just come off as annoying. Reeves uses his natural voice to amp up Johnny’s, for lack of a better word, Chad-ness, far beyond the place another actor could manage. Because he has that base of softness, he can go hard on Johnny’s arrogance.

Why is this relevant to Johnny’s attractiveness as a character, as well as why Johnny/F!V are a fascinating ship? To develop a character well, you have to have an extremely solid base to start on – and that base is where a lot of writing and acting falls down. The audience has to know intimately what a character is usually like, or who they seem to be, before burrowing into the character further is made effective. That equal hard/soft approach means that when Johnny does soften later in the game, it seems both unexpected and inevitable. Even as the harsh tone and words were conveying one thing, that softness underneath was always conveying another. But the fact that Reeves can go hard on the arrogance makes that change much more impactful than it would be in another character. Once again, we’re seeing an equal balance of two seemingly opposing qualities, not openly leaning towards one or the other.

There’s also some aspects of the body language Reeves and the animators give to Johnny I’d like to focus in on. While I’m not an actor, nor am I a psychologist, and therefore am likely to have missed things, there were a few things I noticed when going through footage of Johnny in pivotal scenes. (If you spot something I haven’t talked about, please reply or reblog! I’d love to get a back-and-forth discussion going.)

Over and over again, Johnny’s body language has two layers. There’s what I’m calling the ‘douchebag’ layer, which is where Johnny seems insultingly relaxed. The scene when V and Johnny first meet, as well as the scene at the diner, have two great examples of this. Johnny gets into V’s space, but it’s slow, catlike. There’s no urgency when he leans in, nor when he stands over V.

Similarly, at the diner, he tells V he doesn’t want to kill her anymore – something pivotally important for their relationship and the plot - while putting his arms behind his head and his feet up on the table. It communicates, at least on the surface, a real sense of disrespect. ‘I don’t give a shit’, says his posture, ‘whether you hate and fear me or not’. His threatening slowness when they first meet, meanwhile, communicates that he doesn’t think V is a competent opponent. Why should he hurry if he can get her any time?

At least, that’s what it looks like. Take a look from 9:40 onwards here. Sure, he swings his legs up on the table – but not before hurrying into the diner booth and tapping his fingers rapidly on the table. Even when he gets into that relaxed posture, he’s bouncing his leg the entire time. Those catlike movements I talked about when they first meet? If you look from 5:42 here, they’re there. But they’re also interspersed with banging his head incessantly against the wall, pacing back and forth and glitching unpredictably all around the room.

This is where the second layer of Johnny’s body language comes in. Underneath all that casual condescension, he communicates constant, frenetic energy, even anxiety. Even in his default, idle animations, it’s extremely rarely that Johnny communicates real coolness and calm. He covers constantly racing thoughts and feelings with a slick persona.

What this does is very like the hard/soft balance of the voice acting I talked about earlier. Because the ‘douchebag’ layer of body language is the most obvious one, you pick up on that first. But the other layer is there throughout Johnny’s entire arc, and it goes into your brain on a much more subconscious level. Then, when Johnny’s guard does come down, it seems like a natural development of his character while still being a surprise. Once again, there’s that knife-edge balance between two disparate qualities. And for me, attraction always lies in the space between.

There’s also something highly sexual about the way he gets into V’s space when they first meet, the way he stands over her. When first playing the scene where they first meet, it felt like watching the moments before an act of rape. You see him first as he leans over you while you’re still in bed. He beats you to the ground, smashes your head into the window, and towers over you while you’re collapsed on the floor. Given the context of him taking over your body, the overtones are unmistakeable.

But again, crucially, that frantic body language and his lines are the complete opposite of how someone behaves when making the kind of power play that rape is. The pacing, the panicked words and the fact that he’s caught off guard all communicate disempowerment. While it’s still a violent, frightening scene, it’s not a monstrous one.

Why is that relevant to discussing Johnny’s attractiveness, and Johnny/V? Because rape fantasies and male domination are some of the oldest tropes in the book for M/F romantic arcs. Done properly, they play on desires of sexual submission without explicitly acknowledging the kink, depict the eroticism of that liminal space between humanity and monstrosity I talked about earlier and allow you to fantasise about being deeply wanted. Of course, that last bit isn’t a factual depiction of rape in real life. But in the fantasy, the story, the idea of being ravished is partially about being special, being so uniquely attractive that the guy loses all control of himself. If you have a more conservative or repressed view of your sexuality, the ravishment/rape fantasy also allows you to fantasise about sex without seeing yourself as a slut. (This post is a great look at that last idea as applied to the movie Labyrinth, if you want to find out more.)

The idea of sexualised monstrosity is also everywhere in the tropes used to characterise Johnny. He’s a troubled rockstar, an angst-ridden artist who died tragically young, a violent political rebel, part human and part supernatural creature, a charismatic, cocky, seemingly heartless guy, who just might have a heart if you look deep enough. What all these tropes have in common is the promise of both reassuring humanity and fascinating, exciting monstrosity.

Reeves’ and Johnny’s looks combine strangeness and humanity. Reeves’ voice acting moves between soaring arrogance and languid softness. Johnny’s body language combines fear and overconfidence. And the use of age-old romantic tropes in an unexpected context, as well as the use of these specific romantic tropes, knit all the effects of the other things together to create that balance between the human and the strange. He’s unusual enough to be interesting, human enough to seem real and associated with all our cultural symbolism of an attractive man. With all that going on, how could you not find him hot as hell?

But the thing about these tropes is, they’re also so common they’re clichéd. Not just in fandom, but all across Western media and art. So what lifts Johnny and Johnny/V out of being something generic? What makes them so fascinating that I’ve written thousands of words about them? What, in short, makes them different?

That’s what I’ll go into next time.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 3 years

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That’s Christmas To Me| Julie and The Phantoms Cast

Dream-a-little-bigger-x’s Countdown to Christmas

Day 4

A/N: I got so excited when I saw this one was the next one I had to write! I hope you enjoy! I also wanna thank @calamitykaty, @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic, @vrthngiwnt and @bright-molina for letting me pick your brains and bounce some ideas off of you. I love you loads!

Pairing: Platonic! JATP Cast x fem!reader

Summary: 2022, season 2 was about to be released on Netflix and the cast was invited to promote the show on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. A dream come true. When the host asks them for their favorite holiday memory together, the cast immediately flashes back to that time at the Christmas Markets.

Song(s) used: That’s Christmas To Me - Pentatonix | Happy Xmas (War is Over) - Echosmith ft. Hunter Hayes

Warnings: Spiked hot chocolates, but no one gets drunk and no one drinking is underage.

Words: 3,970

Checking her outfit in the full-length mirror once again, y/n sighed nervously. All dressed out to the max for her very first talk show. Her styling team had outdone themselves once again. The gold flared pants, the white satin button down shirt and the white heels just made her feel so fabulous.

Though she couldn’t deny the fact that she was nervous. She was going on a live show, not any live show, but the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, nonetheless. Her family watched that show religiously every single night. That thought did not calm her down either.

A soft knock made her snap out of her thoughts and turn around to find Madison in the doorway with an excited smile on her face. “You look gorgeous!” she exclaimed excitedly and ran up to her newest best friend, engulfing her into a tight hug.

She was sporting a gray glittery jumpsuit with black pumps strapped on her feet, her makeup done beautifully and her natural curls flowing over her shoulders with bejeweled clips pulling it out of her face.

“So do you!” y/n retorted with the brightest smile she could muster, though Madison could see right through her and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “My heart is thumping.” The words came out in a whisper as though she was telling a secret.

“So is mine, but we can do this. We got each other, okay?”

Y/N and Madison had gotten along straight away the first day y/n came to set. It was nerve-wracking to weasel yourself into a tight group of cast members who’ve already spent two years working together, but they made it so agreeable. The first day, Madison and Owen came up to her and started bombarding her with so many questions about herself and her character. All she knew about the latter was that she’d be Reggie’s love interest and the villain’s niece who worked for him to try and get Reggie, Luke and Alex into his club. Which of course, would not work out as y/n’s character would fall for the bassist too.

The entire cast welcomed her into their group straight away and the whole process became so enjoyable to the point where it just didn’t feel like work anymore. It just felt like spending time with friends and trying to memorize words and songs at the same time. It was weird. But so much fun. And now, they were able to finally promote said season.

“Madison, y/n, time to go,” one of the show runners said to them when he passed y/n’s dressing room. The two girls nodded and after a simultaneous deep inhale and exhale of stress, they made their way to the hallway where the boys were waiting.

Charlie and Jeremy offered y/n a wide smile to ease her nerves a little before Charlie held out his hand in front of him. “We got this. Legends on three?” The others nodded and, with a content smile on her face, y/n placed her hand on top of Charlie’s.

“One,” said Charlie.

“Two,” Jeremy and Madison added in unison.

“Three!” Owen and y/n finished and all five their hands went up in the air as they yelled out “Legends!” Though it was scary, y/n knew she had four amazing people that would guide her through it.

“Please, welcome the cast of Julie and The Phantoms!” Jimmy introduced them and, while the Roots played the infamous intro song, the cast walked through the red curtain. Madison and y/n ahead, holding one another’s hands as to not fall in their heels, then followed Charlie, Jeremy and Owen.

The audience cheered and applauded until they sat down and the music faded away. “Welcome, welcome!” Jimmy said excitedly. “Thank you for being here!” The cast beamed at the host, unable to contain their excitement nor nerves.

“Thanks for having us,” said Charlie, the polite Canadian.

“So, exciting news, season two of your show Julie and The Phantoms premieres on Netflix tonight, is that correct?”

“Yes!” all five said, though not quite in unison, and the crowd roared again. Y/N couldn’t hide the smile on her red painted lips as she looked out into the sea of people.

Jimmy turned to the crowd, “If the people at home have never heard of your show, how would you explain it?” His eyes fell on the girl closest to his desk, which was Madison, allowing her to answer the question.

“Uhm… Julie and The Phantoms is about this girl, Julie, who tragically lost her mom and, with it, her love for music. That is until one day, she plays this old CD she finds and out pop these three lovable, dorky ghosts who used to be in a band in the 90’s, called Sunset Curve. They died when they ate bad hot dogs--” the crowd let out a laugh, and it made Madison chuckle too. “Yeah! -- Anyway, and so these boys kind of help her find her love for music again and they form a band, called Julie and The Phantoms as the audience can see the ghosts when they play with Julie. And a lot of things happen and it’s funny and light and cute!”

Jimmy let out a chuckle too, “And now there’s a season 2!” Another cheer erupted from the crowd. “What can you tell us about season 2, Charlie?” he directed the question to the boy next to the newbee.

“A lot happens! We see what happens with Nick and Caleb, and we meet Philippa, Pips, Covington who will stir up some crazy stuff in the boys’ lives, especially Reggie’s,” he explained with a grin. He stirred in his seat a little before placing his arm on the back of the couch, behind y/n’s head. The girl tried not to react to the overwhelmingly amazing scent of sandalwood that emanated from this movement.

Jimmy’s eyes landed on y/n and she was certain that for a moment, he knew what she was thinking, but then he asked her a question instead. “How was it for you, y/n, as the newcomer to the cast? Did they immediately embrace you or did you have trouble being accepted?”

“I hated it--” she replied seriously, but then giggled, “No, I loved it! They were so kind and so welcoming, I immediately felt like I was part of their tight group. It did feel strange at first, I’m not gonna lie. But after a while, coming to work didn’t really feel like working anymore.”

“And your character, Phillipa, was she accepted by the other characters?”

She cleared her throat of any nerves before answering. “Pippa was… well-- she was working for her dead great-uncle, so she had to make sure she was accepted and weasled herself into the friend group pretty quickly. She knew how to get to Reggie especially and thanks to him, got into their friend group.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so excited to watch! My daughters are eight and nine, and they loved season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms. They’re thrilled to see the new season!”

A chorus of “aw”s were shared within the cast as well as throughout the audience.

“Yeah, they’re pretty cute.” He picked up his cue cards to remind himself of the next bullet point he needed to talk about. “Oh! Since it’s almost Christmas, I like to ask my guests to tell us a fun holiday themed story before I send them off, do you guys have a fun holiday themed story for us?”

The cast exchange glances until Owen asked, “Should we talk about the Christmas market we did last year after filming?” The rest of the cast made sounds of agreement with a few giggles mixed in between.

“Tell us about the Christmas Market!” Jimmy shouted excitedly, almost resembling a five-year-old getting their Christmas presents early.

Owen took the lead on this one. “So, we were all in Vancouver, we had wrapped season 2 and we would soon be going home, but we decided to spend one last night together at a Christmas market in Vancouver city…”

Bundled up in layers of sweaters and a thick coat, y/n trekked through the layer of snow that blanketed to grounds of Vancouver City. She was trying her hardest not to focus on the blistering cold that nipped at her nose but rather on the story Charlie was telling the others in front of her. His voice boomed into the busy streets, along with the others’ laughter.

She always loved the way Charlie told his stories about every wild adventure he’d ever been on and the way Owen quipped back with the wittiest of comebacks. Or how Madison would chime in with her typical Gen Z humor none of the boys understood. Y/N was sure going to miss the entire dynamic of the group when they were back home.

Thousands of lights flickered above y/n’s head as they strolled through the entrance of the infamous Vancouver Christmas Market. She let her eyes take in the beauty whilst her stomach fluttered from excitement. Her love for Christmas Markets had never faltered over the years. It still excited her in the same way it did when she was just a child.

“Can we get a hot chocolate first? I’m freezing!” Savannah suggested, her teeth chattering as she snuggled into her thick scarf. Smiling, y/n hooked her arm around hers and pulled her closer in hopes the warmth of all her layers would help the blonde girl a little.

“I heard they have a unique recipe that only the Christmas Market here ever uses!” Charlie added with a wide grin before leading the gang towards the warm beverage kiosk. It resembled a cabin from a ski resort, decked out all the way with Christmas lights and foliage.

The group stood in front of the kiosk and read the menu to figure out whatever they’d want to drink. “Ooh, that Peppermint Hot Chocolate sounds delish,” Owen said, and when y/n’s eyes landed on the words, her mouth curled up into a smirk.

“We’re going that route tonight, hm?”

The hot chocolate he was talking about was spiked with peppermint schnapps and chocolate liqueur. This sounded right up y/n’s street, and she knew it would warm Savannah up from the inside.

“Follow me or don’t follow me, that’s up to you, but I am taking that route tonight.” Owen rubbed his gloved hands together until the lady inside the kiosk looked up at him, signalling that it was his turn to order. “A peppermint hot chocolate, please.” He sounded way too confident for someone who had just turned 21 that year.

The woman peered over her half-moon glasses, letting her eyes glide from his eyes to his toes before sneering, “ID, please.” Owen’s mouth dropped open and with a lot of cursing underneath his breath, he reached for his wallet.

“Ha! Owen’s getting ID’d!” Charlie cackled, shaking his head. The woman’s eyes darted over to the second boy, giving him the same one-up before raising her eyebrows as if saying “I’m gonna get you too, little boy”.

And she did. She ID’d Charlie too. No one else but Charlie and Owen, which everyone had a good laugh at as they were sipping their hot chocolates, which for three out of ten isn’t spiked.

While Jeremy and Booboo were still teasing the two boys, y/n turned around and let her eyes scan the entire view in front of her. All the pretty lights and the snow whirling to the ground so gracefully and the music floating through the air made the cold more bearable.

A gasp eliciting from Jadah’s tiny body made y/n snap out of her thoughts and turn to the younger cast member. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, looking up at the tall Christmas tree that was towering above their heads with tens of thousands of lights blinking back at them.

“Isn’t that the walk-through Christmas tree?!” she asked, excitedly.

Madison took her hand and, giggling, they weaved through the sea of people towards the one-of-a-kind festive fairyland. Y/N exchanged glances with the rest before they, too, made a beeline towards the tree, dodging people left and right.

“Hey, Owen, are you sure you’re gonna be able to fit?” y/n asked the tall Oklahoman teasingly. The boy’s mouth dropped open, and before she could properly register it, he started chasing her. She ran past Madison and Jadah, and tried to duck behind any other visitor until he eventually picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. The girl shrieked, prior to a giggle.

Jimmy’s voice echoed over y/n’s flashback to the most festive night of that year. “You guys really sound like a close group of friends.”

“Yeah! We are! We’re like a little family!” Charlie replied, dropping the arm that was on the back of the sofa around the girl’s shoulder.

“What happened next?” Jimmy then questioned, curiously. The whole scene almost resembled a toddler listening to his bedtime story.

Jeremy cleared his throat with a chuckle. “Well, if this night were a movie, you’d now have a cute montage of us going through that magical tree and on the carousel like little children.”

“Yeah, you’d see us stuff our faces with churros and pretzels,” y/n added, making Jimmy and the crowd laugh.

“And we got a lot of Christmas shopping done too!” Madison chimed in with a smile. “I actually got everyone’s present when they were right there with me. None of them noticed.”

“Oh, no, I noticed,” y/n replied with a smirk, to which Madison reacted with widened eyes.

“What’s next?!” Jimmy queried. His eyes were glistening as he listened to the cast talk. He just loved their dynamic and how well they got along with one another.

Y/N continued the story as her mind tumbled back into her daydream.

The music had stopped just a few minutes ago, but only now y/n’s ears picked up on the sudden absence. Knitting her eyebrows together, she lifted her eyes to the stage in the corner of the market where singers were carolling minutes ago, and was now completely empty. As the small amount of alcohol made her brain a little woozy, her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip in thought.

“Guys… Should we--Should we go sing a song?” she suggested, causing all of them to look up in surprise. “There’s no one on the stage… Should we?” she pointed at the podium to emphasize what she meant.

As smiles appeared on each of their faces, the group walked up to the stage and grabbed a microphone each. Charlie reached for the acoustic guitar on the stand, but y/n stopped him.

“Let’s do a capella for once?” she told him tenderly.

When his eyes met hers, she felt her lungs expand with the gasp that left her body. How gorgeous could one’s eyes be. But with that one look, the boy also knew what song she wanted to sing. The one song that had been stuck in her head for the past month during filming. And the rest of the crew knew too because when y/n counted them in softly, they all started to sing along. Their voices mingling perfectly and floating throughout the night sky.

“The fireplace is burning bright, shining all on me I see the presents underneath the good old Christmas tree And I wait all night 'til Santa comes to wake me from my dreams Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Savannah locked eyes with y/n and a smile fell to their lips before they looked out to the audience they had assembled with their harmonies reaching across the entire Christmas Market.

“I see the children play outside, like angels in the snow While mom and daddy share a kiss under the mistletoe And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Owen came to stand next to y/n and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they all sang the chorus together, the tall blondie on lead vocals and the others harmonizing in the background.

“I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As though they had prepared the entire performance, Booboo led them into the next verse while the others acted as backing vocals for him. His warm, deep voice sent chills down everyone’s spines, especially of the people in the crowd.

“I listen for the thud of reindeer walking on the roof As I fall asleep to lullabies, the morning's coming soon”

His cast mates then joined in again and together, they sang the chorus once again with Jeremy taking lead this time. While they did, y/n took a hold of Savannah’s gloved hand, squeezing it as they looked at each other with intent in their eyes. Like they meant what they were singing to one another.

“The only gift I'll ever need is the joy of family Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart”

“Song in my heart”

“I've got the candles glowing in the dark I'm hanging all the stockings by the Christmas tree Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

Y/N turned her head to the other side now, locking eyes with Tori and Sacha, and shooting them a wink before they lapsed into the chorus one last time. It felt good to sing with everyone for once. During filming, it was always just a select group of people that got to sing together.

“Oh, the joy that fills our hearts and makes us see Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me I've got this Christmas song in my heart I've got the candles glowing in the dark And then for years to come we'll always know one thing That's the love that Christmas can bring Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me”

As the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the group shared an intense look, one that said they were always going to be friends. No matter how far away they’ll be from tomorrow on. Even if they don’t get picked up for a third season, they’re always going to be there for each other and be the best of friends forever. The only gift they’ll ever need is the joy of family. And they were family.

“That was so beautiful!” Jimmy exclaimed after they’d told him about everything that had happened that night in a short synopsis. “Now, I believe you’re gonna sing for us now?”

The cast nodded in unison. “Okay, what are you bringing us tonight? The song you sang at the Christmas market?”

Madison giggled, “No, though we love that song, there’s one we collectively think is one of the greatest Christmas songs ever. It’s the ultimate classic Happy Xmas, War is Over by John Lennon.”

“Amazing! You can go get ready!” he gestures to the tiled floor in front of the red curtain where the crew had set up their instruments and five microphones for them. “Catch Julie and The Phantoms season 2 on Netflix from tonight! They’re singing for us now. Madison, y/n, Charlie, Jeremy and Owen, take it away!”

Owen counted them in by slamming his sticks together and then began playing the rhythm of the song. Y/N then chimed in with the jingling of the tambourine before the other boys and Madison joined with their respective instruments. Soon after, Madison’s voice floated through the talk show’s studio.

“So this is Christmas And what have you done Another year over A new one just begun”

When the girls lock eyes, they shoot one another a wink before y/n takes over the next part of the verse.

“And so this is Christmas I hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

Then the boys chime in, their voices mingling as they linger in the air for everyone to hear and enjoy. Y/N lets her eyes dart over to Charlie, who’s already looking at her with a smile on his face.

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The others shut up, giving Charlie the floor now. He really was born to be a rockstar. The way he just owned the stage and looked like an absolute legend, singing his heart out and playing his guitar like a pro. And he’d only started learning when he was on season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms.

“And so this is Christmas For weak and for strong The rich and the poor ones The world is so wrong”

For a split second, he locked eyes with y/n again as she took over and faced the audience with a smile, still working her little tambourine for the extra jingles. Somehow, this just felt like one of their jam sessions during rehearsals and not at all like it was a live broadcast on national television.

“And so happy Christmas For black and for white Ooh, for everyone Let's stop all the fights”

Their voices mingled together again, and, in a boost of confidence, y/n grabbed the mic from its stand and walked over to Jeremy, rocking out with him as he shredded on the bass.

“A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fears”

The music slowed down, and while Madi, Owen and Jeremy took care of the soft backing vocals, y/n walked over to Charlie and sang the lines to one another, never breaking eye contact.

“And so this is Christmas And what have we done Another year over A new one just begun”

The music picked back up. Madison took over this time, and while y/n worked her tambourine, she danced her way towards the Latina girl with a smile plastered on her face.

“And so happy Christmas We hope you have fun The near and the dear ones The old and the young”

She then turned to Owen as he took over on the next part. He shot her a quick wink whilst his mouth curled up on one side. “A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year Let's hope it's a good one Without any fear”

Each taking their turn, starting with Owen, they all sang a part of the backing vocals while the boys and Madison played the instrumental intermezzo. “Merry Christmas”

“So this is Christmas”

“War is over now”

Returning back to her spot, y/n placed her mic on the stand again, and along with the others, sang the very last lines of the song.

“War is over If you want it It’s over now”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause while the band assembled in the middle of the stage. Charlie grabbed y/n’s hand and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. All five of them together took a bow before exchanging knowing glances.

This time around, they knew they were going to see each other tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that as they were doing all the promo they could. It felt a lot more reassuring than it did that day at the Christmas Market when they had no clue when they’d see each other again. Though all of them knew that this was still the only gift they’ll ever need. Their little found family.

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg@thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @alexpjoyner @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @pxperphxntom @crybabyddl @parkeret @headheartbellarke

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag.

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp x reader #jatp cast x reader #charlie gillespie #owen patrick joyner #jeremy shada #madison reyes #savannah lee may #tori caro #jadah marie #sacha carlson #julie and the phantoms cast #dream-a-little-bigger-x Christmas Countdown #dream-a-little-bigger-x's countdown to christmas(ish)

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thekillerssluts · 4 years

Photo

Arcade Fire's Will Butler, Richard Reed Parry drop very different solo albums

Like many of us during this time, the Arcade Fire crew is spread out, hunkered down and functioning within a vastly reduced spectrum of existence. There is vague talk of a new album, but that’s a ways off.

But alone time can be productive time. Two of the Montreal band’s members are releasing solo albums over the course of the next week, and they couldn’t sound more different. Will Butler — brother of frontman Win — is back with Generations, another album of anxiously rollicking and vaguely political rock ‘n’ roll; while Richard Reed Parry launches his first movie soundtrack as a solo artist, for Canadian filmmaker Sean Durkin’s The Nest, starring Jude Law and Carrie Coon.

Arcade Fire's Will Butler, Richard Reed Parry drop very different solo albums

Reached by phone at his Brooklyn home, Butler expressed a mix of despair and determination regarding the current state of the world, and of his country of birth.

“Me and my wife, Jenny, are both American,” he said, explaining their decision to move back to the U.S. in 2015. “We figured it was time for us to deal with our own issues. America is messed up. Quebec is messed up in its own way, but we can’t even vote there. Let’s go live in a place that’s messed up in a way we’re responsible for.”

He put his time and energy where his mouth is, earning a one-year degree in public policy from Harvard, in 2016-17, hoping to develop a more informed critical stance that would allow him to make better use of his privileged position in one of the world’s biggest indie-rock bands.

“(This degree) has helped me communicate,” Butler said. “Just in my social group, it has helped me understand what is happening in the world and be smarter about (my role in it). At times, that social group includes 10,000 people in a room — oh right, what does that mean?

“God willing, I’ll just play music my whole life. But it lets me see where I might act, or how I might lobby the government intelligently, in a way that matters.”

On the U.S. tour for Arcade Fire’s 2017 album Everything Now, Butler organized a series of late-night, post-show town halls, bringing together local politicians, thinkers and activists from cities where the band performed.

The followup to his 2015 solo debut Policy, Generations finds him updating that album’s bratty punk ‘tude with a sense of direction and a spit shine.

Footloose and fancy-free musically, Butler has a way of channelling spontaneity that can be harder to pinpoint amid the grandeur of Arcade Fire’s lofty creations. But beneath the new album’s fun and frolic is a sense of dread that is very much in step with the present moment.

“I’m tired of waiting for a better day,” he sings on the gently bouncing Close My Eyes. “But I’m scared and I’m lazy, and nothing’s going to change.”

Then comes the chorus: “I close my eyes, close my eyes, close my eyes / And it’s almost all right.”

“It’s an album of two minds,” he explained. “The lyrics are pretty doom. Like, ‘I don’t know what I can do, I don’t want to do anything, I’m terrified.’ But I think the music is an effective counterpoint to that. The music is moving forward; it’s in your body. Regardless of what your brain is saying, the music is saying, ‘We’ve just gotta do this s–t.'”

Parry has taken a more subdued approach to his off-Arcade Fire solo output, including the classically inspired Music for Heart and Breath, and the folky existentialism of his soft-singing, tree-hugging diptych Quiet River of Dust Vols. 1 and 2.

Those releases are portals to introspective emotional journeys. Parry’s intuition may be part of what inspired Durkin to seek his services for The Nest. The ’80s-set psychological thriller recounts a couple’s descent into turmoil when their family uproots from the U.S. to the U.K. It premièred at the Sundance Film Festival in January and is in theatres Sept. 18.

“I immediately knew, watching the movie, that I really wanted to do the soundtrack,” said Parry, reached last week at his home in the Plateau. “It’s about a family that is living way beyond their means. The dad is projecting this rich lifestyle, so they buy this massive old manor in the English countryside. But it’s this spooky house that’s too big, and they move in and the rooms are empty, because they can’t furnish them yet. It has this big, cavernous, cold vibe, but it’s very beautiful.

Parry assembled an international quartet of collaborators for the project: Montreal pianist Parker Shper, New York saxophonist Stuart Bogie, Berlin-based violinist Ayumi Paul and Parry himself on double bass.

With a wonderfully light touch borrowed from classical and jazz realms, they navigate nuanced territory, exploring desolate realms that fluctuate between solitude and solace, with underlying hints of something sinister.

There is one other song in the film: Duke Ellington’s Fleurette Africaine, with Charles Mingus and Max Roach. For Parry, the chance to share the screen with these jazz greats at their peak was an honour, privilege and inspiration.

“It’s a stunning piece of music,” he said. “It just has an emotional depth and complexity and soft-spokenness that is very hard to capture in music. … The composition is so clear and so contained. No one is painting way outside the lines.

“That’s what I was going for with the movie. I wanted to find a little dark corner of the house, and have each piece of music be one painting in a dark corner of the house.”

#Arcade Fire #Richard Reed Parry #will butler #interview

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tamorasky · 4 years

Text

Mistress Anna Chapter 25

Rating: M

Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Anna was just naive enough to believe it would never happen to her.

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff

Words: 4,566

Canadian Frontier Au.

AO3

Masterlist

Notes: Sorry for the bit of a wait, I felt like I needed a break from writing for like 3/4 days so I wasn't able to update as soon as I wanted, but I'm back and this chapter ended up being split into two parts so the wait for the next chapter won't be long as it's nearly complete.

It always is scorching in the south, even with the wind blowing through the plateau, the air is hot and humid; this is something Anna always forgets. As she stands in the grass, she pushes her bangs back from her sweaty forehead, regretting her choice of wearing a wool skirt that morning. Glancing behind her, the young woman notices Elsa unloading some of their belongings from the back of their cart and throwing them onto the earth, among them are the tipi poles.

With a sigh, Anna tears herself away from her spot towards her sister, grabbing a pole from the back of their Red River cart. Grunting as she slides the pole from the cart onto the ground next to the ones Elsa has unloaded. Elsa grabs the thirteenth and final pole from the cart as Anna grabs the buffalo skin covering.

“We’ll raise the tipi once Cliff and Bulda arrive,” Elsa states as she rolls aside the longest and strongest pole. Anna nods, placing her hands on her hips, overlooking the convoy making its way along the road. They had been lucky to get an early start in the morning, being among the first members of the caravan to arrive in the foothills.

Glancing over her shoulder, Anna spots Eliza squatting near the river, looking closely into the water. Furrowing her brows, Anna isn’t sure what her daughter is staring at. But a smile crosses the young woman’s features as she notices a family of ducks on the creek. Anna giggles as Eliza quacks at the ducks as if she is trying to communicate with the animals.

Reluctantly she turns away from the scene to face the cart one more to grab the water bucket from the back. As she removes the wooden pale, Anna watches Elsa venture into the woods across the road, observing as her sister makes her way through the oxen, horses and carts to gather firewood.

Anna turns from the cart, meandering towards the river to settle beside her daughter. The little girl looks up at her mother, Eliza’s grin is contagious as she points out the ducks.

“Mama, look!” The auburn-haired girl shrieks.

Anna nods, dipping the bucket into the running water. “I see them!” Her focus goes back to the bucket, observing as it fills, trying to avoid the incessant tugging on her sleeve and the chorus of ‘mamas’ perpetrated by the small figure beside her.

With raised brows Anna finally looks down at her daughter, pulling the bucket from the river. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Where Papa?” Eliza asks, her brows knit together as she looks around curiously. Anna’s heart drops to her stomach at the question. It wasn’t that she is avoiding Kristoff nor discouraging Eliza from spending time with him, but Anna found that Kristoff has been increasingly distancing himself from them.

“He’ll be here shortly.” She sadly smiles down at the toddler, brushing her hand over Eliza’s curls. Anna dreads the day Kristoff finally leaves for the Unorganized Territories, unsure how she will tell her 2-year-old about his departure and why he had to leave.

With a sigh, Anna glances over her shoulder to see Elsa returning to the site with firewood tucked under her arms. The young woman looks back to Eliza, concerned with how close the toddler sat to the river.

“Do you want to help me with collecting wood for Auntie Elsa?” Anna asks, resting a hand on Eliza’s back. The little girl hums, looking back to the ducks from her mother as she debates what she would like to do. Anna chuckles at her daughter’s indecision, hoping the trait will not be one Eliza keeps as she grows older.

The woman stands from the ground, grabbing the bucket as she straightens up. She walks towards her sister, placing the pale on the dirt next to Elsa, who squats lowly in the grass to organize her kindling.

“I have water to boil once you have the fire ready.” The auburn-haired woman states, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Alright, I think either Marguerite or Angelique has the pots with them,” Elsa replies, not looking up from her kindling pile, which closely resembles the structure of a tipi.

“Angelique has them, Marguerite and Sven have the blankets,” Anna confirms, placing her hands on her hips as she observes her sister settle the kindling on the ground. “Eliza and I will get you more firewood.”

“Are you certain?” Elsa asks, finally glancing up at her sister.

Anna nods in response. “It will be good for us to move around for a little while, especially after the journey down here.”

Elsa raises her brow at her sister’s excuse, knowing Anna is avoiding Kristoff’s arrival, which could be at any moment now. While the brunette understood why Anna had ended things between her and Kristoff, Elsa could not understand their decision to distance themselves from one another.

“Alright, bring me some bigger pieces, and I will cut them down to size later,” Elsa instructs as her focus goes back to the task before her. Anna turns from her sister, striding towards her daughter with purpose.

As the young woman comes to stand beside Eliza, the toddler looks up at her mother curiously as Anna holds a hand out to her. When the little girl doesn’t take the gesture, the auburn-haired woman crouches to the ground pulling her daughter to her. With some struggle, she stands with Eliza in her arms.

Eliza is clearly disappointed that she is pulled away from the river but can’t help but be curious about what the task that she and her mother would be carrying out.

With Eliza perched on her hip, Anna makes her way through the grass, weaving through the convoy, stopping to allow the carts to go past. Weaving through the various people, Anna doesn’t look up, for fear of spotting him again. She feels relief as she breaks through the wall of people, coming to stand on the bluff’s edge.

Stepping through the forest floor, Anna’s grip tightens on Eliza as the toddler begins to wiggle in her arms, eager to run through the trees. She remains determined not to let go of her daughter until they are further from the road, not wanting risk the chance of Eliza running into the middle of the path.

“Alright sa jaang.” Anna leans over, allowing the auburn-haired girl to run free through the trees. She trails after the toddler, a small smile crossing her features as Eliza takes in everything around her at high speed. “Stay close, Eliza!”

The toddler stops in her tracks, turning back towards her mother with a grin, clearly enjoying being in the bush. Anna scans the forest floor, trying to find logs on the ground while paying attention to where her daughter is.

She kneels on the damp dirt under an Oak tree, starting to collect larger pieces of wood in a pile from around the tree’s trunk, glancing up to see Eliza squatting low to grab a few sticks and then bouncing up to run back towards her mother.

“Thank you” Anna says as Eliza places two small sticks on Anna’s pile.

“Welcome.” Eliza responds, wandering away from her mother to collect more firewood. Anna chuckles, watching her daughter weave through the plants and talking to herself. She stands from the ground, picking up the two rather large and awkwardly shaped pieces of wood.

“Eliza, come on. Let’s bring these back to Auntie Elsa.” Anna calls through the wood, the auburn-haired girl toddles back towards her mother. “Grab your firewood.”

“Okay.” Eliza nods, crouching to grab the small sticks she has left with her mother, mimicking the way Anna carries her pieces, nestled under each of her arms. As they walk through the forest, she ensures Eliza is following close behind her, especially as they find their way through the convoy to the other side.

As they approach their site, Anna stops at the sight of the entire Bisset-Labelle-Byrne family already unpacking their belongings from their carts. Her breath catches as she spots Kristoff standing with his father, Sven and Gabriel, clearly plotting where to set up their tipis.

It had been nearly a week since Anna had called their short-lived romance off, despite her conviction that it had been the right thing to do, the young woman still struggled with her feelings and his declaration to her that night.

I love you.

She regrets not saying it back to him, unable to declare her feelings to the only man who had ever said those words to her. In all of their time together, Hans never said, ‘I love you’ not in his words or actions. In the week they were involved, Kristoff showed Anna how much he cared for her more than Hans ever had in nearly two years.

“Papa!” Eliza shrieks, dropping the bundle of her sticks on the ground to race over to the blonde man. Anna observes as Kristoff squats low to the earth, a grin crossing his features as he allows for the toddler to run into his arms.

Kristoff stands with Eliza still in his arms, continuing his conversation with his father and brother-in-law. Anna pauses as their gazes meet, he gives her a polite nod, a gesture which she does not return. Instead, she looks away, walking towards where Elsa sits, still making the fire.

“Will this be enough?” Anna asks, discarding her pile beside her sister.

“It should be for the time being, I’ll send Sven or Kristoff if we need more.” Elsa states. Anna nods, wiping splinters off of her cotton blouse as she notices the last of the convoy arriving in the Cypress Hills. A lone rider brings up the back, a woman, more conspicuous than others in convoy.

Anna squints to get a better look at the rider, as the woman begins to move towards their site. Upon first sight, it is not anyone who Anna can recognize; her chestnut hair braided into one single plait, wearing a dark blue skirt and white beaded blouse.

A smile crosses Anna’s features as the figure approaches closer, shaking her head at herself that she didn’t notice the Cree woman who had become Elsa’s most intimate friend over these years.

“Tansi, Honeymaren.” Anna greets in Woodland Cree as the brunette stops her horse near the two Arneson sisters.

“Taaishi Anna.” Honeymaren responds in Michif, dismounting from her horse to approach the Metis woman in front of her.

Elsa stands from her spot, striding towards her sister and lover with a smile. “I didn’t realize you were coming this year.”

“Of course, I am. I’ve come nearly every year.” Honeymaren shrugs, holding her horse in place by his reigns.

Anna looks between the two women curiously. “You weren’t here last year, I would’ve remembered.”

The auburn-haired woman notices the way Honeymaren quickly looks to her feet and how Elsa looks to the sky, clearly avoiding eye contact with her sister.

“We should get the tipi up before it turns dark, now that there are enough people here.” Elsa suggests, clearing her throat as she turns from the other two women. Anna raises an eyebrow at Honeymaren questioningly in regard to her older sister’s behaviour. But, Honeymaren only simply shrugs in response.

The two women follow after Elsa, standing where the tipi poles lay on the ground to begin assembling their shelter for the night. …….. Anna wakes to the sound of footsteps on the grass outside of their tipi. Opening her eyes, she can see the sun shining through the buffalo hide of the shelter. She sits up from the pelt under her, feeling every bone in her body ache from sleeping on the ground with nothing but furs to cushion her.

Eliza sleeps soundly beside her, cuddling close to her doll against the buffalo fur and tucked under a point blanket. Across from them, Elsa and Honeymaren sleep near one another, both having slept with no blankets at all. These events occur in an oddity, Anna is the first awake among her family. Carefully she stands from her space, stepping over Eliza to dress for the day.

She slips her drawers on under her nightgown before she discards the thin garment onto the pelts. Anna places on a brown linen dress for the day, knowing that blood wouldn’t appear in the fabric as noticeably.

Anna moves towards the front of the tent as she fastens the last buttons of her dress, untying the rope to open the tipi. She leans over as she steps out of the tipi, closing the flap as she steps away from the tent.

There is no one in sight, leading the young woman to believe that nearly everyone in the Bisset family is still asleep, but the smoke from the other side of one of the three tipis belonging to the family informs her otherwise.

She stalks through the tall grass, her tangled hair sweeping up with the slight breeze as she ambles towards the only awake person in her party. As she meanders towards the fire, Anna arrests at the sight of the figure.

Kristoff sits alone by the morning fire, cooking something in a pot over the flames. For a moment, Anna is firm to turn around and go back to her tipi. But as she takes a step back, Kristoff looks up from the fire, his gaze meeting hers in a moment.

She feels small under his gaze, her mouth slightly agape as if she is about to speak, but nothing comes to her. The young man instead offers her a polite smile as Anna begins to fiddle the fabric of her skirt.

“I didn’t realize it was you.” Anna states, her gaze not breaking from his. “I’ll go back to the tipi until Elsa or Honeymaren wakes up, I just thought whoever is out here might want some company.”

“Anna, it's fine. Are you hungry?” Kristoff asks. She is about to decline his offer but ultimately is unable to ignore the grumbling of her stomach at the smell of food. Kristoff chuckles, shaking his head. “Come join me. It’s just porridge.”

She steps forward, taking a seat across from Kristoff, not wanting to get too close to the young man. The young couple remains silent as Kristoff stirs the pot. Anna finally opens her mouth, but once more is unable to form a sentence.

“Would you like some coffee?” Kristoff asks, noticing the young woman’s inability to make conversation with him. Anna nods, watching as the young man grabs a pot from his side, pouring the piping hot liquid into a tin mug. She accepts the beverage from the blonde man with a smile.

Anna cannot recall a time of ever drinking coffee in her 20 years of living. Her mama only ever had tea around the house, and it was all Anna was allowed to drink at Arendelle under Hans and Hilde’s supervision.

She blows into the mug, attempting to cool the liquid before placing the tin to her lips. The flavour isn’t at all what she is expecting, thinking it would be more similar to drinking an over-steeped English breakfast or Earl Grey, not that. It tastes like the way dirt smells on a hot day, roasting in the sun with a metallic after taste.

As she swallows the coffee, Anna’s nose involuntarily scrunches up in disgust and runs her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying desperately to be rid of the taste.

Watching the young woman in front of him, Kristoff can’t help but chuckle at her reaction to the coffee. Anna looks up at the man, frowning at his response.

“How can you drink that?” She asks, putting the mug on the ground next to her foot. “It tastes like dirt.”

“You get used to it after a while.” Kristoff responds, taking another sip of his coffee as if show up Anna. She rolls her eyes dramatically at the young man, not quite believing him.

“Maybe you just have a dependency.” Anna suggests, raising her eyebrows as she sits back.

“Maybe.” Kristoff shrugs, leaning forward to stir the porridge. Anna can’t help but notice the way his bangs fall over his eyes as he bends, resisting to urge to reach forward to brush the hair out of his face, knowing she no longer had the right to do so.

“Kristoff.” She calls, causing the young man to look up at her. Anna isn’t sure what she is going to say, unable to find the words as she gets lost in Kristoff’s honey-brown eyes. Her lashes flutter as she bites her lower lip. She opens her mouth to apologize for everything that has happened, for her leading him on and abruptly breaking things off between them.

But as the words are about to pass through her lips, Anna notices the figure of Sven emerging from his and Marguerite’s tipi. The Newfoundlander strides towards his friend, clapping Kristoff on his back as Sven sits down next to the blonde man.

“Good morning!” The brunette man greets, immediately grabbing the pot of coffee and himself a mug.

“Good morning.” Anna and Kristoff respond together, glancing at one another once more before looking away to Sven pouring his coffee. She smiles politely at the men across from her, standing with some difficulty with the ache still in her bones.

“Well, if Sven is up, then Eliza is for sure.” Anna comments as she brushes dead grass from her skirt. “I’ll see you two shortly.”

She turns from the men without another word, glancing over her shoulder briefly as she meanders back to her tipi. Only to find Kristoff still staring after her, unable to mask the same feeling of longing Anna feels towards him. ………… Anna rides in the back of the red river cart with Angelique and the children as Bulda steers the wagon with Marguerite at her side. She closes her eyes, enjoying the slight breeze brushing against her two braids and the coolness against her warm cheeks.

They had been tracking the herd for nearly two hours now, so it comes as a relief to Anna as the wagon rolls to a stop. Especially with having to hold down an unhappy toddler for the last 30 minutes.

“I know we’ll be there soon.” Anna tries to reassure her daughter, but instead, the little girl shrieks loudly, frustrated by the travel and the heat she is being forced to sit through.

Angelique chuckles, watching the toddler and her friend. “I do not miss the constant tantrums.”

“She’s normally so good. But whenever she decides to act out, it’s always on the most unfortunate days.” Anna huffs as she tries to get Eliza to sit up.

“It always is.” Angelique giggles, “Here, give her to me.”

Anna hands Eliza to the other mother without hesitation, the little girl still limp in Angelique’s arms. As her daughter leaves her hands, Anna notices Marguerite looking back at them, her dark brows furrowed together.

“You have this to look forward to.” Anna jokes, causing the brunette woman to groan in response, placing a hand on her swollen belly. The women all laugh in response to Marguerite while Bulda pats her youngest daughter’s hand. Louise looks at the women around her, giggling in response, despite not knowing the situation.

They travel further through the coteau tracking the buffalo herds until they come to a stop in the plains. Bulda lets go of the reigns, stepping off of the cart with much difficulty. Anna and Angelique are the first to slip off the back, helping the children, other than Guillaume and Louise out of the cart.

Angelique picks Eliza out of the back, placing the red-faced girl on the ground as Anna grabs Helene, allowing for the 4-year-old to run after her siblings. Still hiccupping from her cries, Eliza trails after the older children, her thumb in her mouth.

“Where are the boys?” Angelique ponders, looking around the convoy for any sign of her father, husband who has their eldest son, brother, or in-law. Anna shrugs, coming around the cart to help Marguerite off. The brunette’s back faces Anna, who places a steadying hand on her back.

“I don’t need help.” Marguerite groans.

“You’ve been attempting to get down for the last three minutes.” Anna points out, raising a brow. “You need help.”

Anna glances over her shoulder as her hair whips against her neck, noticing the man situated on a horse behind her.

“Daisy.” Sven groans, dismounting from his horse, leaving the creature unattached as he races towards his wife. “I told you to wait for me.”

“I can do this.” She insists as Anna steps away from her friend, allowing the Newfoundlander to take her place. Sven wraps his arms around her ribs, pulling Marguerite away from the cart. The brunette woman is clearly displeased with her situation, her lips pursed in a pout, and her brows knitted together.

Sven places her down with a grin, pressing a kiss to her temple. Marguerite turns around, her hand still resting on her abdomen before removing it, attempting to shove her husband away from her. The impact isn’t enough to even make the large Newfoundlander stumble; instead, he laughs. Walking away from his wife without another word to retrieve his horse.

The auburn-haired woman comes to stand beside Bulda at the back of the cart, helping the older woman unpack their knives and tools for deconstructing the buffalo. Bulda hands Anna a steel knife, placing the tool into her apron pocket, ready to do her job. ……….. The women stalk forward across the plateau with their tools in hand, the children following close behind their mothers, aunties, and grandmothers in the field. Anna walks beside Marguerite, watching the expectant mother closely to ensure she is not overexerting herself.

They approach a rather large buffalo carcass, shot through the head, lying on the ground. Bulda, Angelique, Marguerite and Anna all kneel on the grass around the buffalo, beginning to slowly cut away at the beast.

Marguerite is given the small tasks, collecting the teeth from its mouth and retrieving the horns. While Bulda, Angelique and Anna focus on stripping the fur from its body in nearly one piece.

Anna is the one to cut open the buffalo this year; she doesn’t recoil at the sight of the inside of the beast as she did last year. Marguerite moves towards Anna, settling beside the auburn-haired woman between the buffalo’s legs.

With a pot between the two women, Anna and Marguerite both reach into the body, removing the organs and intestines carefully. Anna can’t find herself to care that her dress is becoming stained with blood as she removes the large intestine, placing it on her lap as she pulls it out.

“Anna, would you carry the hide back to the cart, once you are done with that?” Bulda asks, cutting away at the hoofs.

“I can do that.” Anna says, placing the intestine into the pot as she stands from the ground. Her bloodied hands grab the rope lying near them. Kneeling on the grass, Anna ties the hide into one single bundle. Rising from the ground, Anna grabs the end of the rope, hoisting the hide off of the earth.

The hide is as heavy as she remembers it being last year, no one asks if she can handle it, everyone trusting Anna’s ability to take care of it. The hide continues to bump against her legs as she walks through the tall grass, her arms and shoulders aching as she approaches closer to the carts.

“Anna!” A voice calls out. The young woman stops, looking in the direction of the sound to see Honeymaren running towards her.

“Maren, I thought you were with the men.” Anna comments, knowing the brunette hunted with the men this morning. Generally, by this time, the men often sat in the shade, having lunch and mid-day coffee. Anyone who participated in the hunt never helped with processing the buffalo bodies.

“I was, but I saw you, and I thought I would come to help you.” The Cree woman shrugs, grabbing the other side of the hide. Anna sighs as some of the pressure is relieved from her arm, nodding in thanks.

Last year, Anna had been determined to do this all on her own, needing to prove to herself and everyone that she was capable enough to carry out these tasks. Now, she understood that it doesn’t show weakness to accept help from members in the community, it only strengthens ties.

Anna wipes the sweat from her forehead with her arm, confident that she’s smeared some blood across her head. The two women haul the hide towards the cart, loading it onto the back with some difficulty. Once they have it on, they push it to the side, making room for more pieces of the buffalo.

Stepping away from the cart with a sigh, Anna wipes the blood off of her arms with her dress, watching as the men sit around in the shade. She spots Sven, Cliff and Gabriel sitting amongst the other men. Anna furrows her brows, unable to find Kristoff sitting with them.

Instead, her gaze is brought to the middle of the plateau, spotting the tall blonde man standing with his hands in his pockets talking with the Laurent girls and a couple other young women she doesn’t recognize. The women overexaggerate their laughter aimed at anything Kristoff says, a raven-haired woman taking the initiative to place a hand on his forearm, lingering a little longer than to Anna’s liking.

Honeymaren glances at the young woman, noticing the scowl crossing her features. The Cree woman comes to stand next to Anna, spotting the scene before them.

“He is a good man.” Honeymaren comments, nudging Anna’s shoulder with her own.

“He is.” Anna nods, looking down at her hands, now fiddling with her skirt. Honeymaren smirks as she notices the flush across Anna’s cheeks.

“You two seem to care about one another quite a bit.” She comments, pressing the issue further.

“Well…yeah, I mean he’s my closest friend in Ahtohallan. We’ve been close since we were children.” Anna stutters, catching the other woman’s gaze, staring at Anna with a raised brow. Anna sighs, knowing Honeymaren isn’t taking it. “I care for him.”

“I thought so, it’s obvious the way you two stare at one another.”

“He has to leave soon, anyhow. There is no future for us. Not anymore.” Anna states, trying to convince herself more so than Honeymaren.

The brunette woman shrugs. “Maybe there doesn’t have to be a future in it. Why not be with the person you want to be with, even if it for a short time.”

Honeymaren pats Anna on the shoulders before walking away from the young woman. Anna watches as the Cree woman stalks across the coteau, standing with Elsa. Anna observes how Elsa and Honeymaren stare at one another, the way they discreetly brush one another’s hands as they smile at one other.

Anna recognized that look all too well, it was the way she once stared at Hans and the way she stares at Kristoff now and how he gazes at her. Perhaps if her sister had found happiness with someone she loved, so could Anna.

#kristanna #kristoff bjorgman #anna of arendelle #Canadian Frontier Au #Mistress Anna #Fur Trade au #anna #kristoff #frozen #myfics

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 4 years

Text

It’s a Wonderful Life (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

Enjoy this very belated Christmas fluff for those like me who don’t have anywhere to go for the holidays :)

Rating: T

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Reader

Words: 2969

Warnings: alcohol/drinking

Requested: yes/no

Summary: Sid invites you home with him for Christmas break. You’re a little worried what his family is going to think, until you’re not

You’re not entirely sure that you’re comfortable with this, but you’d made the decision and now you’re stuck with it. Not really stuck, because Sid would fly you back to Pittsburgh the second you asked, but just. You can’t exactly back out now, after flying to Nova Scotia and driving almost the entire way to Sid’s parents’ house. Not that you would! It’s just that you’re staying at Sid’s place for a few days and spending Christmas with his family and while you’ve met them before, you don’t know them all that well and Trina is pretty perceptive and you’re hoping she doesn’t bring up the whole “being in love with Sid” thing again and and and you’re maybe freaking out a little bit.

Your own family situation is… complicated, which is why Sid had invited you home with him for the holiday. Allegedly because his family wanted to see you, but more likely because the thought of you sitting at home alone on Christmas was kind of pathetic. You’re grateful, because you’d much rather spend the day with Sid than drinking a bottle of wine by yourself on your couch watching Christmas movies. You’d much rather spend any day with Sid than, well, pretty much anything else.

There’s a pressure on your knee and it makes you startle, forced out of your own head. It’s Sid’s hand, of course, because what else is gonna suddenly going to settle on your previously bouncing leg in a closed car on the highway. You hadn’t even realized you were jiggling your leg, too caught up in anxiety to notice much else, so you’re grateful Sid noticed and stopped you. He shoots you a quick smile when you look over, before returning his eyes to the road, ever the responsible driver.

“You doing alright?” he asks, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. Obviously you’re not going to spill your guts about all your worries, but lying and saying you’re fine would feel disingenuous. It’s just. This is kind of a big deal, right? Like if it were a team party, that would be one thing, but he’s taking you home to spend a major holiday with his entire family. It’s just a friend thing, obviously, but still…

“I’ll be okay,” you settle on, “Just a little nervous.” He nods sympathetically, before giving a wry smile.

“My family can be a bit much, eh?” he says, except that’s not really quite it, because it’s the whole situation that’s a bit much, not just his family-- who are actually quite lovely-- and what really makes you nervous is the aforementioned being-in-love-with-him thing, but you can’t tell him that--

“Do you want to stay at mine instead?” he asks, “I’ll have to go to the party for a couple hours, but I could come home early and we could spend time together there instead.” Because he’s a fucking saint like that.

“No!” you reply entirely too loudly, before clearing your throat and continuing “No, you don’t have to do that.” The fact that he would even offer to do that for you makes your chest tight. “Cared for” is still not a feeling you’re used to. Sid seems intent on giving you plenty of practice with it, though. His hand tightens against your leg momentarily, as though he can tell you want to start bouncing it again. Damn perceptive bastard. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, but you’re not sure how to explain any of this without outing yourself. Even with the noise of the road and the steady hum of the car, the silence is deafening. He lets it stretch too long to be remotely comfortable, used to awkward silences with the media in a way you’re not.

“What if people ask if we’re dating?” you finally blurt out, if only to kill the unbearable quiet. He doesn’t startle or look surprised at all, like you’d expected. Just squeezes your knee again.

“We’ll tell them the truth,” he says with a shrug, like it’s that simple. What is the truth? you think. Because you’re just friends, as far as you know, but “just friends” don’t invite each other to family Christmas. Or regularly sleep in the same bed (or on the same couch) when they don’t feel like going home at night. Or slow dance to love songs like the two of you had this wedding season. Or do most of the things the two of you do. Bachelor hockey players don’t FaceTime their friends before bed every night on roadies, or head home early when they’re out with the boys so that they can hang out with you, or try on the regular to convince you how amazing you are with long, heartfelt rants about your better aspects. But he does.

You’re rounding the bend toward the driveway of his parents’ house when he finally moves his hand in preparation of parking. Taylor’s car is already in the drive, and he blocks her in because despite everything, he’s still an older brother. You’re about to roll your eyes and rib him for it, when he turns as far toward you as he can in his seat. His hand is on yours now, warm and rough and comforting.

“You can still back out,” he says. Looking into his eyes, you know it’s true. You know you can always back out, can always leave if you want to. But as anxious as you are, as scared as you are, you don’t want to.

“Let’s get in there before they come out, huh?” you say with a smile.

-----

Trina and Troy’s house is just this side of opulent, tastefully decorated both for the holiday and in general. They greet you at the door, ushering you in with excitement in their voices and fondness in their eyes. Your anxiety is still there, but it feels farther away now. Between the distraction of Trina immediately trying to feed you and the warm feeling of home, tonight’s festivities feel a bit more manageable.

They’re throwing a Christmas Eve party tonight, which you and Sid will attend. Tomorrow, you’re going to spend the morning with Sid, before having an early dinner with Trina and Troy and Taylor (too many T’s). The next night, you’ll fly home so Sid can rest before his game against the Preds, but you’ll likely spend at least part of that day with his family as well. With the way your family is (and has been for a long time), it’s going to be a bit much. But what is family if not a bit much?

“Y/N, you’ve got to try my scones,” Trina insists, pulling you toward the kitchen as Troy begins trying to ply Sid with alcohol. You’re glad he hasn’t targeted you this time, because being drunk for the party would be embarrassing and probably only make everything worse. Tipsy you can deal with, but starting to drink at 11am for a 7pm party will get anyone a little unsteady.

“So,” Trina starts as you bite into what seems to be a berry scone, “How’s it going with Sid?” Damn. She lured you in with the promise of baked goods and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. At least the scone is good- buttery and sweet. And chewing gives you an excuse to delay your answers.

“It’s good; we’ve been spending more time together this season,” you say, “These are really good, Trina. You’ve outdone yourself.” You’re hoping that she’ll be distracted enough by the flattery to switch topics, but you know it’s futile. Once she latches on to this topic, she keeps it.

“Thank you, dear,” she responds politely, “Has he asked you out yet?” You don’t spit your mouthful across the room, but it’s a close thing. Whatever happened to Canadians being unbearably circuitous? Trina just keeps a mildly devious smile on while you choke down the suddenly too-dry pastry.

“No,” you cough, “No, he hasn’t.” Hopefully she drops it at that. No luck.

“That boy,” she shakes her head, “I swear he’s a wreck with anything off the ice.” And what the hell does that mean? Does she expect him to ask you ask because of her own biases, or does she know something? Holy shit, does she know something? Because she’s his mom and he’s a momma’s boy above all else, and if anyone were to know something about him, it would be her. But if she knew anything, she’d be open with it, because Sid’s her son, yes, but you’re basically her daughter. But you’re only basically her daughter because Sid is her son and you’re his best friend so--

“Have you asked him out?” she asks, which kind of makes your brain short-circuit because, what.

“What?” you ask, without meaning to. You’re supposed to just, what? Ask Sid out? Ask out the greatest current hockey player in the fucking world? As what? You? Who the fuck does she think you are?

“The man doesn’t always have to make the first move, dear,” Trina elaborates, sliding another baking sheet into the oven, “You can ask him out just as well.” How the fuck are you supposed to ask him out? Hey Sid, I know we’ve been friends for years, and this jeopardizes everything we’ve built, but do you want to date? Bullshit. You love Trina, truly, you do, but goddamn. This is getting ridiculous.

“I heard Troy has a new bourbon he wants Sid and I to try,” you say, putting the other half of your scone on the island, “I’m gonna go try it, if that’s alright?” You know she won’t say no, and she knows she won’t say no, so hopefully she doesn’t take it too personally. She simply shoots you a look with that same wry smile Sid got from her and shoos you from the kitchen. You retreat to where Troy is making Sid try his new peanut butter whiskey, more than ready to try that bourbon he’d mentioned last month.

-----

The party is more classy than you’re used to with your upbringing. It’s nice, though, to know that it’s going to be a pleasant evening without anyone getting wasted and ruining everything, even if it means you have to wear pantyhose. Your dress is black and short, but not too short, with long sleeves and lace around the skirt. It bares a fair bit of cleavage, but not so much as to be inappropriate, and over all, you’re a big fan of this one. It almost makes you look like you fit in among the upper class crowd, despite being from the local thrift shop.

Sid looks dashing, as per usual, in black pants and a red button-up that’s open just enough to show the barest bit of his chest. The color complements the bit of a flush that’s overtaken his cheeks with the encouragement of alcohol, and it’s a little distracting when you’re trying to make polite small talk and remember his relatives’ names. You’re not quite sure what you’re drinking, because Troy made it for you and refused to tell, but it’s not helping either. There are just so many people, and you’re trying not to let it make you nervous, but the part of your brain that hasn’t adjusted to well-adjusted people is still waiting for something to go wrong, and anxiety is clawing at the gates of your psyche. You wish you were back at Sid’s, curled up on the couch with him watching shitty Christmas movies instead.

“How you holding up?” Sid asks when his aunt moves on to the next conversation. It’s the third time he’s checked on you in so many hours, always the gentleman. You’re tempted to ask him to let you go home, except the only way to overcome anxiety is to face it, so you just nod before greeting another aunt who’s approached.

Unlike you’d expected, not many people ask if you’re Sid’s girlfriend. It makes sense, because you’re not his type, like, at all, but it kind of stings. You could totally date Sid if you wanted. Who are they to think otherwise? You’re smart, and funny, and kind, and pretty great, overall. Sid would be lucky to have you.

“Sid, would you date me?” you ask an indeterminate amount of time later, once you’ve made your way through family and friends itching to talk to Sid, and a few more drinks made by Troy. Trina made one of them for you, which is probably why you want to sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling for a while. But you kind of need to know, because only like five people have asked if you’re dating and it’s like. What the fuck.

“What?” he asks, looking slightly panicked for reasons you can’t currently discern.

“Would you date me?” you repeat, continuing, “Cause like, no one is asking if we’re dating, and I could totally date you.” His eyebrows shoot up and he starts to smile, so you add “I’m a catch, dude”. That makes him outright laugh, but not in, like, a mean way.

“I think it’s time to get you home,” he says, which is not an answer to your question. You kind of want to cuddle up with him and watch a movie or take a nap or both, though, so you don’t argue. You can ask him again in the car.

Which you do. It takes a while to say good night to all of his family, and you’re feeling a little less flushed by time the two of you load into the car and take off. Definitely still not sober enough to not follow up on your question, however. He looks less panicked and more… wistful, or something, this time, which you take to be a good sign.

“Of course I would,” he finally agrees, resting a hand on your knee in a way reminiscent of the drive from the airport. Victory. Of course he’d date you, you’re wonderful. Not like, “dating one of the most famous hockey players ever” wonderful, but still. You refuse to feel down on yourself on Christmas Eve.

The drive home is mostly a blur, less from the alcohol and more from your racing thoughts. Sid has to squeeze your knee to get your attention when you get to his place, and you startle enough that both of you giggle. You don’t bother slinging your purse over your shoulder for the ten-step walk to the mud room, hanging it in its place as you kick your heels off into their designated area. You can’t help but give a pleased sigh and wiggle your sore toes. Probably should have broken them in more before wearing them to a party for four hours.

Each of you goes to your designated rooms, agreeing to meet back at the couch. You’ve sobered up considerably in the last couple hours, able to put on your pajama shorts while standing, despite being unable to get your stockings off the same way. But then again, can anyone get stockings off while standing? You’d like to see proof. Sid’s house is just warm enough that the soft flannel shorts don’t leave you cold, but you do pair it with an oversized t-shirt rather than a tank top. After massaging your feet for a minute or two, you head downstairs, bare feet barely making a sound against the hardwood and carpet.

Sid is still getting changed, presumably, so you gather his best big fuzzy blanket and the pillow he likes to prop himself up with. After arranging the pillow how he tends to like it, you curl up on the middle cushion and wrap yourself in the blanket to wait. You don’t bother searching for a movie, already knowing that you’re going to stump for It’s A Wonderful Life, and that Sid’s probably going to give in easily. It takes you a moment to realize he’s in the room, because he’s just standing off to the side staring at you, like a weirdo.

“You comin’ or what?” you ask rhetorically, seemingly snapping him out of some daze. He settles into the spot you’d set for him, pulling you down into his chest and smiling the entire time you wiggle around to get comfortable. He must be feeling that Christmas spirit. You tug the blanket up until it covers his lap and up to your shoulders, finally deeming the position comfy enough. He only puts up a token resistance when you suggest your movie, already searching it as he lists off random Christmas movies you could watch instead. None of them are as good as It’s A Wonderful Life, though, because It’s A Wonderful Life is the best Christmas movie by far.

It’s a long movie, and your eyelids begin to droop around the time George has to choose between the new factory and the Building and Loan. Between Sid and the blanket, you’re warm and safe and cared for, and you let yourself drift to sleep with a smile. Just before you get there, however, Sid rouses you. You look up to him with hooded eyes, returning his smile. Slowly, slowly, he leans down, tilting your head toward him with a pair of fingers until he can press your lips together. The kiss is soft and lingering, both your lips slightly chapped from the cold, the angle awkward, and it’s entirely perfect.

“Merry Christmas,” Sid says, and you stare at each other for a short eternity before both breaking out in laughter. What a cheesy move! But what else would you expect from him, honestly?

“Merry Christmas, Sid,” you reply once you’ve managed to calm. You’re still sleepy, but the smile refuses to leave your face, even as Sid leans down to kiss you again. You get the feeling you won’t have to worry about people asking if you’re Sid’s girlfriend anymore, but not for the reason you’d expected.

#sidney crosby imagine #NHL imagines #andis coping mechanism #RI #scrosby

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hope-for-olicity · 5 years

Text

Leaves of Change 5/31

Felicity Smoak returns to her small hometown of Silver Lake just in time for the Harvest Fest, she came home to get grounding and figure out what she wants to do next the last thing she expected was that she’d want to stay.

Happy Belated Birthday to my dear friend @stephswims! This one is for you! Thanks so much to @mel-loves-all for the truly stunning edit. Also full disclosure, I’m Canadian so Thanksgiving will be October.

Each chapter will follow a Fictober prompt, I can’t guarantee that I’ll post daily like last year but I will post regularly. I hope you enjoy. This and all other chapters of the story are also available on AO3.

5. “I might just kiss you.”

“Felicity Smoak, I might just kiss you!”

Oliver Queen’s ears perked up. What!? Someone was going to kiss Felicity Smoak? Someone who was not him. Hell no!

“You called, well, texted and I came!” Felicity was so relieved to find out that Caitlin’s emergency was a computer emergency, not a personal one. The cash register system had crashed, wouldn’t reboot and the customer service number was down. Until Felicity arrived Caitlin was taking cash and noted by hand what was sold, which was fine for a slow Saturday afternoon but wouldn’t cut it as business sped up in the evening.

“I really appreciate it, Felicity, you saved me so much grief. Would you like a drink, something to eat? Anything on the house.”

“Thanks, Caitlin, I’ll take a coffee because you know I never turn down coffee. I’m just glad it was so easy to fix. I mean you told me you rebooted it but when I did it just worked.”

“I’m just glad it worked.” Caitlin looked away.

Could her friend be lying? For the first time since entering the shop, she looked around. It only took a moment for her eyes to collide with the blues starring at her. She felt her face get hot, Felicity slowly turned to her friend. “Why didn’t you just say come quick Oliver Queen is here?!”

“I…” Caitlin bit her lip. “I didn’t want you to get in your own way or make excuses. This is a good guy and he likes you. And I know that that kind of thing can freak you out. So, I came up with an excuse.” Caitlin looked down and began fiddling with her wedding ring. She slowly looked back up at Felicity, “are you mad?”

“Caitlin,” Felicity began but was cut off as a customer came to counter. She waited patiently as Caitlin filled the order refusing to look back at Oliver. But boy did she want to look at Oliver. He was so pretty. Could men be pretty? Who cares, Oliver was pretty. So pretty….

“Earth to Felicity,” Caitlin was waving her hand in front of Felicity’s face. “I’m trying to grovel, you could at least pretend to listen.”

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about Oliver?” Caitlin’s voice was tentative not wanting to rock the boat.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not staying remember. So don’t start plotting. Although,” Felicity glanced over at Oliver talking to his friend. “I have to admit,” Felicity watched Caitlin’s eyes widen, “I’m only admitting it to you, he is very pretty.”

Caitlin sighed. “He’d probably hate that description but I can’t help but agree.”

“So next time you have a massive plan of getting us in the same place, maybe you could just tell me the truth.”

~~~~~

Oliver watched Felicity talking to Caitlin behind the counter. He was so relieved when he realized the kiss you comment was a joke. But he was more than a little unnerved by his caveman reaction.

Should he go say hi? Felicity looked away when their eyes met. God, he felt like he was in high school but he wasn’t even this nervous then.

He looked back down at his book, knowing that he would not be able to focus on reading when Felicity was across the room. Oliver knew he would have to go over and say hello. It was the polite thing to do after all. He was raised with proper manners.

He swiped his book and coffee mug before walking to the counter.

“Hello, ladies.” Oliver smiled. Boy, he hoped he sounded more confident than he sounded.

“Oliver! Can I get you a refill?” Caitlin quickly jumped to service.

“Ahh,” Oliver looked at Felicity then back to Caitlin. “Maybe one for the road.”

“I’m on it. Felicity will keep you company while you wait.” Caitlin winked at both of them as she walked to the back.

Oliver watched Felicity roll her eyes before turning back to him. “Hi.”

“Hi to you. How was your day?”

“I actually ran into your sister. It’s so cool that she now owns the bookstore!”

Oliver smiled. He knew Thea took great pride in her shop. “Yes, I should stop by there more often.” He gripped his book in his hand, he’d need to get the second book in this series.

Felicity looked down at the book in his hand. “Whatcha reading?”

Oliver tried to look bashful but the truth was he was enjoying it. “The first Harry Potter book. I wanted to make sure it was suitable to read to my class.”

“So, is it suitable for grade two students?” Felicity’s eyebrow rose as she asked.

“Probably not all of them. But I do think it’s suitable for their teacher. I’m going to have to swing by Thea’s shop to get the next book. You know, to further my research.”

Felicity smiled.

Man, that woman’s smile could light up a room. He’d heard that phrase before but never thought he’d actually see it. He wanted to keep her smiling. “Did you read the Harry Potter books? I know I’m late to the game…”

Felicity nodded, her ponytail bounced. “Yes, more than once. In fact, I think I have a copy of the complete set at Mom’s house if you’d like to borrow. I mean if you don’t want to buy your own. I’m sure you can afford your own but if you wanted to borrow, I can lend. I’m just going to stop talking now...where is Caitlin?” Felicity turned to look back for Caitlin.

The more Felicity babbled the more he wanted her to continue. She was so honest. It really did warm his heart. He felt better around her. “Felicity,” Oliver reached to place her’s on the counter. She looked back at him but he could tell she was embarrassed. “I would love to borrow your Harry Potter books. It was very kind of you to offer.”

“Oh.” Felicity’s mouth formed a round “O” in surprise.

“Maybe, we could meet here tomorrow? I’ll treat you to coffee and you could bring the books?” Oliver could not resist the opportunity.

“You had me at coffee.” Felicity smiled.

I’m back! Sorry, for the delay, work and life stuff got in the way. I still intend on doing all the prompts it will just take a bit longer than October!

Thanks so much for reading! Tagging a few people. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

@memcjo @stephswims @it-was-a-red-heeler @cruzrogue @mel-loves-all @tdgal1 @vaelisamaza @onceuponarrow @msbeccieboo @lucyyh @julieofrandomfandoms @morganashimi83

#Leaves of Change #olicity fanfiction #fictober19 #MyFanfic #alternate universe #oliver x felicity

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jawnjendes · 4 years

Text

shawn meets... | isabella

SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation/spin off of goth gf)

AN: time for a new oc! and by NEW i mean, new to yall,,, ive had this oc since i was 15

***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

previous chapter

isabella’s origin story not available | isabella’s playlist | masterlist

Out of all the places he’s been to, London seemed to bring the most interesting people to Shawn’s already interesting life. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was an international singing sensation, or because of his own strange luck. Was his college life this weird with people?

College… it felt like somebody else’s life. It had been a few years since he walked through the massive campus, but there were still days that Shawn found himself missing that life. He especially missed it these days because he still had Brian in that life. Not to mention it was all mundane and normal. A number of people knew Shawn, but it was not the colossal amount that knew him now. Back then, he could go to a karaoke bar and get as trashed as he wanted, and the only consequence would be a killer hangover. Back then, he would be going to a karaoke bar with his best friend.

These last few months were a grieving period. Shawn hadn't planned on taking time off, but the funeral was the last straw. Hearing the broken wails of Brian's mother as the casket was lowered into the ground was all too much. He couldn't handle the guilt that sat on his shoulders, or the grief that weight down on his chest. He couldn't look his friend's family in the eyes and say it was his fault why their son was dead. So time off was taken, and a tour was canceled, and much therapy was had.

Now, four months later, Shawn was getting back into the swing of things. He was back in London with the intention of songwriting and possibly some recording. His mind was still cloudy and his chest was still heavy, but he was deemed functional enough by Andrew and his therapist.

However, Shawn couldn't wander the streets alone. That was the case ever since his first fan mobbing in Los Angeles a few years ago. More recently, ever since the girl who bruised Shawn’s wrist happened, Jake had to be at his side at all times. Even at a crowded karaoke bar where his face blended with everyone else under the dim lights, and where everyone focused on the person singing onstage.

Shawn looked down at his right wrist. The bruises were long gone, and he could still play guitar just as he did before. The thought of never playing again gave him an uncomfortable chill. He couldn't be thinking about that, not when worse things had happened. Brian was the one who pointed out how odd and nonhuman that girl was. Shawn wouldn't have been able to figure out the truth about her and her employer. He really needed the karaoke bar tonight.

At least Jake was considerate enough to sit a couple of stools away from Shawn, giving him the illusion that he was here by himself. He nursed his beer and scanned the room, not really listening to the karaoke host introduce the next singer. Shawn was not really sure what he was looking for here. He chatted with the handsome, blond bartender, but he got busy with the night rush. All Shawn knew was that he didn’t want to be stuck alone in a hotel room, and he really didn’t want to be around more people who would share their condolences and fond memories of someone they hardly knew. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar song play on the speakers did Shawn finally focus on the stage.

If it was his own song, Shawn would have had to leave the bar. But it was Niall’s On My Own, making Shawn briefly consider texting the Irish singer to see what he’s up to tonight. However, he quickly zeroed in on the girl singing, and he started to wonder if he really did have a type.

She had short, choppy black hair, like she had cut it herself. These round purple sunglasses hung on the bridge of her nose, and it was the only thing that stood out from her all black ensemble: a low cut tank top, ripped jeans, and Converse high tops. She moved animatedly around the stage, that short hair bouncing and getting disheveled. She didn’t seem to care about how she looked.

Shawn turned back to Jake and gave him that look. “Are you seeing this?” Jake merely gave him a thumbs up.

The other thing about this girl was her voice. Every person that sang before here was… not good. This girl had a strong, rich voice. She could give Niall a run for his money with all the runs she threw into his song. She was talented. Shawn hadn’t heard a voice like that since he heard Bella Santiago sing in person for the first time. (Still a shame that girl won’t accept any record deal she was offered.)

Everyone in the bar seemed to like this girl too. The crowd roared with applause and cheers when she hit the bridge of the song. Shawn bopped his head along to the beat, feeling a genuine smile on his face for the first time in weeks. He clapped as hard as he could when the song ended, but then his heart dropped as he saw this girl walk off the stage and head for the bar. He turned to face the bartender, but looked down at his half empty bottle. His heart nearly stopped when the girl took the empty stool next to him.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a British accent that came out of her. At least, not a noticeable one. She sounded more American than anything else.

“Thanks, Seth,” she said to the bartender as he seemed to make a Blue Moon magically appear out of nowhere. “What’d you think?”

“Showing everyone how it’s done, like always.” He winked.

She giggled. “We getting outta here soon?”

“After last call, won't be long now."

Shawn felt a blow in his stomach. She was here with the bartender. Well, time to call it a night.

Then, there was something like magic. Shawn had turned towards Jake to signal him to get out of here, but there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned back around to find the girl looking at him.

“I sat here for a reason, you know,” she said, eyebrows raised.

Magic!

Shawn grinned. “That reason being?”

“Handsome chap, alone in a bar? Too good to be true, so I had to investigate. You here alone, mysterious stranger? I mean, apart from your bodyguard, of course.” She took a gulp from her beer.

Shawn was thrown off by that entire string of words. He couldn’t even try to play dumb. “How did you-”

“He’s had that protective look in his eyes since I sat down,” she explained. “And I know protection like nobody’s business.”

“Oh, you’re a bodyguard, eh?” Shawn asked, his eyes shamelessly trailing down her petite body. Yes, it was an excuse to look at the decent amount cleavage she had going on.

“Eh?” she repeated with a chuckle. “What, are you Canadian or something?” She laughed like it was such a ridiculous thought.

He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The girl laughed even more, her eyes squinting. “Are you joking? Canada’s not real!”

Maybe she had a few too many drinks. Shawn watched her with a polite grin as she hiccuped.

“You’re alright, mysterious stranger.” She held out her hand. “Isabella Montgomery.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shawn said as he shook her hand. For someone who just danced around onstage, her hand was quite chilly.

She quirked a dark eyebrow. “Gonna stick with the mysterious stranger thing, are you? Suit yourself.”

Either she recognized him and pretended like she didn’t or… she just didn’t recognize him. Whatever the case, Shawn was perfectly content with being a stranger tonight.

“You gonna sing tonight?” Isabella asked him.

“Oh no, I’m not drunk enough for that,” he said. “Besides, I don’t think I could follow up the show you just put on.”

She smiled. “You’re probably right. But I’ve got the smallest feeling you might be an alright singer.”

Okay, she definitely recognized him.

“I don’t really want the attention on me tonight,” he admitted.

Isabella nodded understandingly. “I see. Well, would you wanna get outta here?”

The two of them looked at each other for a split second. Shawn was quite forward himself, but he wasn’t that quick. Not to mention, he just overheard her make plans with Seth the bartender.

“To another pub,” Isabella hastily corrected. “There’s a place my friend over here and I are gonna head to. You wanna come along?”

“Oh!” Shawn felt a little more delighted now that she clarified the bartender situation. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Where's this place at?”

Isabella licked her lips and grinned. She looked for her bartender friend, who just announced last call on the microphone. When he returned to his post, Isabella waved him over.

“Yes, my dear?” Seth asked.

“My new mysterious mate wants to come with us,” she told him.

“Oh, does he? Think he can handle it?”

“I can handle it,” Shawn piped up. “What kinda place is it, anyway?”

Isabella and Seth shared a look, silently communicating. Then, they both turned back to the mysterious stranger.

“It’s, er, a nerdy… type of place,” Isabella explained slowly. “People cosplay… Dungeons and Dragons type of things. They take it very seriously, won’t even break character if you talk to them. It’s a weird environment, but it’s fun nonetheless.”

Shawn nodded as he took in the information. Wouldn’t be the first nerd-themed place he’s been too. But it has been a while. “I’m down. Sounds fun.”

“There’s karaoke there too,” Seth added. “And, we can promise that you will continue being a mysterious stranger while we’re there.”

A karaoke bar where no one will recognize him? Sounds like a dream.

“Let’s do it,” he told his new friends.

This nerd bar was hidden. The shelf behind the bar was actually a secret door. Seth pushed it open with surprising ease while Isabella hopped over the bar. Shawn looked at Jake, who didn’t seem suspicious or hesitant. Yet.

Seth let the others pass through first before shutting the shelf door behind him. Then, Isabella led them down a hallway lit by dim blue lights. She pushed open another door, revealing a bar that was much darker than the previous one. It felt more like a nightclub.

Shawn could barely make out people wearing long colorful robes, dancing under the strobe lights. Definitely nerd space. An unrecognizable song was blaring over the speakers. As Shawn tried to figure out what exactly the lyrics were saying, Isabella nudged him.

“I’ll sign us up for karaoke!” she yelled over the music.

“Wait-” he tried to say, nerves building up in his stomach.

“You’re singing with me no matter what!”

And she disappeared towards the stage.

Before Shawn could stop her, Seth came in for the distraction. He pulled Shawn over to the bar and ordered something for the three of them. Soon enough, there were shot glasses lined up along the surface of the bar, and Isabella had found the boys.

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

Each of them grabbed their tiny glass. Shawn looked around for his guard, now nervous about being left alone, but he found Jake in the far corner of the club. Watching. Waiting. Unbothered.

That was enough for Shawn to down one, two, three shots of whatever the fuck with these people. He felt fire in his veins, euphoria surrounding him. Everything he was previously worried about didn’t matter anymore.

“We’re gonna sing Panic!” Isabella told him at some point.

“Can’t wait!”

Next thing he knew, Shawn was onstage in front of a massive group of nerds, High Hopes blaring on the speakers. Isabella was next to him, microphone in hand as she belted out the beginning of the song with her killer voice.

Shawn took over the first verse, and the two of them harmonized wonderfully. At least, with the alcohol in his system, it felt that way. The two of them danced around on stage like fools, not caring about looking cool or composed or even trying to sing well. Isabella sounded naturally good, though. She messed up her hair and nearly tripped on her feet a few times, but man could that girl carry a tune.

“Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn’t know how, but I always had a feeling I was going to be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes”

It was liberating. It was spiritually healing. It was different than performing in an arena of thousands of people. He could just be silly and not have to put on his tour persona.

They only sang one song, but it was enough for Shawn to feel something other than the crushing grief that was frequently on his shoulders. He felt good, almost happy. He danced with these strangers and drank some more. He saw pretty lights dancing around the ceiling, he could almost see the stars and the moon through it too. It was magical, to say the least.

"Guys, I'm getting hungry!" Isabella exclaimed after a while.

"Well, I'm getting tired!" Seth told her. "What about you, mysterious stranger?"

"Fooooooood!"

The three of them (Jake in tow, of course) left the way they came in. Seth pushed open the shelf door and let the others through. Shawn's ears were ringing once he was back in the quiet, but there was still adrenaline coursing through his system. He wasn't ready for the night to be over.

But Seth was. He stretched his long arms over his head and yawned once all of them were out in the humid night. “I’m out for the night, lads. It was cool hanging out with you, stranger.”

“You too, brother,” Shawn said, clasping his shoulder.

Seth then turned to Isabella. “I’ll see you at home?”

“See you at home,” she confirmed.

Then, Seth stalked off down the street, practically disappearing into a dark alley. There was a cracking sound that broke the quiet night, but Shawn wasn’t exactly preoccupied with that.

"Where we gonna eat?" he asked Isabella.

However, Jake stepped in. "We should really get going. It's late enough as it is."

"But I'm hungry!" Shawn whined.

"Yeah, the boy is hungry!" Isabella assertively repeated, placing her hands on her hips. "Can't let him starve now, can we? There's a burger joint down the road, 's not that far."

The two of them stared down the bodyguard. He usually took Shawn away from the fun despite the singer's protests. It was always because they had something to do or somewhere to be the next day, but there were still a couple of days left before the demands came back… before the prominent absence of a certain Brian made itself known yet again. Shawn wanted to savor this time, drunk or not.

Jake seemed to realize this as well, because he suddenly approved. “Alright. You eat, and then it’s back to the hotel.”

Isabella bounced on her feet. “Sweet! Let’s go!”

She linked her arm with Shawn’s and led him literally ten steps up the road. The burger joint was empty apart from the cashier working the graveyard shift. Jake went to sit at the booth in the corner, continuing to do his job.

“God, I’m dying for a veggie burger,” Isabella said, looking up at the menu.

“Are the garlic fries any good?” Shawn asked.

“Wouldn’t know, I have a garlic allergy.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere else? What if your food touches garlic?”

She waved it off. “I don’t have severe reactions or anything. And I’ve been here loads of time. Trust me, it’s safe.”

Well, if she knows her own body… The two of them ordered, and Shawn made sure to keep the allergen out of his meal as well. Then, they sat down two booths ahead of Jake, still keeping the illusion that Shawn was out and about on his own.

Under the much brighter lights of this establishment, Shawn could make out Isabella’s face a little more. She had the babiest baby face a person could have. If they hadn’t met in a bar, Shawn would have thought she was a teenager. The pink blush on Isabella’s cheeks only added to that. Maybe she had used a fake ID at the bar… she could actually be a teenager.

Isabella caught him staring, and immediately knew what was on his mind. “I’m twenty-four, just so you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t-” he tried to say.

“Lots of people give me that look. You know how many clients of mine think I’m an intern?”

Shawn blinked slowly, his hazy mind still processing what she just said. “Um, what is it that you do?”

“I’m a lawyer for muuu- ah, uh - immigration lawyer.” She grinned nonchalantly.

“That’s awesome,” Shawn said.

“Yeah, a few years back I volunteered my services when people in the States were being wrongfully detained at various airports,” she explained. “I got hired by a law firm in New York, so I lived there for a bit.”

Shawn was impressed, but he thought about exactly how long ago those events took place. He was still a little weary about Isabella and her age, so he counted backwards on his fingers. However, the math got difficult and fuzzy in his still inebriated mind, so he took her word for it.

“I promise you I’m older than I look,” Isabella said with a laugh. Then, she turned serious. “Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded rapidly, numbers still flying around in his head.

“I know you’re not just a mysterious stranger,” she admitted. “I know who you are.”

His eyes widened a little bit. Was this another disturbed fan interaction? Oh god, maybe he should have listened to Jake and gone back to the hotel.

“You performed at Sapphire Lilith’s birthday party,” Isabella clarified, seeing the look on his face. “I was there.”

“Oh,” Shawn said, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah. I performed at her house.” And he spent a blissful week with Sapphire, only to result in her ghosting him and the death of his best friend. He cleared his throat as that memory came to mind. “How do you know Sapphire?”

“Her parents died few years ago and she needed me to look over their wills,” Isabella said casually. “Oh, and she got robbed a few times and needed to me look into the legal part of it.”

Shawn tilted his head. “But aren’t you an immigration lawyer?”

“Yeah. We also went to the same sleepaway school years ago.” She shrugged. “Uniforms for girls were pink, but you would never catch me in that shit. I spray painted my dresses black and wore sneakers. I got in so much trouble.”

“Wow. Got ourselves a rebel here.” He chuckled, his hand sliding across the table.

Isabella was faster than him. A single blink later, and she was standing. “I think our order is ready.”

Something fell out of her pocket, making a small clattering noise. Shawn immediately reached down to pick up the item, only to be confused at what it was.

“You dropped your… wand?”

He didn’t even get a good look at the dark wood before Isabella snatched it out of his hand and shoved it back into her pocket. Her eyes were suspiciously wide again.

“I, uh, I love Henry Popper. Be right back!”

As Isabella went to the cashier, Shawn looked back at Jake two booths behind. He seemed more confused than suspicious. Or, spaced out. His eyes were staring back at the guy he was supposed to be guarding, but it didn’t look like he had processed anything that just happened.

Then, Isabella came back to the table, non-too-gently setting their tray down on the table. The noise was loud enough to make Shawn jump and face her again.

“Sorry for freaking out,” she said, somber.

“It’s okay. Hey, I love Harry Potter too,” he replied. “I’m obsessed. Did you get your wand at Universal?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m a Gryffindor.”

“Me too!”

Isabella pointedly grinned and tilted her head. “Really? You give off big Hufflepuff energy.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Shawn chuckled before taking a bite of his burger.

“Because it’s true?”

“And how would you know that?”

“Who has the wand between the two of us? And don’t talk with your mouth full!”

Shawn playfully narrowed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “Didn’t realize I was talking to the queen of all things Harry Potter!”

Isabella chuckled. “You could say he’s like a friend to me. As a matter of fact, I saw him yesterday when he came round for tea.”

That got a laugh out of him. Any worry he had about this girl was now gone. He would much rather be here than be alone with his thoughts in a hotel room. How often does he get a genuine conversation like this anyway? How often does he get the time to talk to anyone and form one-on-one connections?

He was doing exactly what he wanted to do: make music and perform it. Six years ago, Shawn had no idea what it would cost to be able to do this. When was the last time he had spoken to any of his friends? His family? He looked down at his meal, suddenly not very hungry.

“Hey!” Isabella said, lightly tapping his arm. “Don’t get sad on me now! Am I really that depressing to be around?”

“Of course not,” Shawn said without missing a beat. “And I’m not sad.”

“Please, you reek of stress, loss, and…” She sniffed the air. “Guilt?”

Shawn scrunched his brows, pretending like he was not just attacked. “Where do you get all that from?”

She coughed. “Just a guess. I imagine, being a mysterious stranger, it’s hard to come by actual friends.”

That was something he could talk about without getting too deep into his drunken feelings. “I… yeah. People define you by what you are on the outside and see nothing else. Don’t even take the time to see what’s inside, in your heart.”

Isabella was playing with her fries. “I know what that’s like. All I’ve ever been is a blood sucking parasite with a wand. Doing what you know you’re destined to do comes with a lot of sacrifices.”

“Absolutely,” Shawn agreed. His own cave of regrets came to mind, but he wasn’t drunk enough to share any of them.

next chapter

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @someoneunimportantxx @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @chillingbythesea @theprivatesmutacc

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x oc #shawn meets fic #no one reads my shit anymore but whtv

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride.

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway.

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back.

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”.

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat.

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence.

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican.

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa.

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue.

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing.

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette.

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness.

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star.

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration.

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure.

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget.

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn.

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest.

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget.

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft.

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her.

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.”

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.”

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag.

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together.

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her.

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious.

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset”

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this.

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile.

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision.

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words.

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified.

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-” her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame.

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden.

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor.

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality.

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God.

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows.

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table.

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need.

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x”

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her.

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul.

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to.

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there.

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery.

How did she end up like this?

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?”

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud.

“Please - x”

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own.

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay”

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong.

“Same place, same time? - x"

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice.

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian.

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process.

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air.

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality.

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind.

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough.

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.”

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present.

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with.

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?"

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity.

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke.

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope.

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask.

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body.

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own.

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.”

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own.

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction.

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones.

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible."

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks.

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips.

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky.

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind.

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future.

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look.

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul?

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.”

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze.

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm.

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be.

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind.

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken.

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being.

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint.

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil.

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return.

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in.

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles.

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes.

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates.

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening."

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist.

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory.

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.”

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room.

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat.

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention.

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question.

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat?

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.”

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love.

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself.

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips.

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real.

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love.

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #smut #fluff #lesbian au #fic challenge #musical theatre challenge #dreamyunicorngirl #musical theatre au #tw religion #tw panic attacks #tw internalized homophobia #submission

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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

The Emancipation of Ginny ~ 1

summary: shawn and ginny could’ve ruined everything six months ago, and sticking together despite their past could make or break them now as ginny stays on as his personal assistant. but what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour.

warnings: Language, dental health vs. mental health, Longing (TM)

WC: 4.6k

“Shawn, gum.”

He shuffles over sheepishly and spits his sugar free Dentyne Ice into the garbage can with a metallic ping. He makes a face at her and turns away.

The morning doesn’t look much like morning. It’s so absolutely dark at 3:30am as they huddle in the Air Canada Maple Leaf lounge. There isn’t a single soul in there that doesn’t work for Andrew Gertler, so the team, a.k.a. Andrew himself, Shawn, Cez, Josiah, Brian, Jake and Ginny, are spread out over every available surface. Most of their cast of misfits is asleep. Andrew checks email on his phone, Jake is fighting a cold and snorts into a tissue every few minutes. Shawn and Ginny are the only others conscious.

The only reason they too haven’t passed out before their 5am flight to London is because Shawn has a call-in interview with a radio show in Paris. When they’re in full single promo mode like this, these kinds of squeezed operations are not uncommon. Ginny has to stay on the ball.

Maybe she’s nitpicky, but she just winces at the idea of some snotty Parisian gossip blog making comments about the tacky Canadian kid smacking his gum on air. It would get to Twitter, then Insta, then Tumblr, then god knows where else and she’d really rather just… not.

Shawn’s crisp, clear voice cuts through her fog as he tries to gamely repeat phrases in French (“vous les vous couchez… hey, don’t try to trick me, I know that one!”) for his beloved French listeners. Even at this ungodly hour, he can put on the charm when he needs to. And he rarely complains.

Ginny sighs, tipping her head onto her fist as her elbow props her up on the skinny arm of a terminal seat. She blinks slowly, listening to him laugh and try to pronounce French names as the fog takes her back.

Shawn and Andrew have fought time and circumstance for a week to sit down and have whatever this talk is about to be. Shawn leans forward in the armchair, sitting on his hands and bouncing his knees as Andrew wraps up his phone call. Before his thumb hits the “end call” button, Shawn is on him.

“So what’s up?” he chirps.

Andrew chuckles, exhausted. “Sorry, man. It’s been crazy.”

Shawn nods eagerly for him to proceed. Andrew eases into the chair across from him and rubs his stubbled chin. He smiles wearily, a man exhausted.

“I need some help, dude.”

Shawn’s gut lurches. Andrew’s never asked for his help before. Andrew doesn’t seem to need much of anyone’s help, the way Shawn sees it. Andrew’s his own personal superhero. Shawn’s eyes widen and he nods for him to continue.

“I mean, you’ve seen us lately. We haven’t had 45 seconds to catch up and get our heads on straight since before we started recording. Our world is changing. I think we have to expand to keep up.”

Shawn narrows his eyes and bobs his head again.

“I think we should bring on an assistant. A right hand for you to help you with all the stuff you don’t really need me for, you just need someone. Someone to help keep the schedule going, help with travel, deal with your personal stuff. Someone young who I can lean on too, and help train. Someone interested in artist management who I can help groom from the start of a career.”

Shawn shifts in his seat and sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help Andrew. It’s not even that he doesn’t think he needs a PA -- he accepts that he probably does. He just… the chemistry of the team is so good. He gets hesitant about adding new ingredients. He’s grown so very attached to his people and how they all work together.

He’s about to voice this concern when he looks up at Andrew, his partner, the guy who reached down and hauled him up from Vine and YouTube and gave him the best chance he’s ever had. Andrew, wizened and worn to the bone, though he wears it well. Shawn’s heart swells.

“Of course, yeah, dude.”

“Ok,” Andrew sighs, shifting his glasses against the bridge of his nose, “Security says there are about 40 girls outside.”

Ginny doesn’t have to look to see (or hear) Jake wince. Her nose twitches in response, displacing the little gold hoop in her septum. Shawn just nods like a quarterback taking direction from his coach.

“So, they’re gonna lend us a hand to get us out to the cars. I’ve got Shawn, Ginny and Jake. Cez, Josiah, Brian in car two. You’re heading for the hotel.”

“The party car,” Cez chuckles, raising his eyebrows at his travel buddies. Brian and Josiah agree with a laugh and start hauling their bags over their shoulders in preparation to sift through the crowd.

“Hey, what time is it?” Shawn murmurs from just above Ginny’s head. She’s sifting through texts from Tiffany about scheduling Shawn’s next fitting. She cracks a smile.

“You don’t have time, mate,” she answers softly, reading his mind.

Shawn wrinkles his nose. “Just to say hi. Take a group selfie?”

“Might be late as it is,” she grunts under the weight of the backpack she’s overstuffed. Shawn helps her with the other strap and adjusts it against her back with a tap.

“Ok,” he says. It’s a little despondent with a candy coating. Ginny knows the voice well.

“But we’re gonna have time after Grimmy to say hi to the fans outside the Beeb,” she adds as they begin stalking off down the corridor toward the hulking men in black jackets waiting to escort them out to arrivals’ ground transport.

That seems to perk Shawn up. She snickers at his change in demeanor and flicks at a curl over his forehead. He wriggles his fingers by her face, widening his eyes as he slowly reaches for her hair. She smacks his hand away with a gasp.

“You wouldn’t,” she gripes, drowned out by the resounding shrieks of some very happy British girls as the automatic doors slide open. Shawn wiggles his eyebrows and smirks at her for a moment before he converts it to a billion-dollar rockstar grin and a double-handed toddler wave.

Ginny keeps her head down. It’s easier this way. In the beginning, she thought engaging with the fans would be fun, and Andrew encouraged it at first, thought it would be a good way for her to feel welcomed into the team, but things got out of hand quickly. As the only female on Shawn’s travel team, interest heightened to a level that none of them could handle. After Ginny’s personal Instagram was hacked for the third time, they sat down and had a meeting about her pulling back and becoming a face in the crowd. It was the right thing for everyone. Plus, she’s always really hated the flashes of the paps. If she isn’t expected to be photographed, she slides away from them more easily.

Andrew gets into the passenger side of the first blacked out Range Rover. Shawn and Ginny climb into the back after Shawn throws out a few more waves and “THANK YOU!”s.

With his gaze down at his phone as he thumbs through Twitter, Shawn mumbles, “I don’t know what the fuck they were saying, but this is definitely the fun car.”

Ginny’s lips twitch. Shawn looks over. She giggles. He giggles back. Andrew smiles down at his phone.

Ginny stares with her top lip squeezed under her teeth. She forces her dry, cracked hands between her knees and blinks quickly.

“You know I’m sorry, Gin,” Hannah moans, sitting forward to plant her tiny dark hands on Ginny’s legs, urging her to look up at her.

“No, I know, listen, it’s fine. It was going to happen sometime,” Ginny reasons politely over the smashing of her heart against her ribs.

“But listen, this is better for you!” Hannah hisses, shaking Ginny like she does when she’s trying to get something through her thick head, “If you’d stayed with me forever, you’d never have grown, never have learned anything new. This way, you’ll have direct artist management experience. And Shawn Mendes is one of the biggest acts on the planet. This is invaluable.”

Ginny hears it all, and she knows Hannah is right. But it doesn’t make being fired by your best friend any easier.

Ginny Dresden and Hannah Dyer have been best friends since primary school when they were sat next to each other because they were the only two little girls of color in their class at the tiny posh school in Bedford Park. In the back of their classroom, they colored each other’s hands purple and planted them on construction paper, giggling when they realized even though Hannah’s skin was much darker, they made the same color handprint.

As children, they sang in choir after school until it was no longer cool and then they sang in Hannah’s basement and recorded each other for when they became famous someday.

Now, Ginny waits for the day those tapes will become useful. Because Hannah isn’t just famous, she’s practically iconic.

Hannah, at exactly the right place and the right time, was discovered singing (though underage) at a bar in Fulham and within a few months was signed to a contract with Sony. As her star rose, she took Ginny with her in the hopes that her oldest and dearest friend could explore the world with her and find where she belonged. So she put Ginny on the payroll and off they went.

For four years, they took the world by storm. Ginny was a regular star of Hannah’s Snapchats -- “I’m building your brand,” Hannah would tell her. Ginny was happy to be along for the ride and took an interest in artist management as she saw Hannah cycle through a few different ones, the good, the bad, the ugly.

And then came Marcus. Marcus is the keyboard player of a group called “Bend Daylight” that played the festival circuit with them two years ago. From that first day of Pukkelpop, Ginny knew, even if Hannah didn’t. Marcus was the one.

Hannah and Marcus were married last summer. Four months ago, Hannah announced her pregnancy. And it’s not like Ginny didn’t expect things to change, to slow down. She just didn’t expect to be let go completely. But Hannah wasn’t about to throw her out into the world empty handed. She had set up a gig for Gin through a friend of her manager’s who knew Andrew Gertler from Shawn Mendes’s team. Andrew wanted an experienced PA who was looking to be educated out of her position into artist management. It’s the perfect fit.

Ginny agrees to a meeting. Her hesitance is clear by the furrow in her brow. Hannah reaches across the coffee table and over her swelling belly to plant a kiss between her best friend’s eyes with a wet smack.

“... and you love it here in London, don’t you, Shawn?” spouts Nick Grimshaw in that brilliant Mancunian accent that always makes Ginny feel at home wherever she is in the world. As she sits in a seat against the wall watching Shawn and Grimmy volley banter back and forth live on BBC Radio 1, she feels Shawn’s eyes. She lifts her head from her notebook and smiles warmly.

“Yeah, yeah I do, I really love it. I’ve thought about getting a place out here, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” quips Grimmy, leaning into the mic that he’s gripping with his bony fingers, “Where would you look?”

“Ahhh, I dunno,” Shawn begins, again looking to Ginny, who raises her eyebrows and shrugs as if to say, ‘you’re on your own, pal.’ Grimmy picks up on the gesture.

“Does Ginny have a say in this?” Grimmy laughs, his grin wide and toothy. Ginny shuts her notebook and sits up, shaking her head.

“Ginny, my assistant, she’s from Bedford Park in West London,” Shawn explains proudly, a smile in his voice, “So her vote would be somewhere over there, I’d guess.” He glances to Ginny for confirmation.

Ginny rises from her chair and steps toward the mic Grimmy is waving her toward. A producer hands her headphones. Ginny props her hands on the desk and leans down toward the mic, eyeing Shawn.

“I’d want you to get a posh bachelor pad in Mayfair for us to rage at, actually,” Ginny jokes, winking at Grimmy. Shawn rolls his eyes as Grimmy cheers, “way-hays,” and chants “lads, lads, lads!” Ginny joins him.

“Yeah, definitely my style,” Shawn snarks, lifting his chin at Ginny, who shrugs and settles back in her seat.

“Nice that your team knows their way around, though,” Grimmy concedes with a final smile toward Ginny before he gets back down to business.

“So, this new single…”

As things work out, ever so bizarrely, as is the norm in the Mendes camp, Shawn and Ginny’s first meeting is for a flight from Toronto to New York. By themselves. It’s circumstantial -- Andrew left earlier for New York for a few meetings and Shawn stayed behind in Toronto for his dad’s birthday. Jake, Josiah and the rest of the squad are absent for various reasons, so it’s just… Shawn and Ginny.

“How do I know what she looks like?” Shawn mutters to Andrew on the phone, knowing Andrew won’t judge him for his anxiety over this, as his car pulls up to departures.

“She’s tall. Like, really tall. Just… oh, hey Mike, can you wait up for a second? Hey… yeah, hi, sorry Shawn, just look for a tall, beautiful black woman with a septum piercing. I gotta go. Safe flight. Call me when you land.”

He hangs up before Shawn can say anything else.

Shawn’s gotten over his hangups about bringing on a new team member. He’s had a phone interview with her to make sure he didn’t hear anything crazy in her voice. And he trusts Andrew’s judgment the way he trusts that of his parents. All that remains now is the awkwardness of meeting someone new that’s meant to wait on you day in and day out as their profession. And she’s a tall, beautiful black woman? Why couldn’t they have hired a dude? A scruffy, old dude who Shawn didn’t have to worry about growing close to?

Andrew said she’d be waiting by the Air Canada check-in counters. When Shawn walks through the doors to the airport flanked by a couple security guys in lieu of Jake, he sees one person pacing back and forth in front of the counters on the phone, rolling a sleek red hard-covered suitcase that was absolutely silent as she tugged it around.

It seems almost everything about her Andrew had mentioned was an understatement. She’s tall. Yeah, she’s fuckin’ tall. She’s at least 5’11” but the height of her hair adds at least a few more inches. Shawn doesn’t often interact with women as tall as he is. So that’s new.

And beautiful. Yeah. Also probably undersold her a little.

She’s lithe and thin in that yoga-doing way. She’s wearing leggings that crop at her ankles and show off a truly stunning pair of legs, paired with a plain white t-shirt and a worn old jean jacket, the kind that even the most hipster store couldn’t replicate the cool of. Her hair is a bouncing, living whirl of tight, pencil thin curls that don’t have an ounce of frizz, somehow. She’s got a pair of aviators tucked up in there behind her ears. She doesn’t look to be wearing any makeup beyond a striking red lip color that makes Shawn lick his. Her face is angular but warm with a sweet little nose and a little dip in the center of her chin that reminds him of his own. Her eyes are a dark, clear brown and look like the kind of eyes that reflect every thought in her beautiful head.

Shawn’s chest deflates. He pastes on a friendly smile and tries not to imagine how complicated this could get.

“Shawn, gum!” Ginny calls from the back of the group of troops heading out from the Radio 1 building to greet the fans waiting outside.

Shawn raises a swallow-emblazoned hand and waves it at her as a thank you. She watches as he darts out from the pack to spit his gum into a bin and fall back in line. Ginny hears when they come into view of the crowd because it starts with a collective gasping of teenage breath and becomes a steadier, louder wail that Ginny knows well by now.

Jake looks to Ginny for a nod. She gives it. He shadows Shawn as he strolls over to meet and greet them, taking selfies, doling out hugs, signing and signing until he looks down at his pen with a frown. Before Jake can even look back to Ginny, she’s got a fresh Sharpie at the ready and hands it off to Jake, who hands it to Shawn. The minor interruption is noticed only by Andrew, who grins at the efficiency and shakes his head.

Thank god for Ginny Dresden. He thinks it to himself at least once a day now.

The crowd is only barely dissipating as it becomes time to wrap up. Ginny glances down at her watch and back up at Jake for the nod. Jake nods back and leans into Shawn for the heads up. Shawn does his bowing and praying hands as he backs away from the reaching, grabbing hands. Cameras flash. Ginny ducks her head. They pack themselves into the Rover for the next stop, a dinner at the Connaught Bar with some Island Records people who want to celebrate the new single, “Against the Noise.”

Shawn drops into the seat next to hers with a heaving sigh. She fights her instinct to dip her head onto his shoulder and snuggle into him. Instead, she smiles gently.

“You good?” she hums.

Shawn blinks over at her sleepily. He nods, “‘m good.”

What do I even say? Ginny wonders, trying not to look up at him from her Spotify, but he’s got one of those faces that’s hard to look away from. She knew, obviously, that he was criminally good looking, but Hannah neglected to warn her how overwhelming he is in person. She wants to put her nose right up against his jaw just to feel how sharp it is. What a weird instinct. She blinks hard to rid herself of the notion.

They’re in business class. He’s got his recliner out and is drumming his fingers against his thigh that Ginny’s also trying not to look at because his black jeans look like they’ve been painted the fuck on and his quads are magnificent and she would know because she’s got a very fine pair herself from yoga and pilates.

They’ve been in the air for 20 minutes. The fasten seatbelt sign just went off. Shawn has free WiFi because he probably has enough Air Canada miles to, well, buy Air Canada so he’s looking through his phone. He generously shared his code with her but it got lost somewhere between his big hazel-ish eyes and soft pouty lips and Ginny’s ears. She was too shy to ask for it again, so she pulled out her book instead.

She didn’t have to do this last time, the bonding thing. She and Hannah had been so bonded they were practically attached. But Shawn is essentially her new boss, though she’s technically employed by AG Artists, and she needs to make a good impression.

She’s studying a pathetic mental list of small talk starters that really should be longer given the British peoples’ propensity for chat when Shawn pipes up out of nowhere.

“Hey, where did you get that suitcase from? The red one?”

She looks up from her tragic cuticles and sees him looking at her curiously. Did his eyes get bigger? Warmer? Sweeter? Fuck.

“It’s a Victorinox,” she spits out, “It’s a great case. Super durable. And light. And the wheels are--”

“They’re like, silent,” Shawn interrupts, his voice hushed like he’s talking about magic.

Ginny smiles slowly and a giggle rises up from deep in her chest. And Shawn thinks maybe that really is magic.

Ginny likes the idea of the guerilla bookstore acoustic set better than the reality of it.

The planning was a headache. She and Andrew have been on the phone for a month planning it with the label -- which bookstore would get the honor? Exactly when? What would security be like? Would they drop hints? Would they do a treasure hunt? Would Ginny like to design and manage to execute the treasure hunt from a continent away? Please and thank you.

But Shawn’s excited. So she’s excited.

They crawl out of the Range Rover and traipse over slick pavement into the back entrance of the Waterstones in Piccadilly. Ginny picked it for practical reasons -- they agreed to the contract with the label, their chain could handle the security, it was a central location.

But Ginny’s grandmother used to take her here as a little girl and pick out books every third Sunday of each month like clockwork. She told Shawn this in a hushed voice beside a flickering candle at a business dinner in Century City a few weeks ago as he smiled and gushed over what a great idea it was, how sweet that she planned it to be there.

“It’s always nice to be home with you, Gin.”

Shawn runs the pad of his thumb along the sleek cut of her jaw. He doesn’t worry like he used to about getting her lipstick all over him. He’s living proof that it really is very long wearing. Instead he focuses on drawing out that sweet little noise from the back of her throat that he’s obsessed with.

Ah, god, there it is. It’s so perfect.

Just as soon as he gets it out of her, she pulls away. He grunts and chases her down, pinning his lips to her cheekbone. His fingers trail the seam of her jeans on the outside of her hip while he listens to her pant.

“We’re telling Andrew today. Or it’s done.”

Shawn swallows and he worries for a second his tongue will go down with it. He backs off her cheek and licks his lips with a firm nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

It’s Ginny that spearheads the sit down. Andrew doesn’t even look surprised when Shawn reaches over for her hand mid-shaky explanation that they’ve been working together six months now, and they know maybe it’s unconventional, maybe it seems like a bad idea, but this is how they feel and they want to pursue it.

Ginny, to her credit, is not a shrinking violet about it. Her jaw is set, but her eyes are as warm and welcoming as ever. Andrew slumps into his chair and removes his glasses to rub his face.

“Guys…” he groans through his hands, “The thing is, I can’t tell you no. And I can no sooner kick Ginny off the team. Both of those things will lead to immediate chaos. And… and Shawn will be miserable.”

Shawn lifts his eyes from Ginny’s blunted round fingernails.

“I am trusting you both to be adults. Please, god, please don’t make me regret it. If this runs its course, it cannot explode in our faces. We cannot afford that. So if you’re doing this, do it smart. What the fuck am I saying? You’re in love. There’s nothing smart about it. Just… try to minimize casualties.”

He stalks off with his phone. Shawn and Ginny hold each other’s limp fingers, dumbfounded.

Ginny glances over. Shawn meets her gaze. She lifts her eyebrows. He lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Ok.”

Shawn’s smile is glorious after he plays a set, any set for anyone. He could be in a field playing an acoustic for the three blind mice and he’d be beaming like he just got offstage at Madison Square Garden. It’s beautiful. And it’s addictive.

Ginny follows him closer than usual as they leave the bookstore. Her general rule is to trail around the back of Shawn’s entourage. Any time she was photographed within five feet of him, they’d hear about it. But tonight, after he played under an arch where she used to curl up with the Chronicles of Narnia and the Series of Unfortunate Events, it’s harder to stay away.

She indulges the whim and walks beside him through the hoard of paparazzi flashing their cameras and hollering “Shawn! Oi, Shawn!” for a glance from the wonderboy. He notices her presence and offers a subtle smile, a moment he hopes won’t be plastered across the front page of The Sun in the morning. Perhaps that’s naive. But he doesn’t actually care that much right now.

They climb into the car, finally on the way to the hotel. Shawn sits back and tilts his head against the headrest, watching the Thames go by.

Ginny shifts and slides something out of her back pocket. Shawn hears plastic and foil crackling.

“Shawn, gum?”

He turns to see her holding a packet of sugar free Dentyne Ice. He grins.

“Please,” he begs, voice shaky with unshed tears, “Please don’t leave. Please. I know it’s fucking unfair to ask. I hate myself a little. I really do. But, fuck, please, I can’t do it without you, Gin. Not because… because I’d forget to fuckin’ put on pants in the morning if you didn’t tell me to, but because you’re… Jesus Christ, you’re my best friend. I can’t lose you like this.”

The conversation the night before had been quick and so, so painful. It had to be, coming out of nowhere like that. Ginny was blindsided, having woken up naked under him in the morning with his lips on her ear only to shuffle off to her own hotel room for the first time in two months because he wanted to focus on his career and their relationship had become… too distracting.

She really can’t blame him for that, she supposes. Things had gotten pretty mad. They were obsessed with each other, refused to spend even a few hours away. It was easily negotiable, given that he was the artist and she was his personal assistant. But the energy around them for those two months, it was like an overstretched coil waiting to snap and send the whole team back to 14th century Verona for a full-on Romeo and Juliet scenario.

Snap it did. Ginny was packing quietly in a daze, ready to tell Andrew she was leaving, that she was sorry, but that he’d made the choice. Instead Shawn knocked on her door and she let him in like she always had.

Ginny’s dry cheeks sting with her tears. She sniffs and toes at the floor, locking her arms over her chest. “Don’t really want to leave, you know,” she murmurs, “This is a good opportunity for me. I’m learning a lot.”

“So don’t leave,” Shawn pleads, lurching forward. She adjusts, taking a step back. Shawn notices and shivers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t leave. Stay. I think we can do it. I honestly think we can. We were best friends first, remember?”

She remembers. She remembers being in love with her best friend until that first night in Germany where he kissed her under the table in the Hofbrauhaus and they didn’t turn back.

Until now.

I know Brits love tea but consider buying me a Ko-fi (link on my mainpage)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @stillinskislydia @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @accioarmenian @sinplisticshawn @mutuallynotmutual @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve

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