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#WITH A NEW ALBUM COMING LATER THIS SUMMER
starkidmunson · 1 month
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glitter & crimson
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.
Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves. 
It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified. 
He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.
Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.
“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.
“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.
“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around. 
“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.
“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.
Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”
“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.
“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?” 
Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”
“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.
“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”
“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”
“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.
“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”
“Brunch works for me.” 
~~~~
The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.
There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.
Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?
It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.
Eddie: French toast?
The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.
Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45
Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?
Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.
Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.
Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?
Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?
Steve: sorry.
Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.
“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”
“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.
“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.
“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”
There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”
“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.
Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”
“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.
“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.
“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”
“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.
“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”
“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”
“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”
“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”
“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?
“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”
“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.
“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”
“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.
“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on. 
“I think it’s your turn.”
~~~~
Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.
Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.
The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago. 
A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.
Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove. 
Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench. 
The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth. 
The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.
Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.
So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.
“How bad is it?”
“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.
“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.
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cupid-styles · 8 months
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come on, disco queen*
Word count: 6,200+
70s!Harry and virgin fmc!! Enjoy disco bbs 🪩🍒💌🔮🫶🏼🩷
Smut CWs: dirty talk, talk of anal, fingering, squirting, fmc being a pillow princess hehe
Daisy's limbs are haphazardly thrown askew over the length of the couch when Harry walks into the apartment he shares with his sister, Willow.
He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her appearance; her stature barely covered in a crocheted halter top and a hopelessly tiny pair of denim shorts. She's barefoot, eyes closed and buried in the crook of her elbow. He assumes he's sleeping as he kicks his sneakers off and moseys into the kitchenette, focusing on the all-consuming dryness coating his throat and mouth.
San Diego in the middle of summer was not for the faint of heart.
She lifts her head up when her ears perk up at the sound of someone shuffling through the kitchen. She expects to see Willow, but instead is met with Harry, and huffs, dramatically tossing her head back against the woven pillow.
"Don't you have a home?" Harry finally bites, breaking the silence between the two. The only other sound echoing through the area of the apartment is the large fan Harry managed to snag with some leftover cash from his paycheck earlier this summer. Even though it's not efficient enough to cool down the entire place, it's decent at breaking down the sticky humidity.
"It's too hot to move." Daisy mutters. He glances over, trying to ignore her uncovered midriff and the way her breasts are barely covered by the white stitches of her top. This time, he does roll his eyes — it's not that he doesn't like his sister's best friend, it's just that if she was going to hang around the apartment, especially without Willow, then maybe she could cover up just a little bit more.
"Better start pitching in for electric then," he utters between sips of lukewarm tap water. "Willow still at work?"
Daisy sits up now, her long brown hair mussed by what Harry can only assume is an afternoon of laying down on his couch. She nods, blinking her eyes slowly as they adjust to the warmth of the room. It was one of Harry's favorite parts of the apartment — the way the sun hit in the late afternoon, effectively making it glow.
"Yeah. I think she swapped shifts with the pregnant girl she works with so she went in later. Think she said something about being home around 10 tonight?"
Harry nods as he finishes his glass of water, giving it a quick rinse and placing it on the dish towel they used for drying.
"You sticking around then?" he asks, leaning his hip against the refrigerator and crossing his arms over his chest. Daisy shrugs and glances up at the clock, her eyebrows raising slightly when she reads the time.
"Was thinking about hitting the record store before they close. I wanted to grab that new Fleetwood Mac album. I haven't been able to get that one song out of my head since I heard it on the radio the other day — you can go your own way, or something?"
Harry nods knowingly. He'd been a fan of Fleetwood since they release their last album and had been first in line to snag their most recent.
"Rumours, yeah?" He asks, and Daisy lights up, her eyes wide, "I have it. There's this one incredible song — "Dreams" — and it's all Stevie. The lyrics are amazing."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Harry replies, "I'm surprised you didn't already snag it when it came out."
Daisy works at the local record store which, if Harry's being completely honest, is kind of his dream job. He thinks it's really cool that she gets to check out all the newest music and has first dibs on albums, even if their music taste differed sometimes — he tended to lean more towards Led Zeppelin, while Daisy favored Donna Summer.
"It's been sold out for ages," Daisy says with a shrug, "I swear, there was a week where it was the only record I sold."
Harry chuckles at that and opens the refrigerator, reaching in to grab a can of Miller.
"You want one? I moved the player into my room 'cos of that party Willow threw a few weeks ago, when that kid almost ralphed all over it," Harry rolls his eyes, "We can listen to it in there, if you want."
Admittedly, Daisy is taken aback just a tad. She's been hanging around Willow for the past few years — she's originally from the Pacific Northwest and moved out to San Diego shortly after graduating high school, chasing a pipe dream on the tail end of '60s-fueled free love, only to find a major culture change in the early '70s.
The war out in Vietnam had created a ton of tension and, on her second day here, she spent the morning at a diner, her green eyes widened and glued to the hazy television reporting on the latest death count. She rolled her eyes when an older man huffed past her, mumbling something under his breath about being a sensitive hippie — she wasn't, she just had a compassionate heart — but she felt slightly seen when one of the waitresses sat down in the booth next to her, coffee pot in her hand, her own face crawling with horror.
They sat there in silence as the local news anchor read off the names of American soldiers that had passed in combat.
"'s heartbreaking, isn't it?"
Daisy turned to look at the waitress, a tanned, fresh-faced girl with curly brown hair.
"Totally freaky," Daisy sighed out with a shake of her head.
"You know anyone out there?" The girl asked, nudging her chin the direction of the television. Daisy was fortunate; she'd known a few guys from high school that had been unlucky enough to get drafted shortly after their 17th birthday, but that was it.
"No, thankfully not. You?"
The waitress pursed her lips, "No. My brother would've gotten picked for sure if he was an American citizen. Lucky for us, we're still working on the whole immigration thing. Brits and whatever."
"That's a trip." Daisy breathed, and the girl nodded.
"Totally." She stood from the booth and reached over to refill Daisy's coffee cup. "Are you new to town?"
"What, the duffel give it away?" Daisy smirked, making the girl laugh out loudly.
"Far out. Do you have a place to stay? You seem nifty, my brother and I have some room if you need a couch to crash on."
The rest, she supposes, is history.
Daisy only stayed at Harry and Willow's place for a month or so before nabbing a job at Sam's Records. Thanks to their generosity, she was able to save up to snag a small loft in the neighborhood, but she was happy.
She was especially happy when she was around Harry, too.
He didn't express a huge interest in Daisy, and she soon found out it was because he was a casanova of sorts. He worked hard, enough to maintain the apartment and pay the bulk of the rent and bills, but he was constantly bringing girls back for quickies. Willow would roll her eyes and gag, Daisy would ignore the twinge of jealousy in her heart.
So that's why she's a little surprised when Harry makes an offer to actually hang out without Willow. They normally ignore each other or make small talk until Willow gets home from work or relieves them of their awkward conversation. They haven't really spent too much time together one-on-one in the five years Daisy's been in San Diego.
But she's not foolish enough to let this opportunity to waste — it'd be a lie if she said she wasn't just a little bit attracted to Harry. Besides, with the amount of people he hooked up with, she as undeniably curious about what he had to offer.
"Yeah, sounds groovy," Daisy replies, standing from the couch and stretching her achy limbs out. She swears she catches Harry's eyes linger a little too long on the swell of her breasts beneath her top, but quickly convinces herself otherwise as he digs in the fridge for another beer. She follows him into his bedroom, a space that Daisy could recall being in only twice before: Once, a few days into her initial stay here when she was high off a few bong hits and thought she was walking into Willow's room, only to be met with a strawberry blonde straddling Harry's lap, mid-makeout (she'd quickly stammered and shut the door closed before Harry's eyes could even flutter open), and another time, with Willow, when she was looking for her Elton John record.
Both times, Daisy hadn't taken much of his room into view, instead feeling equally awkward and uncomfortable that she was there without his actual invitation. So when Harry places the two beer cans on his nightstand and strides over to his record player to turn Rumours on, she peeks at the little details of his space — a myriad of Polaroid photographs, some of friends, some with friends, some of people she didn't recognize.  A stack of worn paperback books with swollen spines next to his bed, and Daisy feels her eyes widen when she notices Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique on top. She knew Harry was liberal and kind and all, but she never expected to find feminist theory literature in his room.
She's taking in the tacked up band posters covering the walls when the soundly crackle of vinyl fills the room. Harry turns with a cheeky smile on his lips as he places the record insert back in its sleeve, then nudges his chin in the direction of the sweaty, unopened cans of Miller.
"I heard they're supposed to play LA sometime this fall," Harry finally breaks the silence as Daisy hands him his can, the two of them cracking them open. She lifts hers to her lips and takes down greedy gulps, partially because of the heat but mainly because of Harry.
"Oh, right on," Daisy replies, shifting her stance from foot to foot. "I think I'm gonna try to hit that ABBA show next month in downtown SF."
Harry wrinkles his nose at her response as he sits on the edge of the bed, wordlessly encouraging Daisy to do the same. She does, albeit hesitantly, and with enough distance between them.
"That's a mighty drive for some disco," he teases, though there's a hint of seriousness to his commentary, "You going with someone decent?"
Daisy shrugs, "Willow was into it but she probably can't take off from work. I might ask that guy Warren I work with, he said he'd be down if he could get some good sales out of it."
Harry raises his eyebrows and quickly shakes his head between sips. "No way Jose, you're not making an eight hour drive to SF with a coke dealer."
Harry wasn't hugely into discos, but he was a frequent flyer when it came to tagging along with Willow and Daisy to ensure they were safe. As far as he knew, Daisy didn't dabble in coke all too much, even if it ran rampant in the nightclubs they attended.
"But if I don't go who knows when I'll be able to see them again—"
"I'll go with you," Harry blurts out before he can fathom the thought of a 16-hour drive, round trip, for a bubblegum group he doesn't even like. "Fuck Warren, he's good for nothing but drugs."
"Harry, you hate ABBA," Daisy rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, really."
"Who says I hate ABBA?"
"You literally yell at us to turn it off every time we put Arrival on."
Harry shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the neat array of pillows, tucking his arms behind his head. "It's me or it's a no-go, disco queen."
She sighs and shakes her head before leaning back on her elbows, her palm pressed tightly against the condensation of the can. "Please, there's no way you would want to sit in a car with me for that long."
"Where'd you get that idea from?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his lips into a thin line. Daisy's quiet for a moment, churning a reply in her head that doesn't offend him or make her sound dumb.
"You just... I'm your sister's friend, you know? I know you probably don't dig me too much, and that's fine, but you don't have to go out of your way for me just because I don't have anyone else to go with."
"What makes you think I don't dig you?" Harry pushes, making Daisy sigh.
"It's nothing, forget it," she mumbles, finishing off her beer, "Thanks for this, the album's righteous, I'll pick it up at my next shift."
Harry's scrambling to stop her as she walks out to the living room and shuffling her shoes on. Dreams sounds from his bedroom, the song he was most excited to show her, and it only drives his actions further, her words echoing and gnawing into his heart.
"Daisy, stop," he tries, grasping out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, "Stop— just, talk to me, will you? C'mon, I— I don't know where you got that from, I think you're really stellar, Dais."
Daisy looks up at him, momentarily glancing down to hand around her wrist before shifting her wide eyes back to his. "You don't have to be like this, I gotta head home anyway—"
"You don't," Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to her, invading her space as she backs against the front door. "You've been jiving here all day, you don't have to go home. Don't lie to me."
Daisy lets out a frustrated sigh at his pushy nature, but not before she's entirely too distracted by his musky scent and the way his palm is pushed against the wall, right next to her head, making his bicep flex just slightly. She watches as his tongue peeks out and he licks over his lips, waiting for her to break. If it had been anyone else in the world, she would've done everything she could to remove herself from the situation, go home, and soak in the bath while she beat herself up about being too awkward, not sociable enough.
But this is Harry. And Daisy can't, even if she desperately wants to, say no to him.
So she huffs and darts her eyes back to his bedroom, making an annoyed gesture with her hands that signaled what she really wanted to say: c'mon then, dipshit, let's go talk.
Harry's smirking as Daisy kicks her shoes back off, a triumphant puff to his chest. When they return, he closes the door just gently enough to where she wouldn't have noticed if she weren't hyper aware of his every action.
"Right, then," Harry says, sitting down across from Daisy on the bed, who now has her legs criss-cross-applesauce. He follows her lead and allows for her a decent distance between them. Daisy feels like she's having an awkward first kiss with someone via spin the bottle, but she quickly bats the thought of kissing Harry away. "Why don't you think I like you?"
"Because," Daisy sighs, reaching up to cover her warm face with her hands, "I'm just Willow's annoying friend, you know? Always in your way and at your place, drinking your beer and listening to your records."
"Where did you even get that idea?" Harry asks with furrowed brows, shaking his head. "I don't think you're annoying, and I don't care that you hang here, with or without Willow. You can drink all my fuckin' beer or listen to my records until they scratch."
Daisy blushes at that. He's never outwardly declared any type of fondness towards her, friendly or not.
"You just... always seem so peeved when you come out with us to the discos and stuff," Daisy admits, shrugging lightly, "I feel like you think you have to babysit me or something."
Harry chuckles with a shake of his head. "You're a trip, you know that?" His question is rhetorical, so she continues sitting there, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah, I wanna make sure you guys are being safe and no, I don't love disco or boogieing down the way you lot do. But I'm never peeved about hanging with you, Dais. I'm sorry if I did something to make you feel that way, but I promise, you're more to me than Willow's friend."
Daisy's eyes finally meet his. Harry notices the faint blush that blossoms over her cheeks, and he can't help the way his lips turn upward in the smallest tick, his heart expanding ever so slightly at the sight.
"That's nice of you," she eventually mumbles out, blinking slowly. He chuckles quietly and shrugs, murmuring out, "yeah, I guess."
Side A of Rumours is long over now; the only noise sounding through the room is the repeated spin of the vinyl, over and over again. Daisy glances over to the record player, her bottom lip dropping open.
"You should— you should stop that," she says, "It'll scratch the record."
Harry smirks. He watches as she cowers slightly and he notes her nervous energy, the way her anxiety radiates off of her in small waves.
"Would you get me a new one if I did?" he asks, his voice dropping to a raspy tone.
Daisy looks back at Harry, her eyes somehow seeming even wider now. "Y-yeah. If you needed it, yeah."
"Yeah?" he teases, "You're good that way, aren't you?"
"H-Harry—" Daisy's lips fold over the syllables of his name, as if she's broken herself from the spell she was under. "I... you don't have to do this. I get it, you don't think I'm annoying but... don't just try to sleep with me 'cause you feel bad for me."
Harry lets out a frustrated sigh as he backs out of her space, pressing his lips into a thin line.
"Why do you think you're some kind of charity case?" he asks with a shake of his head. "I don't feel bad for you, Daisy, and I would never take advantage of you in that way."
"You're just— you're you! And I'm me! And it doesn't make sense that you'd want anything to do with me outside of Willow! You've never acted this way before—"
"Yeah, exactly!" Harry exclaims, cutting off the words falling from Daisy's mouth. "You're my little sister's best friend, and I don't want to fuck things up between you two by doing anything stupid. I've been staying away from you for years because it's easier to do that than hurt you or her or get hurt myself if things didn't work out!"
Daisy's jaw drops open at Harry's admission, her cheeks immediately warming. She wants to cover her blush with her hands, but she can't find it in her to move, let alone tear her gaze away from his. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he awaits a response, so when she's at a loss for words, he huffs in frustration and shakes his head, standing from the bed.
"Forget it— just forget I fuckin' said anything," he mutters, rounding the bed to open his bedroom door, his denim bell bottoms swishing with his steps. "Go home if you need to, stick around if you want— just pretend this never happened, alright?"
"I— Harry, stop," Daisy finally musters, shaking her head as she attempts to process, "I'm not... I don't want to forget what you just said. I'm just trying to understand it."
"What else is there to understand?" He bites.
"Am I... am I wrong in assuming that you like me? Is that what you're trying to say?"
Please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong—
"Yeah. That's what I'm saying, Daisy."
The world slows just a bit — not just for Daisy, but for Harry, too. He'd never really envisioned a time where he admitted to having feelings for his little sister's best friend, but it seemed that they'd brewed and simmered for so long that they had no choice but to boil over. Daisy was just as surprised, though. She'd spent the past few years assuming that he hated her and looked at her like a naïve nuisance always taking up space.
"Can you say something?" Harry finally grumbles, and Daisy isn't aware of how long it's been since he made his confession.
"I..." her eyebrows are furrowed, confusion apparent on her face as she looks up. "Why me?" This time, he returns the same expression.
"Are you serious?" Harry echoes, "You're... you're beautiful and smart and so sweet to everyone you meet. I've seen you trip-sit more kids in this apartment than I care to count, and you didn't even know 'em all. You have good taste in music, even if it includes ABBA... you're amazing to my sister, and every time we stop into the record store and you're just sitting there, reading your books... Dais, I swear to god, you look like a goddamn angel."
A furious blush flowers over Daisy's neck and face. She'd watched Harry hookup with a constant rotation of people, all of who she felt were more attractive than her. It felt unreal to hear that he thought she was pretty and kind.
"Can I— can I kiss you?" Daisy blurts, raising to her knees, the plushy bedding of Harry's mattress digging into her legs.
"Yes. Please, Dais, kiss me."
She nods and leans forward, slow and hesitant. Their lips brush against one another and Harry reaches up to carefully caress her cheek, gently pulling her closer until finally, they make contact.
It feels as though years of tension are being translated through their kiss. Harry's quick to meld his mouth against hers, moving his lips in a careful pace. She meets him halfway with similar touches; quiet smacks of their lips moving together. With a hand on his thigh, Harry's tongue enters Daisy's mouth and he's licking at her, more eagerly now that he's gotten a taste. Daisy parts from him momentarily, but only to move over his lap and straddle his legs, her heels pressed into her bum as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him back in for another kiss.
She feels floaty and loses herself in the warm comfort of Harry's mouth, especially when his large hands find the backs of her thighs, sliding up to her ass. She swears she's never felt so good before, until the hardness of Harry's length makes itself known, poking at her core between layers of fabric. It's just enough to rip her out of her dreamy state, and she parts with a small gasp when he involuntarily bucks his hips up, searching for some sort of friction-filled release.
"Fuck— I'm sorry," Harry mutters out through spit-slicked lips. They're a muted cherry hue now, the same color they get when he's had a few too many glasses of red wine, or when he's saying goodbye to his one night stand in the hallway.
"It's okay," Daisy mumbles. She knows it's just human biology, that it's obviously natural for guys to get hard during heated makeout sessions. It's not like she's never felt a dick before, but it's also just that — she's never actually felt a dick before. "Um, I just— can we slow down?"
"Oh, yeah, of course. You just— I'm just like... really excited, I guess, and my body... knows that."
"It's fine, Harry," Daisy peeps out, smiling softly at the blush covering his cheeks, "But, uh... I've never... been with anyone before."
"What do you mean?"
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She had hoped that he would've caught on, but clearly she was wrong.
"I've never been with anyone."
"But I've seen you makeout with people at the disco and shit."
"Yeah, but I've never taken them home."
It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, Harry's eyes widen and his mouth forms around an oh. Daisy feels an all-encompassing embarrassment take up her entire form — she'd disclosed this information to people in the past, and they normally scampered off because the responsibility of taking her virginity was simply too much. She understood that, truly, but it got tiring after awhile. And, let's face it — this was Harry, and she really, really didn't want to feel stupid in front of him.
"I'm... I didn't know that."
Daisy shrugs, "It's not exactly like I go around parading it."
"Well, I would hope not."
This time, Daisy does roll her eyes, and Harry smirks as she gently pushes at his shoulder. The awkwardness melts just slightly and Daisy's body relaxes.
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to— I get that it can be a big deal for some chicks," Harry says, moving his palm to gently squeeze her hip, "But I do really like you, Daisy. And this doesn't change that."
Her heart swells in her chest and warmth envelops her belly. He has a dopey, lovesick smile on his lips — the same one he gets when he, Daisy, and Willow share a joint at the end of a night out, she notices — and she knows her face looks just as silly, if not more so.
"I like you too," she murmurs, reaching out to run her fingertips along the length of his jaw. She traces over his slightly scruffy beard, which she knows is a day or two overgrown. She trails up to the mustache covering his upper lip, the one Willow always complains about and says makes him look like a homeless hippie, but Daisy secretly adores. She ends at his lips, gently pulling at his bottom one to form a puppy's pout. Playfully, he nips at her fingertip and she giggles.
She doesn't retract her finger and instead presses her thumb between his swollen lips. He allows her to it, readily and openly, the digit laying flat against his tongue before he wraps his lips around it, sucking down softly.
"Oh," she breathes, feeling his tongue lazily swirl around her thickest finger. Daisy's core flutters at the image; the way his cheeks are hallowed out ever so slightly, a perfect picture of submission beneath her.
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Harry whispers. She doesn't know how long she's been in his bed on top of his lap, but she assumes it's been awhile with the way golden hour is soaking every inch of his bedroom. She's slow in her movements, with the way she removes her finger from his mouth and, instead of climbing off like he'd expected her to, trails her hand below her crocheted top, brushing her spit-covered thumb over her nipple.
"Oh, fuck."
Daisy's head lulls to the side as she plays with herself, her nipple slowly hardening between her fingertips. Harry can barely see anything through the white crocheted vest, just peaks of flesh and the warm-toned hues of her nipples, and his jaw has still managed to go slack as he watches her with parted lips. She's a real life wet dream, he's sure of it.
"Dais..." Harry sighs as she lifts her hand to her mouth, wetting her fingers only to travel back down to give her other nipple the same treatment, "Lemme see? Please, baby, I'm desperate."
Daisy hums at his admission. It's hard to ignore the electricity that zips through her belly at the word baby, but she tries to keep her cool, even if she has no idea what she's doing. Slowly, she lifts her arms and ditches her torso of the netted material, allowing the breeze coming from the fan to only harden her nipples even further.
"Can I touch?" He asks, his eyes flickering up to hers for consent, "You can dictate the pace, lemme know what you're comfortable with but— 'm gonna die if I can't touch your pretty tits, Dais."
Daisy nods, her words stuck in her throat from Harry's boldness. He's quick to duck beneath her form as a surprised yelp tumbles from her lips, but it's quickly replaced with a whimper as he attaches his mouth to her nipple. He's sucking and licking, going back and forth between each one, his large hands gripping harshly at her hips. She's struggling to keep still but it's especially difficult when he nips at the sensitive buds, his teeth supplying the most delicious and quick licks of pain.
"Harry, I—"
His head snaps at up the second his name leaves her throat, immediately removing his lulling tongue from the patches of skin he'd been obsessing over.
"What's wrong?" Harry asks, panicked. She shakes her head and breathes out tensely as she pathetically tries to roll her hips against his; an attempt to showcase her communication better, but he's reluctant in accepting it.
"Words, bub," he instructs, reaching up to cradle her jaw in his palm, "Are you okay?"
"Good," Daisy bobs her head, "Feels good. I— more, please?"
Her words are a jumbled mess as they float from her brain to her mouth. She knows she must sound borderline high but Harry doesn't tease, instead sliding his hand down to the waistband of her denim shorts, his palm flush against her tummy.
"What do you want?"
She swallows. She's hooked up with people before, gotten fingered and given a few blowies, but she's never been asked to verbalize her needs. It makes her flush with embarrassment as her jaw opens and closes dumbly, unsure of what she's even requesting of Harry.
"I don't know," she finally breathes, hitching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry. No one's ever asked me what I want before, I don't have as much experience as you—"
"Shush," Harry's quick to shut her up with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to feel bad about that. I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far. You get to decide, this is your body."
Daisy leans into Harry's grasp, pressing her cheek against his hand.
"Here, why don't you tell me where I can touch you?" he suggests, moving his other palm back up to her breasts, "Are you still alright here?"
She nods, gasping as he pinches her nipple between his fingers. His hands travel down to the swell of her ass, cupping her cheeks firmly.
"And what about here?"
"Mhm." her eyes flutter when he squeezes, a moan bubbling in her throat.
He keeps one hand on her bum as he uses the other to trail featherlight touches along the inside of her thigh, up to her core. She can feel her hole squeezing around nothing, a steady thumping buzzing through her clit, and she whimpers when he cups her pussy through her shorts.
"Is this okay, baby?"
Daisy nods, her breath quickening at the sensation. "You— you can take them off," she says in a moment of courage, "Want you to touch me there."
"Ah," Harry smirks as he unbuttons the denim, dragging the zipper down. "You want me to touch your little pussy, is that it?"
She whines as he budges her up just far enough to shimmy the material down her legs. She's not wearing the sexiest of underwear — just a plain cotton pair in a light blue — but Harry still licks his lips at the sight of the damp patch flowering over her hole, where he's desperate to feel.
"Has anyone ever touched you down here?"
"Yes," she mumbles, bucking her hips against his hand. His thumb is drawing light circles into her clit, not enough to satiate her need for him, instead providing a semblance of sensation.
"Do you ever do it?" he questions, moving his finger down to her hole. She's clenching with need as he gently pushes a finger in through the fabric. He's not fingering her, not even close; just making her whimper with need at the thought of what she could have if she answers him.
"Sometimes, yes," Daisy nods.
"What do you do?"
"I, um," she licks over her swollen lips, attempting to focus on his question as he dips in again. "I rub my clit... sometimes I put a finger in."
"Is that all it takes to make you cum?" his tone is teasing now, making her feel embarrassed.
"Usually."
"Usually?" he raises a brow, "What else do you do to make this pretty pussy cum?"
Daisy swallows loudly. "Sometimes... if I'm really turned on, I'll touch myself... lower."
"Lower?" Harry repeats, unsure if he's understanding her correctly. "Like...?"
"Yeah."
A devilish smirks takes over his face as he moves one of his hands to cup her ass again, this time squeezing even tighter.
"Is that why you moan so loud when I grab you here?"
She nods, ducking her head back in pleasure. Just the feeling of being slightly stimulated in both places is nearly enough to get here there, not to mention it's Harry doing the touching.
"And who taught you that?" he asks as he pushes the material of her underwear down her thighs.
"Um, a guy I hooked up with once," Daisy murmurs, sitting up slightly. She's naked now, still on top of him, while he remains in his work clothes from earlier today. Her pussy is bare to his wandering eye and he can't help the way he takes in her most intimate parts.
"And you liked it when he toyed with your cute bum?" Harry continues his relentless teasing much to Daisy's dismay, who is all but squirming with need. He relieves some of the consuming pressure in her stomach by taking his fingers between her pussy lips, spreading them to expose her clit. He lightly runs his fingertip over the sensitive nub and she shivers, nodding her head.
"He just... licked me there while he was going down on me," Daisy explains with fluttered eyes, "And the next time I played with myself I put a finger in... made me feel dirty but so good."
"Jesus, you really are a dirty little girl, hm?"
Apparently, Harry feels that she's answered enough of his questions and deserves a reward. She lets out a hearty moan when he applies more pressure to her clit, starting in tight, small circles. She's glistening for him and making a mess between her thighs, making Harry's mouth water just at the sight.
"You're a drippy mess," he mutters as he squeezes her bum. He lowers his hand downward to where she's aching the most, circling twice and dipping in to spread her wetness around. He uses his other hand to continue rubbing at her pearly clit as he pushes his finger in, his jaw dropping at the sight of Daisy arching her back and whimpering on top of him. "Fuckin' gorgeous girl."
Harry starts off at a tantalizing pace but when he sees how responsive she is to every little touch — well, he's only human, and he can't help but want to get her to her breaking point as quickly as possible. He's not sure if anyone she's hooked up with has ever cared to make her cum before, but with the way she's grinding down against his hand and palming at her own breasts, he thinks anyone that had a chance to see her like this and didn't is an absolute fool.
"Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" Harry asks. He can feel her tightening around the finger that's currently deep inside of her, poking and prodding at that special spot with each thrust. She's so wet that he's positive there's a wet spot on his work pants but he couldn't care less.
"Y-yes," Daisy nods helplessly, bouncing up and down as he pushes a second finger into her opening. It's a slight stretch, but nothing she can't take, that much is clear.
"Such a good girl, Daisy," he mutters mainly to himself, "Can't believe I went this long without feeling you squeeze my fingers like this... be my good girl and cum for me, baby, let me see you."
The squelching sound of his fingers rapidly moving against her are a telltale sign that she's at her end, but it's the slight gush around his hand and her throaty moans that stick with him. He watches in awe as she squirts on his fingers, helping her through her orgasm, her muscles contracting quickly.
"Fuck," Harry utters, "You're absolutely filthy. Been hiding this from me for years, hm?"
Daisy's eyes have long since fluttered closed as she comes down from her peak, so Harry does the only thing he can think of. Gently removing his fingers from her, he hooks an arm around her to keep her steady before lifting his hand to his mouth and finally having a taste of her arousal.
"Harry," Daisy breathes when she sees him, her eyes slightly widened at the visual beneath her.
"You taste incredible, Dais."
Without thinking, she leans forward and messily melds their lips together, her tongue prodding into his mouth. He welcomes it and groans at her eagerness. They part a minute or so later, both with spit swollen lips.
"I think I'm addicted to you, Daisy Walker."
Part two | Part three | Series masterlist
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hugshughes · 2 months
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𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒
𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎 - 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱!𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - 𝐘/𝐧 𝐘/𝐥/𝐧'𝐬 𝐕𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐨.
𝐰𝐜 - 600 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐘/𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭! 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲!
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘!!!!!, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞!𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩, 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞(?)
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧/𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜! 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭. 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!
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thevogue.com/artists/yn-yln/#bio
Artists / Y/n Y/l/n
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Pop Female Vocalist Indie Folk Post-teen Pop Singer-songwriter
Published December 2nd, 2023. 11:29AM PST
Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n (born January 11, 2001, in Annapolis, Maryland) is an American singer-songwriter. Y/l/n is a 3-time Grammy winner with a total of 11 nominations (as of October, 2023). As of October, 2023, Y/l/n has sold 26 million albums and 88 million singles worldwide.
Y/n Y/l/n is a internationally praised pop-indie phenomena. She quickly rose to fame at only 17 when she released her debut album Pause (February 19, 2018). Pause sold over a million copies in less than 48 hours, soaring to the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart. 8 of Y/n's songs took place on the top ten and it took 41 weeks for Y/n's songs to exit the top 10. Pause racked up 3 Platinum singles, including Blouse, Innocent, and Bags.
Y/n Y/l/n's fame somehow skyrocketed higher when she released her second album Chaser (January 19th, 2020). The album features mostly love songs, rumored to be about her then boyfriend, NHL player Mathew Barzal. The album featured best sellers such as Cruel Simmer, Habits, and Happiness is a Butterfly.
As we stay on the topic of her ex boyfriend, she has been stuck in one scandal regarding her love life. In September of 2021, 20 months after releasing Chaser, there were paparazzi videos released of the IT couple in a shouting match on the street outside of popular restaurant, BOA Steakhouse, in Los Angeles, California. Video depicted Y/l/n crying as she fought with the hockey player, who was caught insulting Y/n very explicitly. The video ends with Barzal storming back into BOA Steakhouse, and Y/l/n sitting on the curb, awaiting her ride after the NHL star shouted, "Get a f***ing Uber back if you're going to be a b***h and embarrass me like this!" Bystanders watch as Y/l/n entered long time friend Tate McRae's car.
Less than a week later Y/n confirmed the end of the three year long relationship, with no further comments. While there have been no albums released since Chaser, in January 2020. Y/l/n has released two singles, Memories, and The Cut That Always Bleeds, both released in the summer of 2022.
As of now, December 2023, there has yet to be any major news of new music, but there's always the tiny bits and rumors that get down to the public. While Y/n has promised an album in 2024, she has yet to set a release, causing fans to believe it will come in the later months of the new year.
All in all, Y/n Y/l/n is a talented, young superstar. She captivates audiences like few can, and with the way her career is going now, could be one of the biggest star the world's ever seen. Most recently, Y/n was spotted in a cozy Baltimore suburb alongside Taylor Swift, who Y/n has repeatedly mentioned as her biggest influence when it comes to music, as well as her biggest fan. Swift seemed to take Y/n under her wing in 2019, even having Y/n open a stretch of her shows at The Eras Tour, in 2023, as well as the US shows in late 2024!
There are obviously large things in store for this young influential woman, and I can't help but applaud all of her hard work and dedication to her work.
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midnightsnyx · 6 months
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girl at home | mat barzal | part 3
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pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.
warnings: not edited, mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, some cute fluff and as usual, as much angst as i can fit into a chapter <3 word count: 2.2k authors note: OK well not gonna lie, i cried writing the ending. i keep saying happy things are on the way and they are we're just slow getting there, ok? anyway i hope you all like this chapter & if you wanna, feed my writing soul and give me some feedback <3 i do have a tag list if you'd like to be tagged, there is a form below or you can leave a comment or dm me & i can tag you in the next part. thanks for all the love on this little story <3
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Co-parenting with Mat is interesting to say the least. Although, you’re not sure if you can even classify it as co-parenting because Nora still has no idea who Mat really is. She just knows that he now tags along with the two of you most places you go and she’s thrilled. Her questions for him are endless, asking about anything from hockey to what living in New York is like. She’s always been inquisitive, but this is a whole new level, even for her. 
You have mixed feelings about this because while you are happy that they’re getting along, you’re worried what will happen at the end of the summer when Mat has to return to New York. There’s no way you and Nora can follow him, and co-parenting between Vancouver and New York? Impossible. 
You’re sitting with Mat, both of you watching Nora play with some other kids on the playground. He’s been quiet but you can tell there’s something on his mind. Even though it’s been eight years, you still know Mat like the back of your hand and you know when he’s trying to decide whether or not to bring something up. You’re curious though, so you bump your knee against his and raise an eyebrow when he turns to you. 
“What’s on your mind?” you ask and he smiles sheepishly. 
“I was wondering if I could see some baby pictures,” he says quietly, and then adds, “of Nora,” as if he needs to specify. You were wondering when he was going to ask because his parents and Liana have already asked to see and asked for copies of all the pictures. Mat has been a little more reserved about most of it though, not asking questions about your pregnancy or for pictures of Nora as everyone else had.
“Yeah, of course,” you tell him, pulling your phone out and adding him to the shared album that his family is already in. 
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and you watch him swipe through pictures, pausing at certain ones although you can’t see which. You’re a little nervous because there are ultrasound photos and pictures of you throughout your pregnancy. You don’t know how he’ll react, because he still hasn’t really expanded on his feelings about you not telling him about her other than what he said at the coffee shop. He’s spoken to his parents, you know that much from Liana, but he hasn’t said anything more to you.
“She looks like you,” he eventually says, “got your nose.” 
“She has your eyes,” you counter and he smiles. 
“Yeah,” he whispers and before he can say anything else, Nora plops down on the bench next to him and peers at his phone.
“Hey! That’s me!” she exclaims, pointing to the picture of her from Halloween last year.
“Really?” you pretend to be surprised, smiling when she rolls her eyes dramatically. 
“Yes, mama. See? You said my eyes look like my dads.”
Mat tenses next to you. You’re sure he’s going to say something but instead he just smiles at Nora. 
“They’re pretty nice eyes,” he agrees, ruffling her hair before she ducks out of his reach with a giggle. 
“Mat, come push me on the swing!” she begs and he lets her pull him towards the swings without hesitation. You can’t help but grin at the pleased smile on Nora’s face and the way Mat does exactly what she wants without complaint. You know he would’ve definitely been the easygoing parent when Nora was younger and it makes you upset when you think too much about it because he should’ve been there for all her milestones and firsts. He should have been there when she crawled and then walked for the first time. He should have come with you when you dropped her off on her first day of Kindergarten and pretended he wasn't crying with you. 
There are so many firsts that he should have been next to you and it’s slowly eating away at you because you took that away from him.But it was the right thing to do. 
At least, that's what you tell yourself when you go to bed every night.
. . .
“So, how’s it going with Mat?” Jaxon asks, taking a sip of beer and giving you a knowing look. You regretted talking to Jax about your struggles the minute he started asking you the questions you didn’t want to hear. Your best friend is a little too observant sometimes and it always backfires. 
“Fine,” you say shortly, staring into your wine glass. Nora is staying at your moms tonight, so you decided to invite your friend over, hoping to get some advice that would help you feel better instead of feeling like you’re being interrogated. 
“Right,” he drawls, “that’s why you sent me a cryptic text and haven’t said anything else since “beer or wine?” right? I could be home with my boyfriend right now but you seemed like you were going to spiral and we all know exactly how that ends.” 
“Things are fine,” you grumble. “He’s been absolutely perfect with her.”
“Alright, then what’s bothering you?” 
“It’s just, I feel guilty, okay? Mat’s being better than I ever hoped to even think about and I feel like I shouldn’t have taken away his chance to be in her life before she was even born,” you say in one breath. “I keep thinking about the things he’s missed, and I feel like-”
Jax cuts you off before you can say anything else, holding up a hand. “Look, you did what you thought was best at the time. Was it necessarily fair? No. You can’t go back though, and you’re going to drive yourself insane if you keep thinking like this. You can’t change the past, but if he wants to be in her life now, and you’re okay with that, you need to make peace with your choices.”
Your shoulders deflate at his words, and you drink the remaining wine in your glass. He’s right about all of it and you hate that. You hate that he’s right and you hate that you can’t accept it.
“I need more wine,” you mumble, standing up and making your way to the kitchen. You don’t usually drink, definitely not since Nora, but you let yourself indulge every now and then. Besides, Jax has always been a bad influence. 
You’ve just finished pouring the glass when there’s a knock on your door. You look at the time on the microwave and frown, unsure who would be knocking at eleven o’clock on a Friday night. If anything was wrong, your mom would have called and you don’t have many friends that would make a late night visit. 
Abandoning your wine, you walk to the door and open it and come face to face with Mat who looks nervous and definitely like he would rather be anywhere but here. 
“Uh, hey?” you say but it sounds more like a question. He doesn't seem to be drunk and you don’t know what else would warrant a late night drop in. 
“Hey,” he says and just because you have the best luck, Jax decides that now is the right time to follow you to the door. 
“Your phone is ringing, and it’s your mom,” he says, freezing when he sees Mat standing there. He looks uncomfortable, and when you turn to Mat, all you see is fury. 
See, the problem is, despite nothing romantic going on between you and Jax, relationship talk wasn’t something that you and Mat had brought up. He didn’t bring up his girlfriend, and so far, nobody besides your mom has been around when Mat was with you and Nora. Also, throw in the fact that you’re sure Mat has no idea who Jax is, it’s easy to make assumptions. 
“Nevermind,” Mat says shortly, “I’ll leave you to your night.”
You grab his wrist before he can leave, wanting to clear all this up even though it shouldn’t really matter if you were dating someone. 
“Wait,” you say and he stops but keeps his back to you. 
“Nora woke up and wants to talk to you,” Jax says, breaking the silence and you hesitate, not wanting Mat to leave but knowing you need to talk to your daughter. He seems to sense your dilemma, because he hands you your phone, slips his shoes on and squeezes past you and Mat, calling out "I'll call an uber”, before walking down the hallway of your apartment building. 
You feel like an awful friend, and you’ll definitely be making it up to him but you pull Mat inside, shutting the door before holding the phone up to your ear. 
“Nora?”
“No,” your mom says softly, “I’ll put her on now.” 
You thank her quietly, waiting until you hear your daughter's voice. She’s sniffling, and tells you about the bad dream she had, asking if you can come pick her up. Your mom is trying to comfort her on the other line but it’s no use because she’s set on coming home.
You glance at your wine glass sitting on the counter and curse yourself because this is exactly why you try not to drink. 
Mat, as if he is reading your thoughts, says “I’ll go pick her up and bring her here.”
He still looks irritated but his expression softened since he heard Nora. You wouldn’t take him up on his offer but you know how much your mom hates driving in the dark so you just nod, watching him shake his hand out of yours and your face heats up when you realize you hadn’t let go. 
“Be back in twenty,” he says before leaving. 
“Mat’s on his way to get you, sweetie,” you tell Nora. “He’ll pick you up and bring you straight home, okay?”
She sniffles again and says a quiet, “okay,” before presumably handing the phone back to your mom who you tell that Mat is going to pick her up. She doesn't say anything, but you know she wants to. You realize she probably thinks that he was here with you and your instinct is to correct her but you don’t bother. You thank her and apologize, before bidding goodbye with a promise to let her know when Nora and Mat make it back home. 
You clean up while you’re waiting, dump your glass of wine down the sink and start making the couch up so Mat can just sleep here instead of going all the way back to his house after making the trip to pick Nora up. 
It’s not long before you hear the door open and close quietly and you look to see Mat carrying a sleeping Nora inside. 
“She fell asleep on the drive here,” he explains. “Didn’t want to wake her.”
You nod, pointing him in the direction of her room before sitting on the couch waiting until he comes back. You want to have whatever conversation the two of you need to have even though you know it won’t be a good one.
He’s quiet when he walks into the living room and hesitates before sitting on the couch next to you. You both sit in silence for a minute until you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. 
“Jax is a friend,” you mumble. “But even if he wasn’t, you have no place being mad about it.”
“I wasn’t mad,” he argues, “I was caught off guard. I didn’t know you were dating because you hadn’t brought it up.”
“I’m not dating,” you repeat and he sighs.
“I know.” 
Another minute of silence before you raise your head and look at him. 
“What about you? What happened to your girlfriend?” you ask, even though you know she left. 
He shrugs, “she left. Said she wanted no part in raising a child. Not that she would have had any place in Nora’s life if I had a say.”
“Of course you have a say,” you say. 
He looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You forget sometimes how good looking he is and it’s probably the alcohol that makes your brain fuzzy but all of a sudden, you just miss him. It’s not just physical attraction either, you can’t help but remember how considerate, loving and caring he was when you dated. You were both young, but it always felt like the two of you would be together forever even though you always knew in the back of your mind that he would have to leave one day and you wouldn’t be able to follow him. 
Despite doing your best to forget about him, to get over him the past eight years, the love you felt for him never went away. 
“Do you ever think about us? About what could’ve been?” you ask quietly.
“Always,” he says gently with a softness in his eyes that you’ve only seen directed towards Nora since he came back into your life.  
“Me too,” you whisper. 
He hesitates before lifting a hand and brushing a piece of loose hair that’s fallen in front of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingers for a moment, fingertips just barely brushing against your cheek. Your eyes close and you let yourself have this one moment, one minute where you can imagine that you’re seventeen again, laying on your bed with Mat’s arms holding you, whispering empty promises about forever to each other. Just kids in love, thinking forever was possible.
But you’ll never be those kids again.
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ohgaylor · 3 months
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In 2006, the year Taylor Swift released her first single, a closeted country singer named Chely Wright, then 35, held a 9-millimeter pistol to her mouth. Queer identity was still taboo enough in mainstream America that speaking about her love for another woman would have spelled the end of a country music career. But in suppressing her identity, Ms. Wright had risked her life.
In 2010, she came out to the public, releasing a confessional memoir, “Like Me,” in which she wrote that country music was characterized by culturally enforced closeting, where queer stars would be seen as unworthy of investment unless they lied about their lives. “Country music,” she wrote, “is like the military — don’t ask, don’t tell.”
The culture in which Ms. Wright picked up that gun — the same one in which Ms. Swift first became a star — was stunningly different from today’s. It’s dizzying to think about the strides that have been made in Americans’ acceptance of the L.G.B.T.Q. community over the past decade: marriage equality, queer themes dominating teen entertainment, anti-discrimination laws in housing and, for now, in the workplace. But in recent years, a steady drip of now-out stars — Cara Delevingne, Colton Haynes, Elliot Page, Kristen Stewart, Raven-Symoné and Sam Smith among them — have disclosed that they had been encouraged to suppress their queerness in order to market projects or remain bankable.
The culture of country music hasn’t changed so much that homophobia is gone. Just this past summer, Adam Mac, an openly gay country artist, was shamed out of playing at a festival in his hometown because of his sexual orientation. In September, the singer Maren Morris stepped away from country music; she said she did so in part because of the industry’s lingering anti-queerness. If country music hasn’t changed enough, what’s to say that the larger entertainment industry — and, by extension, our broader culture — has?
Periodically, I return to a video, recorded by a shaky hand more than a decade ago, of Ms. Wright answering questions at a Borders bookstore about her coming out. She likens closeted stardom to a blender, an “insane” and “inhumane” heteronormative machine in which queer artists are chewed to bits.
“It’s going to keep going,” Ms. Wright says, “until someone who has something to lose stands up and just says ‘I’m gay.’ Somebody big.” She continues: “We need our heroes.”
What if someone had already tried, at least once, to change the culture by becoming such a hero? What if, because our culture had yet to come to terms with homophobia, it wasn’t ready for her?
What if that hero’s name was Taylor Alison Swift?
In the world of Taylor Swift, the start of a new “era” means the release of new art (an album and the paratexts — music videos, promotional ephemera, narratives — that supplement it) and a wholesale remaking of the aesthetics that will accompany its promotion, release and memorializing. In recent years, Ms. Swift has dominated pop culture to such a degree that these transformations often end up altering American culture in the process.
In 2019, she was set to release a new album, “Lover,” the first since she left Big Machine Records, her old Nashville-based label, which she has since said limited her creative freedom. The aesthetic of what would be known as the “Lover Era” emerged as rainbows, butterflies and pastel shades of blue, purple and pink, colors that subtly evoke the bisexual pride flag.
On April 26, Lesbian Visibility Day, Ms. Swift released the album’s lead single, “ME!,” in which she sings about self-love and self-acceptance. She co-directed a campy music video to accompany it, which she would later describe as depicting “everything that makes me, me.” It features Ms. Swift dancing at a pride parade, dripping in rainbow paint and turning down a man’s marriage proposal in exchange for a … pussy cat.
At the end of June, the L.G.B.T.Q. community would celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. On June 14, Ms. Swift released the video for her attempt at a pride anthem, “You Need to Calm Down,” in which she and an army of queer celebrities from across generations — the “Queer Eye” hosts, Ellen DeGeneres, Billy Porter, Hayley Kiyoko, to name a few — resist homophobia by living openly. Ms. Swift sings that outrage against queer visibility is a waste of time and energy: “Why are you mad, when you could be GLAAD?”
The video ends with a plea: “Let’s show our pride by demanding that, on a national level, our laws truly treat all of our citizens equally.” Many, in the press and otherwise, saw the video as, at best, a misguided attempt at allyship and, at worst, a straight woman co-opting queer aesthetics and narratives to promote a commercial product.
Then, Ms. Swift performed “Shake It Off” as a surprise for patrons at the Stonewall Inn. Rumors — that were, perhaps, little more than fantasies — swirled in the queerer corners of her fandom, stoked by a suggestive post by the fashion designer Christian Siriano. Would Ms. Swift attend New York City’s WorldPride march on June 30? Would she wear a dress spun from a rainbow? Would she give a speech? If she did, what would she declare about herself?
The Sunday of the march, those fantasies stopped. She announced that the music executive Scooter Braun, who she described as an “incessant, manipulative” bully, had purchased her masters, the lucrative original recordings of her work.
Ms. Swift’s “Lover” was the first record that she created with nearly unchecked creative freedom. Lacking her old label’s constraints, she specifically chose to feature activism for and the aesthetics of the L.G.B.T.Q. community in her confessional, self-expressive art. Even before the sale of her masters, she appeared to be stepping into a new identity — not just an aesthetic — that was distinct from that associated with her past six albums.
When looking back on the artifacts of the months before that album’s release, any close reader of Ms. Swift has a choice. We can consider the album’s aesthetics and activism as performative allyship, as they were largely considered to be at the time. Or we can ask a question, knowing full well that we may never learn the answer: What if the “Lover Era” was merely Ms. Swift’s attempt to douse her work — and herself — in rainbows, as so many baby queers feel compelled to do as they come out to the world?
There’s no way of knowing what could have happened if Ms. Swift’s masters hadn’t been sold. All we know is what happened next. In early August, Ms. Swift posted a rainbow-glazed photo of a series of friendship bracelets, one of which says “PROUD” with beads in the color of the bisexual pride flag. Queer people recognize that this word, deployed this way, typically means that someone is proud of their own identity. But the public did not widely view this as Ms. Swift’s coming out.
Then, Vogue released an interview with Ms. Swift that had been conducted in early June. When discussing her motivations for releasing “You Need to Calm Down,” Ms. Swift said, “Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male.” She continued: “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of.” That statement suggests that Ms. Swift did not, in early June, consider herself part of the L.G.B.T.Q. community; it does not illuminate whether that is because she was a straight, cis ally or because she was stuck in the shadowy, solitary recesses of the closet.
On Aug. 22, Ms. Swift publicly committed herself to the as-of-then-unproven project of rerecording and rereleasing her first six albums. The next day, she finally released “Lover,” which raises more questions than it answers. Why does she have to keep secrets just to keep her muse, as all her fans still sing-scream on “Cruel Summer”? About what are the “hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you,” in her chronicle of self-doubt, “The Archer,” if not her identity? And what could the album’s closing words, which come at the conclusion of “Daylight,” a song about stepping out of a 20-year darkness and choosing to “let it go,” possibly signal?
I want to be defined by the things that I love,
Not the things I hate,
Not the things that I’m afraid of, I’m afraid of,
Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night,
I just think that,
You are what you love.
The first time I viewed “Lover” through the prism of queerness, I felt delirious, almost insane. I kept wondering whether what I was perceiving in her work was truly there or if it was merely a mirage, born of earnest projection.
My longtime reading of Ms. Swift’s celebrity — like that of a majority of her fan base — had been stuck in the lingering assumptions left by a period that began more than a decade and a half ago, when a girl with an overexaggerated twang, Shirley Temple curls and Georgia stars in her eyes became famous. Then, she presented as all that was to be expected of a young starlet: attractive yet virginal, knowing yet naïve, not talented enough to be formidable, not commanding enough to be threatening, confessional, eager to please. Her songs earnestly depicted the fantasies of a girl raised in a traditional culture: high school crushes and backwoods drives, princelings and wedding rings, declarations of love that climax only in a kiss — ideally in the pouring rain.
When Ms. Swift was trying to sell albums in that late-2000s media environment, her songwriting didn’t match the image of a sex object, the usual role reserved for female celebrities in our culture. Instead, the story the public told about her was that she laundered her affection to a litter of promising grown men, in exchange for songwriting inspiration. A young Ms. Swift contributed to this narrative by hiding easy-to-decode clues in liner notes that suggested a certain someone was her songs’ inspiration (“SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM,” “ADAM,” “TAY”) or calling out an ex-boyfriend on the “Ellen” show and “Saturday Night Live.” Despite the expansive storytelling in Ms. Swift’s early records, her public image often cast a man’s interest as her greatest ambition.
As Ms. Swift’s career progressed, she began to remake that image: changing her style and presentation, leaving country music for pop and moving from Nashville to New York. By 2019, her celebrity no longer reflected traditional culture; it had instead become a girlboss-y mirror for another dominant culture — that of white, cosmopolitan, neoliberal America.
But in every incarnation, the public has largely seen those songs — especially those for which she doesn’t directly state her inspiration — as cantos about her most recent heterosexual love, whether that idea is substantiated by evidence or not. A large portion of her base still relishes debating what might have happened with the gentleman caller who supposedly inspired her latest album. Feverish discussions of her escapades with the latest yassified London Boy or mustachioed Mr. Americana fuel the tabloid press — and, embarrassingly, much of traditional media — that courts fan engagement by relentlessly, unquestioningly chronicling Ms. Swift’s love life.
Even in 2023, public discussion about the romantic entanglements of Ms. Swift, 34, presumes that the right man will “finally” mean the end of her persistent husbandlessness and childlessness. Whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s extracurricular activities involving a certain football star (romance for the ages? strategic brand partnership? performance art for entertainment’s sake?), the public’s obsession with the relationship has been attention-grabbing, if not lucrative, for all parties, while reinforcing a story that America has long loved to tell about Ms. Swift, and by extension, itself.
Because Ms. Swift hasn’t undeniably subverted our culture’s traditional expectations, she has managed, in an increasingly fractured cultural environment, to simultaneously capture two dominant cultures — traditional and cosmopolitan. To maintain the stranglehold she has on pop culture, Ms. Swift must continue to tell a story that those audiences expect to consume; she falls in love with a man or she gets revenge. As a result, her confessional songs languish in a place of presumed stasis; even as their meaning has grown deeper and their craft more intricate, a substantial portion of her audience’s understanding of them remains wedded to the same old narratives.
But if interpretations of Ms. Swift’s art often languish in stasis, so do the millions upon millions of people who love to play with the dollhouse she has constructed for them. Her dominance in pop culture and the success of her business have given her the rare ability to influence not only her industry but also the worldview of a substantial portion of America. How might her industry, our culture and we, ourselves, change if we made space for Ms. Swift to burn that dollhouse to the ground?
Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.
Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.
During the Eras Tour, Ms. Swift traps her past selves — including those from her “Lover” era — in glass closets.
Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.
In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.
Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.
There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”
A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.
While Ms. Swift’s songs, largely written from her own perspective, cannot always conform to the idea of a woman our culture expects, her celebrity can. That separation, between Swift the songwriter and Swift the star, allows Ms. Swift to press against the golden birdcage in which she has found herself. She can write about women’s complexity in her confessional songs, but if ever she chooses not to publicly comply with the dominant culture’s fantasy, she will remain uncategorizable, and therefore, unsellable.
Her star — as bright as it is now — would surely dim.
Whether she is conscious of it or not, Ms. Swift signals to queer people — in the language we use to communicate with one another — that she has some affinity for queer identity. There are some queer people who would say that through this sort of signaling, she has already come out, at least to us. But what about coming out in a language the rest of the public will understand?
The difference between any person coming out and a celebrity doing so is the difference between a toy mallet and a sledgehammer. It’s reasonable for celebrities to be reticent; by coming out, they potentially invite death threats, a dogged tabloid press that will track their lovers instead of their beards, the excavation of their past lives, a torrent of public criticism and the implosion of their careers. In a culture of compulsory heterosexuality, to stop lying — by omission or otherwise — is to risk everything.
American culture still expects that stars are cis and straight until they confess themselves guilty. So, when our culture imagines a celebrity’s coming out, it expects an Ellen-style announcement that will submerge the past life in phoenix fire and rebirth the celebrity in a new image. In an ideal culture, wearing a bracelet that says “PROUD,” waving a pride flag onstage, placing a rainbow in album artwork or suggestively answering fan questions on Instagram would be enough. But our current reality expects a supernova.
Because of that expectation, stars end up trapped behind glass, which is reinforced by the tabloid press’s subtle social control. That press shapes the public’s expectations of others’ identities, even when those identities are chasms away from reality. Celebrities who master this press environment — Ms. Swift included — can bolster their business, but in doing so, they reinforce a heteronormative culture that obsesses over pregnancy, women’s bodies and their relationships with men.
That environment is at odds with the American movement for L.G.B.T.Q. equality, which still has fights to win — most pressingly, enshrining trans rights and squashing nonsensical culture wars. But lately I’ve heard many of my young queer contemporaries — and the occasional star — wonder whether the movement has come far enough to dispense with the often messy, often uncomfortable process of coming out, over and over again.
That questioning speaks to an earnest conundrum that queer people confront regularly: Do we live in this world, or the world to which we ought to aspire?
Living in aspiration means ignoring the convention of coming out in favor of just … existing. This is easier for those who can pass as cis and straight if need be, those who are so wealthy or white that the burden of hiding falls to others and those who live in accepting urban enclaves. This is a queer life without friction; coming out in a way straight people can see is no longer a prerequisite for acceptance, fulfillment and equality.
This aspiration is tremendous, but in our current culture, it is available only to a privileged few. Should such an inequality of access to aspiration become the accepted state of affairs, it would leave those who can’t hide to face society’s cruelest actors without the backing of a vocal, activated community. So every queer person who takes issue with the idea that we must come out ought to ask a simple question — what do we owe one another?
If coming out is primarily supposed to be an act of self-actualization, to form our own identities, then we owe one another nothing. This posture recognizes that the act of coming out implicitly reinforces straight and cis identities as default, which is not worth the rewards of outness.
But if coming out is supposed to be a radical act of resistance that seeks to change the way our society imagines people to be, then undeniable visibility is essential to make space for those without power. In this posture, queer people who can live in aspiration owe those who cannot a real world in which our expansive views of love and gender aren’t merely tolerated but celebrated. We have no choice but to actively, vocally press against the world we’re in, until no one is stuck in it.
And so just for a little while longer, we need our heroes.
But if queer people spend all of our time holding out for a guiding light, we might forgo a more pressing question that if answered, just might inch all of us a bit closer to aspiration. The next time heroes appear, are we ready to receive them?
It takes neither a genius nor a radical to see queerness implied by Ms. Swift’s work. But figuring out how to talk about it before the star labels herself is another matter. Right now, those who do so must inject our perceptions with caveats and doubt or pretend we cannot see it (a lie!) — implicitly acquiescing to convention’s constraints in the name of solidarity.
Lying is familiar to queer people; we teach ourselves to do it from an early age, shrouding our identities from others, and ourselves. It’s not without good reason. To maintain the safety (and sometimes the comfort) of the closet, we lie to others, and, most crucially, we allow others to believe lies about us, seeing us as something other than ourselves. Lying is doubly familiar to those of us who are women. To reduce friction, so many of us still shrink life to its barest version in the name of honor or safety, rendering our lives incomplete, our minds lobotomized and our identities unexplored.
By maintaining a culture of lying about what we, uniquely, have the knowledge and experience to see, we commit ourselves to a vow of silence. That vow may protect someone’s safety, but when it is applied to works of culture, it stymies our ability to receive art that has the potential to change or disrupt us. As those with queer identity amass the power of commonplaceness, it’s worth questioning whether the purpose of one of the last great taboos that constrains us befits its cost.
In every case, is the best form of solidarity still silence?
I know that discussing the potential of a star’s queerness before a formal declaration of identity feels, to some, too salacious and gossip-fueled to be worthy of discussion. They might point to the viciousness of the discourse around “queerbaiting” (in which I have participated); to the harm caused by the tabloid press’s dalliances with outing; and, most crucially, to the real material sacrifices that queer stars make to come out, again and again, as reasons to stay silent.
I share many of these reservations. But the stories that dominate our collective imagination shape what our culture permits artists and their audiences to say and be. Every time an artist signals queerness and that transmission falls on deaf ears, that signal dies. Recognizing the possibility of queerness — while being conscious of the difference between possibility and certainty — keeps that signal alive.
So, whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s sexual orientation or gender identity (something that is knowable, perhaps, only to her) or the exact identity of her muses (something better left a mystery), choosing to acknowledge the Sapphic possibility of her work has the potential to cut an audience that is too often constrained by history, expectation and capital loose from the burdens of our culture.
To start, consider what Ms. Swift wrote in the liner notes of her 2017 album, “reputation”: “When this album comes out, gossip blogs will scour the lyrics for the men they can attribute to each song, as if the inspiration for music is as simple and basic as a paternity test.”
Listen to her. At the very least, resist the urge to assume that when Ms. Swift calls the object of her affection “you” in a song, she’s talking about a man with whom she’s been photographed. Just that simple choice opens up a world of Swiftian wordplay. She often plays with pronouns, trading “you” and “him” so that only someone looking for a distinction between two characters might find one. Turns of phrase often contain double or even triple meanings. Her work is a feast laid specifically for the close listener.
Choosing to read closely can also train the mind to resist the image of an unmarried woman that compulsory heterosexuality expects. And even if it is only her audience who points at rainbows, reading Ms. Swift’s work as queer is still worthwhile, for it undermines the assumption that queer identity impedes pop superstardom, paving the way for an out artist to have the success Ms. Swift has.
After all, would it truly be better to wait to talk about any of this for 50, 60, 70 years, until Ms. Swift whispers her life story to a biographer? Or for a century or more, when Ms. Swift’s grandniece donates her diaries to some academic library, for scholars to pore over? To ensure that mea culpas come only when Ms. Swift’s bones have turned to dust and fragments of her songs float away on memory’s summer breeze?
I think not. And so, I must say, as loudly as I can, “I can see you,” even if I risk foolishness for doing so.
I remember the first time I knew I had seen Taylor Alison Swift break free from the trap of stardom. I wasn’t sitting in a crowded stadium in the pouring rain or cuddled up in a movie theater with a bag of popcorn. I was watching a grainy, crackling livestream of the Eras Tour, captured on a fan’s phone.
It’s late at night, the beginning of her acoustic set of surprise songs, this time performed in a yellow dress. She begins playing “Hits Different.” It’s a new song, full of puns, double entendres and wordplay, that toys with the glittering identities in which Ms. Swift indulges.
She’s rushing, as if stopping, even for a second, will cause her to lose her nerve. She stumbles at the bridge, pauses and starts again; the queen of bridges will not mess this up, not tonight.
There it is, at the bridge’s end: “Bet I could still melt your world; argumentative, antithetical dream girl.” An undeniable declaration of love to a woman. As soon as those words leave her lips, she lets out a whoop, pacing around the stage with a grin that cannot be contained.
For a moment, Ms. Swift was out of the woods she had created for herself as a teenager, floating above the trees. The future was within reach; she would, and will, soon take back the rest of her words, her reputation, her name. Maybe the world would see her, maybe it wouldn’t.
But on that stage, she found herself. I was there. Through a fuzzy fancam, I saw it.
And somehow, that was everything.
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number-onekidqueen · 25 days
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Hey!!!
Could you please do Luke x Goth!fem!reader where they are dating secretly, and Luke finds out she’s getting bullied for how she dresses he decides to confront the bullies and put them in their place 
𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
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Luke Castellan x goth!Hades!reader
apologies for the awkward spacing, my laptop is going through some glitch 😭
angsty fluff
warnings: bullying, verbal abuse ig, a few swear words, Stacey is a cliche warning, mentions sexual themes
"You don’t like it, do you?”
He shook his head insistently. You laughed.
“No, I think it’s cool, I just don’t listen to this kind of stuff. It’s new to me.”
You and Luke were sat on your bed in Hades cabin, listening to a cassette you had snuck in this summer.
It was actually how your mum had bonded with Hades. She always told the story of how she had been walking home from a shift, listening to her favourite album on her Walkman, completely lost in the bass and cacophony of drums, unaware of her surroundings. Too late she had noticed a drunk driver swerving towards her. And then a man had come out of the gloom, drawing her safely away by clutching her cassette tape and headphone wires. She’d been at a loss for words, and he’d simply walked away.
He’d met her the next night, returning her Walkman with praise for her music choice. And every night later he’d appear somewhere along their journey, and they’d converse about music and fall in love.
That very album was what you were listening to at the moment. And from the look in his face, it certainly wouldn’t be making its way onto Luke's playlist very soon.
“I know it’s loud, I get it,” you reassured, “I guess I just love the…. Passion.” You didn’t see while you were rambling, but the look Luke gave you then could only be described as adoring. He loved when you ranted like this. “These artists, they’re pouring their heart and soul into everything. Every word they scream, and string they play, they’re giving their best performance to do so. I find it so amazing.”
The sad thing was, not many people shared your view on that, which led to the predicament you were in.
Well, it wasn’t just the music. It was probably the way you dressed too.
Regardless of your explanations, people were always going to stare at your black shorts, choker and smoky eyes. They would always whisper ‘goth girl’ as if it was a swear word.
But you never thought they would be quite so mean. Come on, you were one of them, right?
Wrong, apparently.
"Hey, emo, anyone die lately, or just your style sense?"
This particular jab came from Stacey, an Aphrodite girl who just seemed to loathe you, and was your polar opposite with her glowy make up, tight camp tee and cropped shorts.
Usually you ignored them. Sure, some of their comments were mean, and sometimes you could hear them when you looked in the mirror, when you applied your mascara, when you lay in bed in the darkness. But today, you were done. You were so sick of Stacey sniping and sneering at you. You were going to bite back.
"I didn't realise dressing for men was considered style, but if so, then sure."
There was silence as she gasped at your comment, looking at her friends in shock and for support. She scowled then, and chewed her gum obnoxiously in what you guessed to be an excuse to think of a comeback.
"I'm sorry I get a reaction from men. Kinda sad that black and death doesn't turn anyone on, huh y/n? But I'm sure you don't care. Probably have some relationship with a dead body, right?"
There were muffled giggles as all the Aphrodite girls covered their mouths at her retort. She began to smirk at you as you blinked at her in shock, genuinely hurt.
"I don't get you, Stacey. Why would my style have anything to do with that? How do smoky eyes have anything to do with-with necrophilia or whatever you're suggesting? What the fuck?" You spat, and you walked away from her, hating that you had been defeated, that that stupid girl's words made your eyes feel heavy with tears.
Because to her, you'd always be weird. That one goth girl who always wore black no matter the occasion. Who barely got a first glance from boys.
It was then you wanted to scream to them how much you knew Luke cared about you. You wondered how much their opinions would change, if they knew camp's golden boy was sweet about you. But you never did, because you knew they wouldn't believe you, and so it led to tears and frustration, locking yourself inside your cabin and crying until your face was a runny, smudged mess.
You'd settled yourself against the wall for around half an hour, your hands in your hair as you bathed in misery and insecurity when you heard the first round of insistent knocks and urgent calling of your name. It was him.
Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you got to your feet and let him in, praying you looked better than you felt. His face fell as the door opened and he spotted your saddened features, so you guessed you didn't. Luke stepped in, shutting the door behind him, and immediately brushing the tears from your face with his thumbs, his eyes sad.
"Who did this to you?" he demanded, as he drew you into a hug.
"It was just some-some girls, don't worry, they always do it, I'm just-y'know, being dramatic," you let out a broken laugh into his shoulder and more tears fell, "I guess I should expect it."
"No you shouldn't. They shouldn't torment you regularly just because you dress different to them." He pulled away, his eyes furious now, the cocoa centres dangerously dark, "What the hell is wrong with them?! Tell me their names, y/n, their names."
"No, it's fine, you-you don't need to talk to them, it's-"
"Well, I'm going to either way, so you can tell me, or I'll just find it out."
"I-I-" you stuttered, your body shuddering as a wave of tears swept through you once again, "it was that group of Aphrodite girls, with like Stacey and-"
You buried yourself in his arms, and he squeezed you tight, fingers brushing gently through your hair. "You know you're so much better than them, right?" he murmured warmly, "you're smarter, you're prettier-"
"No, I'm not-"
"Yes, you are, and you should know it, because you are, y/n. You're worth a million of them." Luke's words were firm, and the way he looked at you then, resolute and as if he believed his phrase with every particle of his being made you soften. Made you almost believe him.
"I'm gonna come back with some soda, and we can chill out and listen to your tape, yeah? How's that sound?"
"Amazing," you said, with a watery smile.
"Great, well I'll go now, so I can be back soon," and he sent you a faint-inducing grin as he inched out of your arms that made you lose track of a few sentences.
"Luke," you protested, when you finally got your tongue under control, "no, you-you don't have to this, right? You realise you don't have to do this? It's ok, it's-"
"Yeah, of course," he responded calmly, that same grin on his face as he reached for the door, "I don't know where you think I'm going. I'm just off to get some soda."
And do some other things along the way.
He stormed over to the Aphrodite cabin, knocking rapidly before throwing the door open. Stacey was there, sat on the bed humming a pop song and fixing her hair in her hand mirror, frozen in place as she watched him barge in and shut the door. Her surprise smoothly transitioned into seduction, as was typical with a lot of Aphrodite girls.
"Someone wanted to see me," she cooed, sending him a flirty smile.
Oh yes he did indeed.
"So, I heard about some things with you and y/n,"
"Oh, yeah, that," Stacey waved the words away as if they were a pesky fly, resting on her elbows as she looked up at him with doe eyes, "she looked like a horror movie, Luke. Like, you know how much I care about the kids! They might get scared."
"Yeah, yeah sure, Stacey, I'm sure those were your intentions."
She frowned at that, her glossy lips and thin brows crinkled.
"Why are you even standing up for her anyway? It's not like she's nice, and she's so weird, like she's probably not even straight, like I've heard she has relationships with bats and graves and shit."
"And where did you hear that, Stacey?" He asked coldly, anger rising through him.
She quickly noted the negative emotions surfacing in his tone, and cocked her head. "I don't know, like just around the place. Look, I don't know why you care about this so much? I doubt she has a soul."
"Oh, she does, Stacey. And her soul is much more beautiful and amazing than yours will ever be," he sucked a breath in, trying to restrain his utter rage, "and I want you to never talk to my girlfriend like that again."
"Y-your-your girlfriend?" She spluttered, absolutely shell-shocked.
"Yeah, my girlfriend."
"But-what-?"
"She's the best girl at camp, so I don't know why you say all that stupid stuff about her. Anyway, I need to go now, Stacey, but I think you got the message, yeah?"
She nodded dumbly, her eyes still wide, and Luke smirked as he left the suffocatingly rose-smelling cabin and went into the open air.
With that done, he needed two ice-cold cans of soda.
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beom1e · 7 months
Text
jerk! reunion from hell
you and your friends had started a band in your teen years, as you all shared a deep love for music. as serious as you wanted to be about the band, you put your education first and moved away during the summer after graduation. years later, you were expecting a warm welcome back from your childhood friends.
pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader
genre angst, humour, fluff, childhood best friend! yeonjun, enemies to lovers, band! txt
warning cursing, bickering, alcohol
masterlist | next
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‘yeonjun!?’ your voice echoed throughout the hallway. you let the large glass door close softly behind you, before you began lugging your suitcase down the unnecessarily long hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘is anybody home!?’
clearly, the boys were no longer spending day and night in soobin’s garage hoping to make it big. by the looks of things, their musical talent had actually paid off and gotten them somewhere. still, your confusion began to grow as you approached the only door that seemed to be in the stupidly-long and pointless hallway. you’d gotten the address from kai’s sister after explaining that you were planning on surprising them, but now you were rethinking it. maybe you’d just broken into a stranger’s home, or maybe the boys weren’t around and you’d just have to try again later.
you reached for the handle with shaky hands and pushed open the door. five heads whipped around to get a look at the intruder, and a million thoughts began to cloud your mind.
weren’t they happy to see you? they didn’t look happy. nobody was excitedly jumping around or running to hug you like they had the last time you’d visited, two years ago. they were all staring blankly at you as if you were a stranger. had they forgotten who you were? was the fame that brought along the riches too great that they’d already forgotten who had been there from the beginning? it was just five pairs of eyes staring you down and… wait, five?
‘are you some crazed fan?’ the unfamiliar face spoke, somehow snapping your friends out of their daze.
‘uhm no, i’m—’ you began, narrowing your eyes in annoyance.
‘she’s y/n,’ kai interrupted. ‘that’s y/n.’
‘oh, y/n,’ the new, fifth boy placed his guitar down and began to walk towards you. ‘i’m beomgyu, your replacement.’
‘my what?’ you grimaced. ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘y/n, can i talk to you outside?’ yeonjun came speeding towards you, grabbed your arm and then brought you back into the headache-inducing hallway. ‘i’m sorry, we had no idea that you were coming.’
‘well, yeah, that was the whole point,’ you scoffed. ‘and who the fuck is beomgyu?’
‘he plays the guitar for us now,’ he audibly gulped. ‘and he sings, too. writes… produces… all that fun stuff.’
‘so… what?’ you pursed your lips. ‘i leave and you go and find my replacement? and you just never thought to tell me that there was a new member of the band you and i set up?’
‘we wanted to,’ he sighed. ‘it’s just been a very busy year. we’ve had signings and concerts and then we bought this place, and our album sales have just been—’
‘wait, wait, wait, slow down,’ you waved your hands out in front of you to cut yeonjun off. ‘he’s been here for a year? and you couldn’t think to shoot me a text or give me a call?’
‘like i said, we’ve been busy,’ he defended.
‘that’s bullshit,’ you folded your arms across your chest and gave yeonjun your nastiest stare. ‘so i guess now i better go back home and get caught up on your discography? should i just go buy a t-shirt with that asshole’s face on it and beg him to sign it for me since i’m merely an outsider now?’
‘woah, there,’ beomgyu forced his way into the conversation, after standing around and listening for way too long. he had his hands placed in his pockets and one foot resting back against the wall just beside the door. ‘what have i ever done to you, y/n? except turn your awful music into something that doesn’t make people’s ears bleed?’
‘excuse me?’ you practically growled.
‘beomgyu, don’t,’ yeonjun exhaled.
‘oh, she doesn’t know yet?’ clearly, he found the whole situation amusing. he was almost giggling away to himself.
‘what don’t i know?’ you raised a brow. ‘tell me, jun.’
‘just that beomgyu tweaked your songs before official release and they did better than they had before,’ the words felt like a stab to the heart. ‘but you’re not to blame, i mean you were like seventeen last time you wrote a song for us.’
‘i’m leaving,’ you felt your eyes water and your voice grow weaker. ‘i don’t belong here anymore… obviously.’
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walking out of their very nice house was the first of your mistakes. you had just enough money to book a room at a cheap hotel, but not enough for a decently good meal. you ignored the calls from yeonjun and soobin, and sat down on your creaky hotel bed with your laptop to do some research. what you found only seemed to break your heart worse than the initial shock had.
beomgyu had been added over a year ago now. they made an announcement to the public and hundreds of teenage girls gushed over his good looks under their posts. then they released their first hit, a song you had originally written for them. of course, your name was listed in the credits section for participating in the lyrics, but they failed to mention you anywhere else on their social media profiles. they advertised themselves as ‘tomorrow by together’, but shortened it to ‘txt’ in most cases. it was a band of five men, like you had never even existed. their career kicked off very quickly and they began to sell albums in the millions, with their follower count increasing by hundreds of thousands every day. profit came fast, and they all moved out of their family homes to live together in the modern — slightly ugly in your opinion — house you’d visited.
you cried yourself to sleep shortly after, feeling utterly sorry for yourself. it hurt more knowing that your friends had been behind the whole thing, and your lack of credit in their band was nothing when compared with the betrayal.
after a cheap breakfast the next day, you took a cab to your local bus station and found a seat outside the building. there were calls missed and messages left unread on your phone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.
it was humiliating. you’d travelled hours alone to see the boys you had grown up with in hopes that they would happily welcome you back into your hometown. instead, they had started a new life that you weren’t a part of. they’d replaced you, given your songs away and moved into a new place without ever informing you.
with your headphones in and your gaze turned to the floor, you failed to notice the two boys trying to hail your attention.
‘seriously, y/n?’ you heard, as your right earphone was ripped out of your ear. it was yeonjun, you could tell without even lifting your eyes.
‘we should just go,’ beomgyu’s voice chimed in from behind yeonjun. your head snapped up at the sound and you turned your gaze towards yeonjun. ‘you’ve wasted my time.’
‘shut it, beomgyu,’ yeonjun warned. ‘y/n, you can’t leave.’
‘why not?’ you snatched the headphone out of his hands. ‘there’s nothing left for me here.’
‘i’m here,’ he reminded. of course. ‘there’s a spare room for you to stay in for however long you want, and i promise we’re going to make it up to you.’
yeonjun was your everything. or he had been, a long time ago. he was the sweet boy that helped you up after you tripped and fell face first into the park’s wood-chip floor. he was older and taller, and cared for you deeply, and despite his popularity throughout his teenage years, he never let anything get in the way of your friendship. it was yours and his idea to start the band, because you loved music just as much as each other. and when you met kai and taehyun, and he befriended soobin, the band just fell into place.
but when puberty struck, your hormones were an indestructible force that made you fall head-over-heels for him. from the way that he sang so beautifully, to the gentle brush of his fingers against yours as he taught you piano. the gentleness of his lyrics, the sound of his laughter, the late nights you spent giggling over lyrics and stories, the way he would put you before anyone and anything else.
your first heartbreak was the night of his prom, when he took an older, more mature girl to the dance. but you tried not to think of your fizzled-out crush anymore, having had a fair share of lovers during your years at university. yeonjun was clueless, and he’d never done a thing to suggest that your friendship was anything more than platonic.
‘no, thank you,’ you turned to face the space in front of you, your eyes squinting naturally from the sun. ‘i don’t need a pity invite back into your lives again.’
‘you’re being way dramatic,’ beomgyu laughed. ‘you were the one that left and hadn’t returned in over two years now.’
‘this has nothing to do with you, you jerk!’ you spun around as you stood, glaring at the man in front of you. ‘i don’t care that you think my friends’ entire success is based off your little editing skills! you’re barely an artist if you think switching a few words in my lyrics suggests that you have any form of talent. the world would be much better off without your constant, snarky little comments!’
‘y/n, let’s go,’ yeonjun grabbed your arm in the same way he had the day before, at his house. with his free hand, he grabbed the handle of your suitcase and began pulling it along. ‘and please don’t cause a scene.’
‘i’m not going,’ you turned yourself into an anchor, using all of your strength to keep yourself grounded. of course, yeonjun was much stronger than you would ever be and easily dragged you along. ‘seriously, yeonjun, stop! there’s no way i’m going back to that house to make awkward small talk with people that i used to know!’
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the room was pretty silent. you could hear soobin chewing beside you, and the clinking of metal spoons against ceramic bowls as everybody ate their lunch. then a chair scraping that caught your attention, and beomgyu was standing. he placed his bowl on the counter and kicked the chair back into place, before heading up the stairs into his room.
‘so… y/n,’ kai began. you directed your gaze towards him, as he was sitting directly in front of you. ‘are you moving back home permanently?’
‘i’m not sure,’ you answered simply. ‘i graduate in a month, and then i need to start looking for a job.’
‘are we invited to your graduation?’ taehyun pressed, your head whipping around to face him. ‘is that why you came?’
‘i only have enough tickets to take one of you,’ you sighed. ‘i came because i missed you guys and i missed being here.’
‘who are you going to take?’ soobin asked, shooting you an innocent look.
‘obviously me,’ yeonjun interrupted. ‘who else?’
‘yeah… sorry guys,’ you cleared your throat. ‘i’ve just known yeonjun longer, so it makes sense.’
‘no hard feelings, y/n,’ kai smiled.
‘okay… can somebody show me to my room?’ you dropped your spoon into the bowl, sick of the tense feeling in the room.
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beomgyu had been fiddling with his guitar for the past fifteen minutes, as you sat picking at your fingernails. it was just you and him left behind at the house, whilst the other four boys were off running personal errands. you’d claimed the living space first, as you were waiting on yeonjun — who promised to be back by now to take you out for dinner — and beomgyu just seemed to want to annoy you with his presence.
‘you’re playing that wrong, you know,’ you spoke. ‘it’s supposed to be soft.’
‘lovesong, right?’ he asked, still strumming quietly. yes, technically, that was the song he was referring to — the one you had named ‘0x1=lovesong’ — except he was playing it more intensely and more angry than intended. ‘beautiful lyrics, but the demo was way too sappy and boring to release.’
‘excuse me?’ you scoffed. ‘that was my favourite song i ever wrote, and the last song i ever wrote.’
‘i can see why,’ he was smirking. ‘have you listened to the official release? there’s a music video too.’
‘no, obviously,’ rolling your eyes, you tried not to get upset. ‘what did you do to it?’
‘made it angsty,’ he shrugged. ‘you know, like an angry, heartbroken kind of sound. changed the title too, because yours was a little lame. we were actually going to ask you to be a feature in the chorus, but we went with an already established artist instead.’
‘i don’t even want to know,’ you closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. ‘i already feel sick from this whole situation, and you’re just going out of your way to make me feel worse. i’m going up to my room.’
‘the spare room,’ beomgyu corrected. ‘it’s not your room.’
‘what is your problem?’ you snapped. ‘is it your life’s mission to make me feel terrible? you came in here, took my place and the fame that i could have had, and i’m getting punished for it? why, because you feel threatened?’
‘because i don’t like you, y/n,’ he stood, placing his guitar on the couch and towering over you as you were still sitting on the opposite couch. ‘as i recall, you rudely asked yeonjun who ‘the fuck’ i was, and then proceeded to call me an asshole simply because i joined your friends’ band.’
right, you did do that. but it was a heat of the moment thing, and you didn’t actually mean anything by it. still, he only proved your point with his behaviour following your meeting.
‘you provoked me,’ you defended. ‘asking if i was a crazed fan and introducing yourself as my replacement.’
‘geez, it was a joke,’ he rolled his eyes as he stepped away from you and into the kitchen. ‘but your reaction said a lot.’
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‘and then he had the audacity to tell me that it was my reaction that caused him to be a huge jerk to me,’ you groaned, lifting your wine glass to your lips and taking another sip. yeonjun nodded between chews. ‘seriously, i can’t stand to even be in the same room as him.’
‘you’ve only known each other for a day,’ he interjected after swallowing. ‘you need to give him a chance.’
‘no, thank you,’ you placed the glass down rather loudly. ‘there’s no way in hell that i’ll ever get close to him… it’s just going to be a long month before i never have to share a living space with him ever again.’
‘that’s true,’ yeonjun stated, although you could tell he had more to say from the way that he leaned over the perfectly white table cloth between you. ‘but it’s not like he’s going to up and leave for your sake. he’s our friend — my friend — and he’s a vital part of our band— a great guitarist and he has a very unique voice that leaves the fans swooning, plus—!’
‘’jun, please,’ you held your hand up to stop him. ‘talking about him like a used car you’re selling on the facebook marketplace isn’t going to make me like him more. sure, he can play guitar, but does he even have the capacity to feel sympathy?’
yeonjun just laughed out loud, reaching for his glass as he fell back into the comfort of his chair, and you smiled. you’ve missed him.
an hour later, beomgyu stopped strumming upon hearing the sound of your laughter. as the door swung open into the common area, he caught sight of you holding onto yeonjun’s bicep for support.
‘and then he just got up and left— oh, hey, beomgyu,’ you straightened up, letting go. ‘uh, goodnight, yeonjun.’
‘who got up and left?’ beomgyu inquired.
‘oh, it’s hilarious,’ yeonjun grinned. ‘this guy who y/n dated— basically, she rejected him but he would not give up— what?’
you were not impressed, and yeonjun caught on quickly. he waved his hand in the air as a dismissal and turned towards the stairs, wishing beomgyu a short goodnight. you shot the latter a tight-lipped smile and followed yeonjun upstairs.
‘goodnight, y/n,’ yeonjun spoke, turned back to face you with his hand reaching for the handle. you smiled and watched him disappear behind the door, to which your smile grew wider and you silently screamed into your hands.
you would have been skipping had everyone else been awake, but you held yourself back and opted for walking calmly down the hallway to your bedroom. the sleep you had turned out to be a lot more peaceful than you had expected, being able to rest easy knowing that you were home, and with yeonjun.
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masterlist | next
taglist @stellz581 @fairyofshampgyu @woncheecks @shycreationdreamland @wonioml @baekberrie @wayhome2gyu @strawbrinkofdeath
276 notes · View notes
kaylor-lovestory · 1 year
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DEBUNKING THE “KARLIE BETRAYED TAYLOR BELIEF”
Disclaimer: this post is taken from Reddit and it was put together and posted by this user : OddDragonfruit6179 I just made it into Tumblr post.
This is for people who might be new to Gaylor side of the fandom and to those questioning the “betrayal” surrounding Taylor Swift and her masters and Karlie Kloss. This is also an answer to anonymus messages about the line in the song It’s time to go believed to be about Karlie Kloss / When the words of a sister come back in whispers that prove she was not in fact what she seemed not a twin from your dreams she's a crook who was caught.
PSA - Personally, I exist as a Gaylor because I love interpreting Taylor's Queer themes that don't specifically revolve around certain muses & the beautiful way they can exist on their own. I am also not 'Late-Stage'-Anything, haha. But, saying that, it's amost impossible to ignore the elephant (or Giraffe) in the room when it comes to Karlie & Taylor's storytelling since Reputation. It seems there are some very firmly-held beliefs about 'what happened' (including Gaylors), and a lot of them revolve around the idea that Karlie 'betrayed' Taylor during the Master's Heist era of June/July 2019, 'feeding information to & siding with Scooter Braun' - which are often used to debunk Gaylor interpretations as a blanket shut-down. Given the latest drama with Selena & how she recently spoke up about slandering Taylor on TikTok, it reminded me of how we have a lot of evidence from both Taylor & Taylor's inner circle that this was probably not actually the case, and how quickly rumours & interpretations get adopted as 'fact' without any proof - something I think Taylor's also tried to get across with her music, too. I wanted to do a little deep-dive into this side of things to remind us all that we simply cannot believe everything we hear - there's always a lot more to celebrity stories than the loosly-held general beliefs :)
What was the big 'betrayal' in 2019?
If you're new here, welcome! The supposed 'betrayal' revolves around Taylor's Master's Heist in summer 2019, when Scooter Braun (millionaire celebrity manager) bought Taylor's entire back catalogue of music, leaving her without ownership of all her previous music. Taylor was at a turning point in her career, having just ended the 13 year contract that she'd been tied into since she was 15, and was just about to release her first fully-owned album 'Lover' She wanted to buy all her past music, allowing her to have full freedom & ownership going forward - yet it was allegedly sold to Scooter from underneath her, meaning he would be the one profiting from all of her life's work from Debut to Reputation & leaving her without any ownership rights of all her past work. (This is now why she's re-recording her 'Taylor's Versions' of her past albums.) How does Karlie tie into this? Karlie had been a huge part of Taylor's life since 2013. As Gaylors, most of us believe they were much more than friends & Karlie was the main muse for Reputation (2017) & multiple songs on Lover (2019). Karlie had signed with Scooter Braun in 2015. In 2016, Scooter was involved in the Kimye 'Taylor Swift is over controversy', being included in a photo Justin Bieber posted online to taunt Taylor (which Justin later said Scooter had nothing to do with). As she was Scooter's client, Karlie was immedietly caught up between Scooter Vs Taylor rumours, leading her to tweet this:
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In early 2017, as the Kimye drama grew, Taylor stopped sharing her private life on social media. From 2017-2018 she releases Rep, goes on tour, ends her contract with Big Machine & begins working towards releasing Lover. All the while, rumours are consistently following both Taylor & Karlie about 'whether or not they're still friends' because they'd not been seen together. A lot of people believe they were still in each other's lives (there are multiple masterposts going into the possible romantic side of things), but the narrative is all over the place: In March 2018, Karlie tells the NY Times: 'don't believe everything you read' & that she and Taylor as still 'very close'. In July 2018, Karlie announces that she's engaged to Josh Kushner and Taylor doesn't publicly comment. In August 2018, Karlie attends the Rep Tour & is brought to the front pit when Taylor sings 'Dress'. In October 2018, Karlie has her first 'wedding' with Josh (up for personal interpretation if this is Lavender or not) - Taylor doesn't publicly comment. The same month, Karlie's YouTube shows her apartment is still full of photos of Taylor & her family/friends (not Josh):
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In the first half of 2019 Taylor is finishing writing Lover, which include themes indicative that she is extremely up/down, full of anxiety & has push a 'lover' away: "I'm terrified if you ever walk away" (Cornelia Street), "We were crazy to think this could work, but we might just get away with it" (False God), don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you" (Cruel Summer), " jump from the train, I ride off alone" (The Archer), " blew things out of proportion, why'd I have to break what I love so much? I need to say hey, it's all in my head, I'm the one who burned us down, sorry that I hurt you, I don't do this to you, I don't wanna loose this with you" (Afterglow), "Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts, I look through the windows of this love, even though we boarded them up, chandalier's still flickering here" (DBTC)
What actually happened in Summer 2019?
Taylor begins promoting the release of Lover. In April 2019 she unveils a butterfly wing mural which looks extremely similar to Karlie's butterfly wings from the VS Show where they met & then continues to be ridiculously gay-on-main. She releases You Need To Calm Down, where she's the Sherriff of the Gay trailor park with Bi hair, and ME! on Lesbian Visibility Day... there's endless flagging in clothing/theming. She was getting very 'loud'. Many people believe she may have been leading up to 'coming out' officially, either with the album and/or the Miss Americana documentary that was in the process of being filmed. On 23rd/24th June, Karlie has her second 'wedding' (a big party). Taylor doesn't attend. Scooter does (he's close friends with Josh).
Within a week after he's at this party with Josh & Karlie, Scooter then flies to Nashville and completes the sale of Taylor's masters. The sale is partially funded by the Carlyle Group, who is in business with Kushner Companies (Josh's family's business).
On 30th June (the following weekend), Taylor announces that the Master's Heist has happened & how distraught she is. Lots of celebrities speak up against Scooter & many of his clients (Demi Lovato, Justin Bieber etc) speak up in defence of him. Karlie remains silent & doesn't make a statement either way.
On 3rd July, Perez Hilton starts stirring shit by saying that 'Taylor is no longer close to Karlie because she found out Karlie was telling things about her & her career to Scooter! It began circulating that 2 of Taylor's close friends, Ashley Avignone & Claire Winter had liked the tweet, 'confirming' that this was the case to those that follow gossip sites. Karlie is then photographed at events/lunches/trips with Scooter multiple times throughout the rest of 2019 - further ‘cementing' this idea for fans.
The final blow for this theory came when Taylor released Folkmore (2020): in the song 'Time to Go' she sings "When the words of a sister come back in whispers, that prove she was not in fact what she seemed, not a twin from your dream she's a crook who was caught", which many fans immedietly assumed was about Karlie.
Where are the cracks in all this?
Taylor's other friends: Obviously, social media is only a partial glimpse of a story, but it is very suggestive of behind the scenes information. The reaction to the current Selena controversy was what reminded me of her friendship with Taylor, after she stuck up for Taylor on a video of Hailey Bieber. Selena's been very close to Taylor since they were teenagers. In October 2019, shortly after the Master's Heist, she did an interview where she was in tears talking about how important her friendship with Taylor was, and how much she loved her & her family:
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...so she would've been very much on Taylor's 'side' if Taylor has had an awful betrayal from Karlie, right? Yet in November 2019, just 5 months after the Masters Heist , she's very publicly supporting Karlie, too:
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..and they have both consistently continued to support eachother ever since, right up to Selena's latest birthday:
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In terms of social media, many of Taylor's current close friends & people she's worked closely with continue to follow Karlie (despite following a very limited number of people). This includes Taylor's oldest childhood friend, Abigail (who only follows 285 people - Karlie still follows her back), Haim The Band, as well as Danielle & Alana Haim on thier individual accounts, and Sadie Sink:
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Karlie also continues to follow Taylor herself and Taylor's brother, Austin:
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We also have two more of Taylor's very close circle, Ryan Reynolds & Gigi Hadid, liking posts about Karlie's 30th birthday in 2022:
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What about Perez Hilton's claims? Baring in mind this is the ONLY 'evidence' that exists to support this story, I tried to find the original tweets about 'Karlie telling things about Taylor to Scooter', and low & behold: they're ALL gone. That includes Perez's & the 'Taylor Swift Updates' tweet that was supposedly liked by Taylor's friends. Gone, deleted, non-existent. Why would they have been deleted if they were true & Taylor wanted that story out there? Who made sure they were, from all accounts involved, and only those? Interesting.
What I did find, however, was some tweets and likes from the same friend, Ashley Avignone, discussing how none of Scooter's clients have been able to speak out against him or leave him because of their contracts (this would include Karlie):
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What about Karlie 'siding' with Scooter & continuing to work/hang out with him? There were definitely pictures of Karlie continuing to spend time with Scooter after the Masters Heist. However, she was under contract. She never defended him or tried to reason about what he'd done. In fact, she left Scooter as soon as she possibly could. She hasn't been seen with Scooter since 2019 & she signed a new contract with a different manager in 2021. It's also relevant to note that Taylor's other close friend, Ed Sheeran, was also managed by Scooter at the time & didn't speak up publicly either. Taylor reportedly attended Ed's wedding in September 2019, yet Ed continued to stay with Scooter & publicly party with him well into 2021 (so, clearly, if there is an issue with Karlie it wasn't just because she continued to work with Scooter in 2019).
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Last but not least, the music:
Throughout her albums since the Masters Heist, Taylor has consistently written about heartbreak & betrayal in different ways. Although 'It's time to go' has been grabbed by many fans as 'proof' that Karlie betrayed her, but most stories just aren't that simple. Taylor is a storyteller. One song doesn't equate to every emotion/situation that Taylor was feeling. As many of us do, I believe there's a clear arc of Taylor painting a picture throughout multiple songs, of how she thought she had been 'betrayed' & the pain of that, but later realising she was just blaming the person she had loved in order to get through it all. Others have done amazing, full analysis of these songs, but in terms of 'betrayal' specifically: In Hoax we see the raw pain of feeling hurt by the one she loved alongside what happened with the Masters Heist (this song is full of Karlie references & Taylor very clearly says she was writing about both love & the Masters Heist in the LPSS): "My eclipsed sun, this has frozen my ground / You know I left a part of me back in NY / You know it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart, but what you did was just as dark, darling this is just as hard."
In Closure, we see that she's harbouring a lot of anger & isn't ready to move forward or past her pride: "Yes I got your letter, it wasn't right the way it all went down, looks like you know that now / I know that it's over, I don't need your closure / I'm fine with my spite / Guilty, guilty, reaching out across the sea that you put between you & me"
In Coney Island, we begin to see her taking accountability for her own role in the relationship breaking down in the first place (which ties in with Afterglow): "Sorry for not making you my centerfold / It gets colder & colder as the sun goes down / What's a lifetime of acheivement if I pushed you to the edge / Did I leave you hanging every single day / Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?"
In Happiness, we see this accountability clashing with the hurt she still feels about the way it all ended, but ultimately acknowledging she can't make Karlie the villain (suggesting she never actually was one) & wants to forgive her whatever role she did play (when she's ready). Hope she'll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you, no sorry, I don't mean that, I can't see facts through all of my fury / I can't make it go away by making you the villain, guess that's the price I pay for 7 years in heaven / All you want from me is the green light of forgiveness, You haven't met the new me yet, but I think she'll give you that"
Later, in The Great War, we see a continuation of reflecting back on the same themes - telling the story of feeling hurt & betrayed, shutting the other person out, but realising the other person was also being equally hurt by it all / was never the person she should've been blaming: "Cursed you as I sleep-talked, tore your banners down, took the battle underground / I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone" (processing her pain through putting an end to the loudness of Lover & writing Folkmore). "Somewhere in the haze got a sense I'd been betrayed/ telling me to punish you for things you never did, so I justified it" (Taylor's acknowledging once again that the other person hadn't actually done what she thought they had) "You drew up some good faith treaties / Tears on the letter / My hand was the one you reached for" (could be a callback to the letter' in closure & suggests the person was trying to make peace). "Your finger on my hairpin triggers, soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honour & truth, broken & blue, so I called off the troops" (icy ground could be a callback to 'you have frozen my ground' back Hoax).
So where does that leave us?
Who the hell knows? No one does, but I love reading all the theories when the rest of the music is tied into it all! But in regard to there being a 'betrayal', given how there was never any concrete evidence that Karlie did anything wrong in the first place (& how the only tweets alluding to it have mysteriously dissapeared), the continual association with Karlie from some of the closest people in Taylor's life, Karlie leaving Scooter at the first chance she got & the arc of the 'thought i was betrayed but I was really just heartbroken & being dramatic' story from Taylor, I am now a firm believer that there wasn't a 'big betrayal' from Karlie in regard to the Master's Heist.
The rest of it is all up for guesswork. Taylor definitely felt betrayed by something at first. We know there were already break-up songs on Lover written before the Master's Hiest which suggest Taylor was the one to push her lover away, yet they were still dappled with hope that she'd get them back. Potentially, Karlie had already been pushed away & had sought security in her long-term partnership with Josh/decided to marry him. After the engagement & 1st wedding, this is when we see Taylor's very 'loud' Lover Era - could this have been an attempt to 'prove herself' to Karlie & make a statement about what she was willing to do? However, Karlie was already comitted to Josh & had gone through with the 1st wedding. Within a 1 week period of June 2019, Karlie doubled down on going through with her 2nd wedding to Josh & her manager bought Taylor's Masters, making it extremely risky for Taylor to continue to make a career-changing choice of 'coming out' (if that's what she'd been intending to do). Could it have been orchestrated by Scooter (& Josh?) in order to keep Taylor closeted? Could Josh have been involved financially in order to put a stop to the rumours about Karlie after they'd already comitted to marriage & keep his business deals/ family connections safe from speculation? Could Karlie simply have been trapped in the middle of all of it & torn between her loyalty to both Taylor & Josh, causing an already heartbroken Taylor to 'kick the cat' and initially put the blame on Karlie for the way it all happened? (If you factor in the possibility that both Karlie & Josh might be closeted & had eventually comitted to a consentual Lavender Marriage, it makes the risk of Taylor exposing them even bigger. Josh was tied up in Billionaire conservative circles & relied heavily on his business partnerships in the Middle East & Asia, as well as pressure from the Trump side of the family. We have no idea what kind of pressure he & Karlie may have been under behind the scenes).
Who the hell knows - but if Karlie had directly, intentionally been involved in such a big betrayal to Taylor, I HIGHLY doubt her best friends/family would be having anything to do with her.
Folkmore shows a clear theme of working through different, conflicting emotions, & then in Midnights we're back to seeing the Karlie-coded songs being portrayed as a big, authentic love (not one that was hate-filled or hurtful)...so at the very least, I'm definitley on the team of believing they have worked through whatever they needed to & have drawn a line under it all :) + a little update since the Eras tour started we have seen some of Karlies friends attend the show such as Derek Blasberg (her long time best friend), Cara Delevingne…Gigi Hadid revealed she will attend the Eras tour and go to as many shows as she can and she was just recently seen with Karlie in Mumbai. I hope this post made some things more clear for everyone not knowing this side of the story.
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cindylouwhooo · 3 months
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Chapter One
Gigi’ POV
There’s something about the spring breeze that instantly calms me.
Well, it usually does.
Now I’m just a ball of anxiety, counting down the seconds until I explode.
I’ve been in the studio for the past three days, wasting the time of my producer and assistant during the day, and getting no sleep while twiddling my thumbs and kidding myself that I can write another album at night.
I thought building a recording studio in my Monaco apartment while I stay here would help me. It hasn’t. At all.
And now I’m standing on my balcony, staring out on the packs of people running around the streets trying to get the place ready for the Grand Prix, contemplating whether I could be a good driver—well, just enough to quit my singing career.
I don’t mind the category; I could do F4. F1 Academy too. I’m really simple.
I drop my head on my hand and groan, just when my phone starts ringing from my back pocket.
“What?”
“Tell me you’ve written something.” Ally, my agent, demands through the device.
“I’ve written something.”
“Okay.” She sighs out. “Now tell me the truth.”
“I’m thinking ways of becoming a Formula 4 driver. Do we still have Susie Wolf’s number?”
“Gigi.”
“Ally, I’m serious. I don’t think I have another one in me.”
Ally starts yapping about something, and I put her on speaker while opening Twitter on my phone.
gigimymother
@gigisantos GIRL!!! RECKLESS THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY IS COMING!!!! WHEN’S THE NEW ONE????
santoslover
@gigisantos delulu is the solulu cause i still think Gigi is surprising us with a new album on Reckless anniversary…
—> gigifan girl be ffr she’s forgotten all about us
—> santoslover shut up
—> dannylovesgigi SAME!! i do also believe my ex is still in love with me sooooo
—> sandyford absolutely not, she is SO over…fame got to her and she thinks two mediocre albums are enough to stay rich 🤑
dannylovesgigi
y’all why’s the tl saying Gigi quit music???
“Were my albums mediocre?”
“G, get off Twitter for fuck’s sake and listen to what I’m saying.” I do as she says, mainly because I’m pretty sure she’ll fly from Toronto and strangle me if I don’t. “Time is ticking. And not in your favour. There’s so much i can do to keep you afloat.”
It’s the same speech. Over and over.
The same speech that I hear every time I pick up the phone from her call. The same speech that drove me away from Toronto and onto Monaco and the same speech that has drenched all the inspiration from me. I don’t have anything to write about, no words to turn into a song. And with every speech I hear, I don’t even want to try.
It’s draining. I hate it.
“Look, I know it’s difficult but you have to have something.”
I want to cry, I really do because her desperation is so evident in her voice. She believes in me too much and it’s gonna hurt when I disappoint her at the end of the summer.
The phone vibrates against my ear a couple of times and I take that chance to get out of the phone call with my doomed future.
“I gotta go, Ally. Something’s come up. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I end the call before she can butt in and let out the longest sigh in the history of the world. I see my best friend’s name on the screen of the phone and inevitably smile the biggest smile at the words on her text.
francis the king
you, me, alcohol 🍷
tonight
no is not a good enough answer
~ ~ ~
Strangely, the sweaty, already drunk people distantly surrounding our table made my mood quite quickly. Flashes of light spark every other second and I’ve become all too aware of the fact that it’s my first public viewing in a while.
My best friend is nursing on her drink while rolling her eyes at her boyfriend that’s on the phone with her, and I giggle at her facial expressions.
She’s incredibly in love, yet acts like Pierre is bothering her on a girl’s night out.
“Yes, I’ll call you at the end of our night…no we won’t call an UBER…okay, okay. Bye.” She ends the call abruptly and with the biggest, most dramatic sigh. “Okay, now we can start having fun.”
“I was already having fun.” I giggle.
Spending time with Francisca is honestly the only time I feel without the baggage of the third album looming over me. The bartender brings us the second round, and two extra shots on the house, accompanied with a wink for both of us.
“He’s cute.” Kika whisper-yells close to my ear over the loud music.
“Uh, oh. Trouble in paradise with Pierre?”
She rolls her eyes and slumps on my shoulder. “I meant you, dumbass.”
I know she did. But no.
It’s not like I’m cancelling love out of my life, but even entertaining the thought of going through the stages of finding someone and everything that happens after I’ve found someone decent, makes me want to hurl.
“The only man in my life is the imaginary one I created in the studio in order to spike my inspiration to write that damn album. His name is Tim.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Am not!”
“Shut up and drink.”
“Amen.”
~ ~ ~
Four rounds and five shots each later, we’re laughing at our lives and wiping the runny mascara that’s dripping on our cheeks. I don’t know what time it is but I can definitely feel the early stages of a good hangover that I’ll be having once I wake up.
But I wouldn’t change it for the world. Because four rounds and five shots later, I feel ten times better than I did when Ally called me earlier. And not because of the alcohol, but because Kika has lectured the insecurities out of me. She spent our girls night out talking to me and listening to me go on and on about my block and the expectations I’ve put for myself—I talked about shit I wouldn’t admit out loud.
At the end of the night, we’re clutching each other outside of the club and laughing so loud, heads are turning to look at us.
“Jesus, your boyfriend might be fast on track but he’s taking his sweet time getting here.” I pout and drop my head on Kika’s shoulder. “If I make a joke, like, ‘didn’t know you were as slow as your single seater’ will he cry?”
Kika laughs as she slips and grabs me tighter to not fall. “Yeah, he’ll probably cry.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Well, now I feel betrayed.” Pierre’s voice reaches us and Kika bounces off me to jump on him. He grabs her immediately and twirls her around, breaking my heart and making me the happiest person at the same time.
gigisantos …
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gigisantos girls night was a success 🍷🍾🎉 @francisca.cgomez
Liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 893,409 more
gigiismother give us the new album!!!!!
santosloverrrr girl, get in the studio
pierregasly thank god i arrived in time
—> gigi @pierregasly shut up tripod
gigisantoslvr love her relationship with pierre 😍
f1fanlover why’s lando in the likes???
—> gigigigi because she’s friends with the drivers?
—> f1fanlover yea but they barely speak
francisca.cgomez my soulmate ❤️
As I drop my still clothed body on my bed, a million lyrics fly through my head. Melodies and words swirl in my alcohol infused mind, suffocating me at once and frustrating me as I forget one by one in the aftermath of a night out at the club.
~ ~ ~
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1989 - The story of two muses
Back to my first and forever love – Lyric analysis!
1989 is very close to my heart, and I have always found it noticeable that this album has quite a contrast between love songs about a very up and down/anxiety filled relationship on one hand, and the very raw and heartfelt romance as portrayed in ‘This Love’ and YAIL on the other.
And the 5 new vault songs we have on Taylor’s version now have added quite a bit of detail to the picture that emerges and I’m more convinced than ever that there are two distinct relationships/muses being described and I fancied doing a deep dive into how each one is described in the music and how the themes connect to other songs. (And it may even explain the beach theme 😉)
Ok, so, I have actually sorted every song from 1989 that is about a romantic relationship, including the 5 new vault tracks, into this scheme (even though I found some really hard!)
Muse 1 – “The heartbreaker” This relationship is described as very up and down, very anxiety-driven, something you can’t walk away from like an addiction, “against your better knowledge but can’t help myself” kind of way. Taylor has described this person as ‘the one that might one day interrupt your wedding, because you’re never truly over’.  Break up: ‘you left me’.
Muse 2 – “The one that came back” While this relationship is by no means described as perfect, it has a very different tone to it. It’s very much based in secure feelings, ‘us against the world’, any difficulty faced is worth it. Break up: ‘had to let it go’. And the person came back when it counted.
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(Sorry about the pictures, I couldn't fit a table in any other way)
I am really impressed with how much just five new songs have furthered the story of these two relationships and I (personally) love how much this is filling in the blanks and makes everything make so much more sense. 'You can hear it in the silence' vs 'Now your silence has me screaming' almost killed me, honestly. She really found the love that needs no words. 🥰 And the direct contrast of the metaphors, one relationship as an addiction with very high highs and very low lows, and the other as the calm waves on the shore that continually come in and out with the tide, is just so masterfully done, I love it. And I think given the beach theme of the 1989 TV covers, we can guess which of the muses is being honoured in this re-branding.
Lyrical connections to later albums
Perhaps not surprisingly, these two muses and their lyrical themes show up again in Taylor’s music in later albums. The connection I’ve already seen a lot of people make is the playing cards reference from Say Don’t Go (‘I’m trying to see the cards that you won’t show’) linking to Cornelia Street (‘back when we were card sharks, playing games’). And I love how this tells the story of someone whose previous relationship impacts how they react in a new relationship. Because the person in Say Don’t Go really did lead her on and played her and then left, whereas the Cornelia Street muse didn’t but Taylor thought as much based on her previous experience (‘I THOUGHT you were leading me on…but then you called, showed your hand…’).
Another parallel to Lover songs is the ‘light in the dark’ theme that starts in This Love with “lantern burning/ flickered in my mind for only you”, which feels very similar to “chandelier still flickering here” from Death by A Thousand Cuts. This relationship/lover is the light that perseveres in the dark, even if it’s just flickering, it never goes out. It lights up the darkness (‘glowing in the dark’), whereas the other relationship is a “shot in the darkest dark”. We obviously get a whole lot more songs in later albums that reference love as light in the darkness, most prominently in Daylight, the Lover album closer. But more subtly, I also think that “Takin’ your time in the tangerine neon light” from Slut, and “hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine” from Cruel Summer follow that same pattern. Something that illuminates the darkness. And just btw, Slut and Cruel Summer give me a very similar vibe in terms of different takes on the same situation…anyone else get that? But one last, maybe more subjective, connection is the line “I’ll pay the price, you won’t”. Which everyone immediately took as a comment on double standards between men and women, but I think it could also be interpreted to mean ‘I’ll happily pay the price and take the hit, so you don’t have to’, if you interpret the song to be about dating a man in public to keep a female partner out of the public eye.  With that in mind, the line becomes very reminiscent of ‘I can never give you peace’ from folklore, both expressing that Taylor wants to shield her lover from the media scrutiny that comes with dating her.  
Suburban Legends alone has so many links to later songs that I had to give it its own paragraph. The chorus ‘I didn’t come here to make friends’ is so ‘I don’t want you like a best friend’ coded, and ‘We were born to be suburban legends’ gives me big reputation/big conversation vibes. Other people have already pointed out that ‘flushed with the currency of cool’ draws links to Gold Rush and Gorgeous (‘You’re so cool it makes me hate you so much’) and ‘so magnetic it’s almost obnoxious’ is very similar to ‘magnetic force of a man’ from Lover. All painting the picture of a person who is so cool and alluring that they feel almost unattainable. The whole premise of the song being that the narrator didn’t come to make friends, but instead is on a mission to get what they want, feels very Mastermind to me. The background music over the outro confirms that, as it’s the same production as Mastermind (I call it ‘game show music’ 😊) and the lyrics saying that the muse now doesn’t knock anymore, suggests to me that maybe the masterplan has worked. Lastly, the conclusion of the song being ‘my life is ruined/I always knew it’ is a different way of saying I’ll happily ruin myself for you, as in ‘for you I’d ruin myself a million little times’ from Illicit Affairs.
We don’t get nearly as many references to the first muse’s themes in later music, but ‘fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole” from Long Story Short is a nice drawback to the wonderland theme. Bottom line though, ‘It was the wrong guy…’.
And there we have it, the story of the two muses of 1989. If anybody here is even remotely as excited by lyrical analysis as I am, this one is for you, and feel free to have a friendly chat in the comments if I’ve missed anything!
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a-strange-inkling · 10 days
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{new segment}
daily headcanons 💫
chrissy has a quiet, hauntingly beautiful voice. however, she always insists that she can’t sing. her mother always told her she has no talent for it. she always blushes and shakes her head adamantly whenever eddie asks to hear her for himself. during their summer in the trailer together, he only manages to catch little essences of it. she’ll go stark quiet when he turns down the radio that she’s singing along to, or if he stops to listen to her humming when she’s watering the plants or washing the dishes. she gives him the side eye when he suggests singing a song out loud while he teaches her guitar to help her follow along. it’s not until a few months later, after he comes home from work and hears her playing his acoustic through his open window, that a sweet lamenting keen accompanying the chords fills his ears. it’s strange and sad and soft. the most lovely, otherworldly sound he’s ever heard in his life. he just listens outside, leaning against the wall by the window, letting her get lost in her song. a similar aria can be heard in the background on several of the tracks of corroded coffin’s first album.
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williamswifey · 1 year
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐓 - 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐘
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pairing ; bella ramsey x fem!reader
summary ; the exit by conan gray, a story told of you and bella’s breakup, and what comes after it
content warnings ; bella is an asshole, slight angst, struggles with sexuality
a/n ; i love doing song fics and i love bella angst so naturally this was fun as hell to write
inspired by conan gray’s the exit
part two
masterlist
february, and the flowers haven't even wilted
it's crazy how fast you tilted
the world that we were busy building
it was february when you and bella’s relationship came crashing down. you two had met four years ago when you were both volunteering at a summer camp, and you quickly bonded over how much you had in common.
you and bella had both struggled with your sexualities for a while—and it was nice to be able to confide in someone who was going through the same thing.
a few months later you got together, and you guys had been dating for three years. you grew up with her, you did everything together.
you thought the two of you were forever, but clearly not. bella’s career had taken off and while you tried your best to keep in contact, you spoke less and less until bella dumped you over text—leaving you in the past, just like they left behind everything else in their life before fame.
mid-november, and i'm sippin' on a half-cold coffee
staring at a girl who's not me
on your arm, a carbon copy.
when bella dumped you earlier that year, it felt like your entire world flipped. you couldn’t get out of bed, you couldn’t do anything.
everything was a constant reminder of bella. it didn’t help they hadn’t bothered to pick up their remaining belongings in the two of you’s shared apartment.
eventually, your friends helped you get back on your feet. you found a new apartment—it was a fresh start. you were currently scrolling on your social media in the family-owned coffee shop across the street from your apartment building, when a painfully familiar face appeared on your explore page.
it was bella. with a girl around their arm.
bella looked different. you noticed they stopped wearing their hair in that half-up-half-down style you adored, and stopped wearing eyeliner like they used to.
instead, their hair was pulled back into a low bun, no makeup on their face as they wore a sweatshirt underneath their jacket.
besides them was a girl, a girl who’s featured eerily resembled yours. you had the same hair and eye color and a similar style.
you felt your chest tighten, as you quickly paid for your coffee and left. you hadn’t been able to take your eyes off the picture, no matter how much it felt like a knife searing into your heart.
feels like we had matching wounds
but mine's still black and bruised
and yours is perfectly fine now
you couldn’t believe that bella had moved on. to be fair, it had been nine months…but your brain still couldn’t wrap around the fact that you no longer mattered to them.
you had gone into your hidden photos album, finding all your pictures with bella. you saw the smiles upon both of your faces, and you wanted to laugh at your past self.
bella…the one person who you genuinely believed would never hurt you, hurt you the most out of anyone you’d ever met in the entire world.
you remembered bella being the person who you trusted most in the world, long before you two even began dating.
it’s funny how things changed.
you still felt like a broken record—far from being okay, but bella seemed to be doing perfectly fine without you.
feels like we buried alive
something that never died
so, God, it hurt when i found out
you remembered the day bella dumped you. bella had texted you earlier that day, saying they wanted to call you. naturally, you were excited—as bella hadn’t texted you for a week, and hadn’t initiated a phone call in much longer. you two had scheduled a time to call, and you had canceled your plans for the entire night just to talk to them.
however, when the time came, bella wasn’t able to call anymore. you felt a pang of disappointment shoot in your chest, dissipating for a moment when you heard your phone chime.
the emotions you felt when you read their text made you want to sob, ‘i can’t do this any longer. i don’t think it’s a good idea to see each other anymore, i’m sorry.’
you cried yourself to sleep that night. and every night for the next three months, wondering where you went wrong.
it felt like there was so much left unsaid between you and bella, your story forever unfinished.
and it hurt even more to know that your story never would be finished, because when you had done some more digging on bella later that night…you found out that the girl in the photo was bella’s new girlfriend. of three and a half fucking months.
you love her, it's over
do you even doubt it on your lips? when you say it?
you love her, it's over
you promised yourself you wouldn’t stalk bella’s social media anymore. but a few days later, you were unable to sleep, and you folded.
you and bella hadn’t spoken to each other since the breakup, but there had been a mutual unspoken agreement at some point to unblock each other on instagram.
so naturally, you proceeded to go through bella’s instagram highlight dedicated to their girlfriend.
bella looked so happy, you knew it. you were happy for them, no matter how much it killed your to know you were no longer the cause of their happiness.
you already found someone to miss
while i'm still standing at the exit.
you had officially gone back on all your progress you had made in term of moving on in a week. this was the lowest you had stooped, however, because you had driven two hours over to you and bella’s old apartment building.
you stopped renting the apartment a while ago, but the doormen still knew you. you caught up with a few of your friends in the area, and felt stupid for being there in the first place. you weren’t going to find bella here, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d probably never see bella again. they weren’t yours to miss.
you stood at the entrance of your old apartment, memories of drunkenly struggling to get the door open with bella as you both fought back loud giggles. you remembered surprising bella with flowers, and you remembered the days they brought you home pizza when they knew you had a hard day. you remembered their teary eyes when they left for the airport, promising to call you every day until they returned. they never did.
it the last day they were ‘your bella’ as you liked to call them— the bella who had loved and cared for you.
your bella no longer existed.
another reminder that it was over.
i can't hate you for getting everything we wanted
i just thought that i would be part of it
i was moving into your apartment
when you and bella first started dating, you remembered making a bucket list of all the things you wanted to do together. you wanted to go skydiving, backpacking across europe, and you wanted to kiss beneath the ball drop on new year’s eve in times square.
the further you looked into bella’s instagram feed, you saw they had done everything on your bucket list—except without you, and with her instead.
your blood boiled when you went through their instagram, and you had to shut down the app before you angrily chucked your phone across the room. it didn’t help to find out that bella and their girlfriend lived together, and you remembered the day you moved into bella’s apartment temporarily, just while you two looked for an apartment to move into together.
you imagined bella with their new girlfriend, did they treat her just as well? did they bring her breakfast in bed, did they leave her tylenol and a cup of water on her nightstand when she was hungover, did they come up from behind her and plant kisses on her cheek while their arms wrapped around her waist?
you didn’t want to know.
when you met someone, she's from your hometown
you hate the east coast, it's where you live now
you learned that bella’s new girlfriend was coincidentally also from england. the way bella treated their girlfriend was different than the way they treated you—like a foreign type of love.
what bothered you the most, was that bella was living it up in manhattan. the exact place you had begged them to move to when you were dating.
were they doing this just to spite you? you wanted to laugh at the thought as you scolded yourself. bella didn’t think about you anymore, they moved on.
it truly wasn’t their problem you were borderline-obsessive, and they had moved on like a normal person.
impossible to understand how you're not coming back
but i can't say it out loud
ever since you had taken an interest in bella again, you expected them to suddenly take an interest in you, too. you checked your instagram dm’s daily, praying that bella would be in your notifications. it didn’t matter that you had 99+ unanswered dm’s, not a single one of them was as important as bella was.
you refused to admit things were over. a month ago, you’d somewhat confidently state that things were over between the two of you, but it was okay. today, you were in denial all over again.
you had ended up getting a job at the coffee shop near your new apartment, and had made a friend there. you told them about bella, and they confided in you about other things that solidified your bond.
it had been pretty slow in the coffee shop that afternoon, so the two of you stood behind the counter chatting.
“come on,” your friend’s heather’s voice rang out from behind the cash register, making you jump, “i know you’re still thinking about them, and as harsh as it is—it’s over.”
you glared at your friend slightly, before you softened your gaze. you knew it was over, but you were allowed to miss them.
“i know,” you replied softly, fiddling with your necklace. the one bella got you for your birthday.
“then say it,” she said, not meaning to be harsh—just helping you accept the truth.
you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. it’s as if the universe knew you needed a distraction from the conversation, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket.
while you expected one of your friends had sent you a tiktok or something along those lines…but you certainly hadn’t been expecting what you saw instead.
while the person that texted no longer had a contact name, you had their number memorized in your head like second nature.
it was bella.
‘hey.’
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ello ello ello!
i am looking for fics where, human or not, crowley and azi grow up being together being friends and turns to lovers ! thank you for your blessed job <3
Hi! We have #childhood friends and #friends to lovers tags, so check those out. Here are some to add to the collections...
Stronger Than Hurt by TawnyOwl95 (E)
Everything changed the summer that Crowley fell off the Eastgate's garage roof and broke his arm. Fourteen years later he stood outside a tattoo shop with a picture of the drawing Aziraphale Eastgate had done on his cast, and hoped for a second chance.
Christmas light by Tigerphoenix (T)
After years of neither hearing form his father nor sibling Crowley is convinced to return to his childhood home. He knew from the start it wasn’t a good idea, but he did it anyway. Maybe something good comes out of it. Aziraphale returns home to his family home every year for Christmas. But Christmas with nine people is exhausting. Nothing wrong with some time alone, right?
I scorn to change my state with kings by bearwonder (T)
They’d seem an unlikely pair, if anyone saw them from the outside — Crowley in black skinny jeans and Aziraphale in beige corduroys — but no one does, and that’s just how they want it. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in kindergarten. This is the story of their lives.
What About Hope? by AppleSeeds (M)
Crowley met Aziraphale in the spring of 1989 while he was on his lunchbreak from the factory, his attention immediately drawn to the posh boy sitting by the canal writing poetry. It was immediately obvious that they came from entirely different worlds, but the time they spent together was the happiest Crowley had ever known. With Aziraphale, Crowley experienced many firsts - his first kiss, his first love... his first heartbreak. Twenty years later, they are reunited when Crowley, now a successful writer and vlogger, comes to work as an Associate Lecturer in the university department where Aziraphale is an academic. Seeing Crowley brings back Aziraphale's intense regret for allowing himself to be persuaded to leave him behind all those years ago. Aziraphale desperately wishes to renew their acquaintance, but Crowley seems determined to keep his distance. Aziraphale can't blame him for not forgiving him, since he has never been able to forgive himself, but when Crowley begins to spend more time with him, Aziraphale is left with the hope that maybe they could at least be friends again - no matter how much it might hurt.
And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe by smolalienbee (T)
If there is one thing to be said about Aziraphale Z. Fell is that he leads an ordinary, quiet life. He lives in Soho, London, above an old bookshop that he’s been fortunate enough to inherit in his late twenties. He likes sushi and good wine. He has a few friends - like Nina, who works at the coffee shop across the street; or Maggie, who runs the record store that he takes an absolute pleasure in frequently purchasing from. (He’s lonely. Terribly so. He’s been lonely for about ten years now, since - he does not want to think about that.) Today is his 35th birthday. At age 15, Aziraphale made a Promise. At age 25, he had an Earth-shattering fight with his childhood - and closest - friend. At age 35, that same friend shows up at his doorstep and suddenly, Aziraphale’s entire world is thrown upside down. A story of something unexpected, something old, something yellow, something stolen, something new and something promised. (It’s going to be a long week.)
Dancing in the Dark by Demonicputto (T)
In search of inspiration for his next album, rock musician Tony Jay is headed to London. It's not the atmosphere he's after, but a reunion with Ezra Fell, his dearest friend from childhood. A one sided, adolescent crush fueled Tony's first songs and, now that they're both older, he's hoping those feelings might finally be requited. But, Ezra may not be ready for that. In his eyes, their relationship is far more complicated. Unlike Tony, he remembers who they truly are: the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale.
- Mod D
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sissylittlefeather · 1 month
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How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 13
A/N: Woof. This one took me a minute. Also, it's a short bridge-type chapter, but don't worry. Next chapter will be LONG and JUICY. This is just a necessary part of the story. Please don't give up on us! ICYMI this is the soulmate/time travel AU between Elvis and a fem!reader.
Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.
Warnings: cussing and angst (a smut-free chapter?! Who am I?! Don't worry. It's coming soon and they will be too 😏)
Word count: ~1.9k
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"Why didn't she come for me?"
******
Elvis spends the next few weeks anxiously waiting for you to show up somewhere. It's clear his mind is elsewhere. Everyone around him notices that something is off, but he won't tell anyone what's going on. He just prowls around like a caged animal, nervous and waiting for something that no one understands. He goes back to Memphis before he has to be back in Vegas in August to film his concert documentary. The only thing that gets him out of his room is Lisa Marie. Otherwise, he mopes around or stays inside.
What no one knows is he's grieving. He's pretty sure he's lost you and his son too. The pain almost overwhelms him and he has a hard time living in his real life. He finds solace in music and spends a lot of time at the piano playing a whole catalogue of new songs. His favorite, though, is a song produced by the Beatles' record label, and he eventually asks to record it later that summer. It ends up on his album for the documentary That's the Way It Is and even makes it into a rehearsal scene with him playing it on the piano and singing. For some reason, the song makes him think of you, so he sings it as often as he can.
Even though it begins to look like he's back to himself, the pain of losing you is omnipresent. He resigns himself to the fact that he will likely never see you or his son ever again. As such, he leans into the documentary and even does a photo shoot with Priscilla over Thanksgiving to try to rekindle the affection he feels for her.
But he still feels like part of his soul has gone missing. It's the same old feeling he always has when he's away from you for too long, but this time it settles in his chest and becomes a part of him. 1970 slips into 1971 and he does his best to move on. 1971 slips into 1972 and he throws himself into work and lets his relationship with Priscilla sour. She moves out and he has a hard time even caring, except that she took Lisa Marie and it just twists the dagger of having already lost one child. There are other girls, like there always have been, but they never fill the void that you leave. He has a you-shaped hole in his heart that no amount of sex or romance or even love can fill. 1972 slides by, he films Elvis on Tour, and he plays shows across the United States. He plays Vegas again and then tours again, hoping that by keeping himself busy he'll notice your absence less.
Finally, he prepares for the Aloha from Hawaii concert that will be broadcast across the world. He tries to get back into peak physical shape and does everything he can to throw himself fully into this concert. In the process, he squashes the last hope of you ever showing up again. It's been three years.
You're gone.
******
Covid hits strong in 2020 and your world gets upended. You learn to work from home, host zoom call happy hours with your friends (even though you're pregnant and can't drink), and wear a mask anytime you're in public, which isn't often. In September, you give birth (alone and in a mask) to your daughter and name her Erin Love. She's perfectly healthy and looks so much like her brother you think you've given birth to his twin. And again you weep. Elvis is missing this and you know it'll break him if he ever finds out.
2020 fades into 2021 and you still can't risk going out with a baby. Every time you start to think it might be safe, a new strain or variant shows up and the world cowers in fear again. Vegas opens, but you're terrified, both of traveling and of the possibility of sending Covid back to 1971.
So, you wait. You wait and you wait and you keep waiting until your baby is old enough and the virus seems to slow down. Still, Vegas, with its masses of people, seems too risky. Finally, in December of 2022 you have an idea. You start making plans to head to Hawaii with both kids and your mom in January of 2023. Hawaii is much more secluded and you know exactly where he will be.
When you ask your mom to come with you, she wants to know why. This is going to be a very expensive vacation and she's not sure why you need her. You sit on her couch trying to decide just how much you should tell her. Eventually, you settle on something very close to the truth.
"John is there. We haven't seen each other in three years." You look down at the ring on your finger.
"I was starting to wonder if he still existed."
"I'm not even sure he'll want to see me..." You look at the ceiling to try to stop yourself from crying, but it doesn't work and the tears come sliding down your face.
"Oh, sweetie. I'm sure he does. He loves you."
"I hope so." She pulls you into a hug.
"I will go with you. I'll watch the kids so you two can get reacquainted."
"Thank you, mom."
Once she agrees to go with you, you drop an ungodly amount of money to stay in his suite and pack up both kids to fly to the islands. You decide not to tell John Jessie why you're going, just in case it doesn't work out. He's almost 6 now and he asks about his daddy damn near everyday. Somehow, he remembers him despite the fact that it's been almost 3 years since he's seen him. Erin's too little to ask questions. She doesn't even know she has a daddy, which breaks your heart every time you think about it.
******
After a rehearsal, Elvis heads to his suite to rest. He's 100% invested in what he's doing. But out of nowhere, he thinks of you again. He hums the song he's designated as yours and goes to work changing out of his jumpsuit.
He's got the zipper all the way down when he hears a sound that makes his heart stop. There it is, the old familiar buzzing. He hasn't heard it in so long. He turns slowly, sees the portal, and practically runs through it without thinking about the fact that he has no clothes packed and is wearing a jumpsuit.
******
When Elvis comes through the portal, he stops and stares at you. He's so in shock that he doesn't know how to respond. Your mouth pops open in awe of him standing there in the American Eagle jumpsuit fully unzipped. He looks better than you could've imagined. Obviously, you've seen the footage, but it really didn't do him justice. He zips it back up and gives you a hard stare.
"It's been three fucking years, y/n."
"I know-" You don't get any further though because John Jessie comes bounding into the room. He runs to Elvis and jumps on him. He's supposed to be napping with your mom in one of the bedrooms.
"Daddy! I heard you!" Elvis grabs him and holds him tightly.
"Heyyy buddy, I missed you so much!" You can tell he's trying hard not to cry. You look nervously towards the bedroom. If your mom sees him in this jumpsuit, it'll be impossible to explain.
"Bubby, where's your grandma?"
"She's asleep." You breathe easier and John Jessie turns back to his daddy. He launches into a monologue that only a 5-year-old can follow, but Elvis sits with him on the couch and listens attentively. You stand and watch the scene and Elvis glances at you every once in a while.
After about 15 minutes, you hear Erin cry from the room where she is taking her nap. Elvis looks up at you, shocked.
"Who is that?"
"That's my sister. She's little still." John Jessie answers knowingly. Elvis's head swivels to you so fast.
"Sister?" You nod and duck out of the room to grab Erin before her crying wakes your mom up. When you come back, Elvis looks at both of you and his eyes are shiny with tears. "Is she-?"
"She's yours." He stands up and immediately takes her from you.
"What's her name?"
"Erin Love."
"Love? Like my..." He trails off and looks at her lovingly.
"Yes. Like your mother." He holds her to himself and looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He pulls back and looks at her again while she babbles to him.
"Baby, do you know I'm your daddy?" She looks up at him.
"Daddy?"
"Yes!" She smiles widely and he holds her close to him again. He looks at you incredulously.
"We have another baby."
"Yes, we do." He kisses her cheek and sets her down on the floor, turning to you. His eyes burn through you and he whispers angrily.
"Where the fuck have you been?! We have a daughter?!"
"Please, Elvis, I can explain."
"You better. I'm going to spend the evening with my kids, but you better have a damn good story when they go to bed."
You nod. How will you get him to understand Covid?
******
He changes into some clothes you have for him and helps you put the kids to bed. Despite not knowing the routine, he proves to be pretty helpful. You're amazed at how well John Jessie remembers him. Your mom seems to just know she should make herself scarce through the whole evening and stays in the room. Once you get both kids in bed, you sit on the couch facing him, heart pounding and stomach in knots. He looks at you with a mixture of sadness and anger.
"Tell me why, y/n."
"There is a new virus." You desperately try to explain everything that's happened over the last three years.
"So you couldn't come to me because of a cold virus?"
"Elvis, you don't understand. This was a global pandemic. Everything was closed and people all around the world were dying. They literally shut down Las Vegas."
"I've been other places." He responds, the anger in his voice obvious.
"I know, but I couldn't risk our kids. Or the possibility of you taking this virus back to your time. I finally feel safe here in Hawaii."
"I don't know, y/n, I'm glad you're okay and I'm especially excited to see the kids. But I thought I'd lost you. I buried you in my mind."
"Did you- did you move on?" For the first time, the reality that your marriage to Elvis might be over hits you in the gut and your eyes widen. Elvis isn't sure how to answer. He has a girlfriend, and technically another wife. But he looks at you sitting in front of him and can't help but feel the connection that's bound you together for over fifteen years. He wants to be angry so badly, but really all he is is sad. Sad that he missed the first two and a half years of his daughter's life. Sad that he went so long without all of you. Sad that you almost feel like a stranger now.
You sit on the couch staring at each other waiting for his answer.
******
Come back soon for Chapter 14!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Taglist:
@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @noirrose21-blog @tacozebra051 @deltafalax
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harlowcomehome · 9 months
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Bentleys and babies:
A Father’s Day fic. 😌
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“Daddy! Daddy!” Jade crawled into bed, lightly tapping at Jack's face to wake him up.
“Hmmm?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What's wrong Jadey?”
“There’s an emergency! I need you to come to the living room! Quick!” She hopped off the bed and ran out of the room. Jack who was still half asleep, and now fully panicking, quickly put on a pair of new balance slides and stumbled his way into the living room.
“What's wrong?” He tried to adjust his eyes to what he was seeing but he was pretty helpless without his glasses.
You already knew that he would forget to put them on, so you had a pair ready for him to wear. You quickly ran over to him, giving him his glasses and then standing back with the girls.
Jack had been busy doing press for his album, but you made him promise to be settled at home for Father’s Day. While he was away, you and the girls got to work, making him a few homemade gifts.
You and Jade made a giant banner, which the three of you were holding up for him. It was covered in flowers and hearts made out of watercolor paints, and giant bubble lettering that you had to do yourself.
“Happy Father’s Day!” is what the banner read, simple and to the point but the effort was definitely there.
Hazel had made him some cookies, she had gotten better at baking over the years and did it fairly often. He always requested chocolate chip and walnut cookies, they were easy to make so she didn’t complain about it.
“Wait, so there isn’t a fire?” He teased realizing Jade was only being dramatic for the sake of him getting out of bed.
Lucky, ran over to him and pawed at his legs. Jack bent down to pick up the family dog before walking over to you and the girls. “This is for me?” He asked Jade teasingly and she couldn’t help but giggle.
“Well yes? You’re my daddy, duh” she giggled again.
Jack looked over at you, realizing you had dressed up for him. You were wearing a light purple summer dress and he couldn’t stop staring at how it hugged you. You pretended not to notice, subtly smiling to yourself.
Hazel brought Jack over a gift bag and you asked him to sit down to open the gift, his brows furrowed.
“I have to sit for this?”
“You might want to” you played coy, shrugging as you took Lucky from him and placed him safely back on the floor.
Jack held the bag up, it was light and you couldn’t contain your excitement. He always did this with gifts, he usually tried to guess what it was before he opened it but you were impatient.
“Open it!”
“Okay! Okay!” He laughed as he took the tissue paper out of the bag, he saw a key in the bag. The leather covering exposed exactly what kind of car it was.
He gasped, looking at you first and then the girls. Hazel smirking because she had been there for a lot of the process and had heard her dad discuss this car several times.
“Baby, you didn’t?” His hand was covering his mouth and he was nearly frozen.
Hazel and Jade shared giggles as they watched their dad remain in total shock.
Hazel handed you your phone out of her pocket and you called Clay, “You can pull into the driveway now!”
Just then you heard the rev of an engine and the four of you walked to the front of your house, you practically dragged Jack outside.
The car he had been talking to you about for the last year or more, was now in his driveway. It was a Bentley from the current year. It had luxury customized interior and was completely customized to Jack specifically.
He saw it and his jaw dropped.
He was speechless, standing at the top of the driveway as Clay got out of the car, tossing you the extra key.
“Surprised huh?” Clay laughed as his nieces ran to hug him.
“How did you keep this a secret?” He laughed, standing in front of the car and inspecting the exterior. “How did I not see this on any of the credit card statements?”
“You are so analytical” you laughed, walking over to him and holding him closer to you by the waist. “I’ll explain later but for now, do you like it?”
“I love it! Can we go for a drive?” He turned to you with a big smile on his face.
“Yeah! That’s also why I had Clay come. Go change your shoes!” You giggled looking down at his slides.
He ran inside and the girls were giggling as they poked and played with their uncle.
“I’ve never seen him that shocked in my entire life” Clay laughed and you did too.
“His face was like this” Hazel mimicked the stunned look on Jacks face making you, Clay and Jade laugh.
Jack came running out of the house ten minutes later in an entirely different outfit and his sunglasses. “I can’t be looking bummy in my new car. Especially when you look so beautiful. I also had to brush my teeth” he laughed.
You felt your cheeks warm up and he kissed you as he jogged to the passenger side to open your door for you.
“Thank you Mr. Harlow” you giggled.
“That’s Daddy Harlow”’ he winked as he walked over to the driver's side. You both waved at the girls and Clay as you pulled out of the driveway.
Jack drove to the end of the street, parking the car on the side of the road.
“Baby, thank you so fucking much” he practically shouted and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for pulling something so big off.
He leaned over to kiss you, you could feel his kisses getting sloppier by the second, his hand reaching up against your neck.
You pulled back, honestly needing to come up for air. “You’re welcome, baby! You work so hard and do so much for us, it’s the least I could do. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, so damn much. This fucking interior is so-“ he rubbed his hands across the steering wheel.
“Sexy huh?” You wiggled your eyebrows.
“Now I know you didn’t wear that dress for no reason right?” He rasped, clearly in a mood.
“Jackman!” You giggled. “It’s daylight!”
“So tonight?” He chuckled but you knew he wasn’t joking.
“Yeah, your mom already said she’d watch the girls” You bit your lip.
“You thought of everything today, didn’t you?”
“It’s your day!” You smiled knowing he deserved it all.
“You knew better than to kiss me like that in this car too” he smirked, his dimple prominent.
“Mhm, put it in drive baby.”
The two of you drove around for an hour just talking about the future, your love, and all the things in between.
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harryyskiwii · 10 months
Text
Summary: You and Harry are childhood friends, but are often labelled as being together.
Pairing: Friend Harry x Reader
Word count: 1,341
A/N: Thank you to the person who requested this! I really hope you enjoy reading it. It was nice to write Harry as the readers friend for a change and not as anything romantic.
As always, please feel free to send in any requests 🥰
You and Harry had been friends ever since you were 13 years old. You met in high school in biology when you were paired up for a task together and ever since then, he’d been by your side.
You had supported Harry throughout the X Factor days, the peak of 1D, the end of 1D, and the start of his solo career and continued to support him as he toured his 3rd studio album.
He had supported you through university as you became a teacher, a lifelong dream you were proud to have achieved, as well as breakups.
Although he was busy and was hardly ever in the same country for longer than 24 hours, he always made the time to speak to you, whether that was just a text back or a phone call.
You were teaching your year 4 class when a notification came through on your Apple Watch from Harry which read “Hey, I’m back in London on Sunday, wanna grab a coffee?” You smiled and took a mental note to reply to it later
You had a short break while you set your children a task to complete and quickly texted Harry back.
“Yeah sure, text me times and I’ll be there😊” you replied.
You didn’t even have to ask him where to meet, you had been going to the same coffee shop in Soho for the last 6 years. Harry always had been a creature of habit.
Sunday came and you got yourself ready for the day, choosing a light pink summer dress with your Doc Martin white sandals and a cross-body bag. It was 29 degrees after all.
You arrived at the coffee shop 10 minutes before Harry, you chose the small booth at the back where it was more private as whenever you two were spotted, there was always a Daily Mail article published the next day about you two ‘dating’ when in fact, neither of you had seen each other in that way. You were too close as friends and anything more would just ruin the friendship, it was purely platonic.
You texted him to let him know where you were sitting to which he responded with a “👍”. A typical Harry response.
It wasn’t long before you saw him walking into the cafe. He smiled at you as he walked towards you.
Cuddling you, he greeted you “Hey you, how are ya?”
“I’m good, not seen you in ages! How are you?” You said as you sat down.
“I know it’s been too long, I’m good. What do you wanna drink and I’ll order?”
“Just a latte please” You smiled and he went up to the counter.
He ordered and came back to the table. He removed his crossbody bag from the black North Face puffer he was wearing and smiled at you.
“What?” You laughed when he didn’t lose eye contact “I’ve just missed you, that’s all. Tell me, what’s been going on?”
The coffee came and you started to tell Harry about how school had been and how you had been given a new class to teach, you also mentioned about your trip to Manchester you had with your 4 girlfriends for a hen party recently and then how you were seeing this guy from Tinder.
“Spill” is all Harry said when you mentioned him. He was always up for listening to you and your random Tinder dates.
“Okay, so I met him last weekend after speaking to him for about 2 weeks, we went for dinner in a nice Italian restaurant but this is the thing”
“Oh no, there’s a but coming. What’s wrong with this guy?” Harry questioned and you laughed.
“Well we then went onto a bar and when we got in there, I assumed we were doing rounds because that’s what I always do no matter who I’m out with, it’s just common sense to pay for one lot of drinks then the other person gets the next but when we went up to the bar, he only ordered for himself. Like he didn’t even ask what I wanted, I was about to ask him what he wanted but he was ordering already and so I assumed he would order for me but he never and the bartender brought over one pint. Do you find that weird?” You asked.
Harry didn’t even pause before he came out with “Trash, trash, trash, not for you. Absolutely not. I’m sorry but move on”
You burst out laughing at his reaction, he was probably right after all.
“So I take it you’re not a fan of this guy then no?” You said sarcastically.
“A person who can’t even buy a drink for the person they’re with isn’t worth your time, like you said it’s just natural to take it in turns” Harry said as he sipped on his black coffee.
“You’re right, I’ll find someone else. Anyway, what’s going on with you?”
He sighed “not a lot to be honest” he said.
“Not a lot? Come on I’ve not seen you for 4 months and not a lot has happened?” You asked digging deeper.
“I’ve genuinely just been working. I’ve written a little bit too but mostly working. I’ve got a new pleasing line coming out soon in the next year or so which is exciting” he said with the most monotone voice ever.
“You don’t seem too excited about it?” You asked noticing his change in demeanour.
“It’s just a lot, but we’re getting there” he forced a smile.
“Are you though? You know I’ve always said about speaking to Jeff if things are getting too much?”
“No it’s fine like I love touring, it’s my favourite part of the job it’s just quite demanding at times”
“Remember, you’re number 1. You need to look after yourself first because without Harry, there’s no show and I know how much you love performing so please make sure you’re looking after yourself. You know I’m always here if you wanna chat anything through” You smiled to him.
“Thanks y/n I appreciate that, I’m maybe just overtired and grumpy at the minute” he laughed.
For the rest of the morning, you spent sipping coffee and chatting with Harry. It was nice to spend time with him, even though it was only a couple of times a year.
You walked out of the cafe and said goodbye to Harry, hugging him.
“Nice seeing you, next time I'm in London we’ll meet up again” Harry said.
“Yeah it was fun! Remember to look after yourself!” you said.
“I will, come here” he said pulling you in for a cuddle.
“Thanks for today, I felt like I really needed it” he said to you.
“It’s no problem, text me anytime okay?”
“Okay, thanks y/n. See you later” Harry smiled as he walked away from the coffee shop.
That night, you were scrolling through Twitter when you saw a photo of you and Harry earlier that day with the headline “Harry Styles meets up with childhood sweetheart for coffee date” You rolled your eyes and laughed at the article which dug into your friendship a little.
You screenshotted the image with the headline and sent it to Harry with “I’m your childhood sweetheart am I? 🤣”
He replied only 10 minutes later “Ffs, next I’ll be dating my mum”
You laughed at his response, there always had been rumours of you two going out whenever you were spotted but if anything it just made you laugh.
And for the rest of that night, you watched as the image of you two hugging was doing the rounds on Twitter, much to your amusement.
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