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amesstm · 3 years

Text

Prom???

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Word Count: 2K

Summary: After coming to Japan as a transfer student from America your senior year, you miss out on prom. The Nekoma volleyball team comes to cheer you up.

A/N: I come from America so this is based off of what I know about prom. I know that prom is usually an American and Canadian thing, but just imagine a big dance where people dress fancy but dance dirty on the floor lol

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Prom was the crème de la crème of every American senior’s year. Unfortunately, being a transfer student in Japan meant that you had to travel to Japan in April to start the school year. Now, you were missing out on spending prom season with your friends.

A soft sigh unwillingly escaped your throat as you sat down on the bench in the gym. You pulled out your clipboard, ready to observe any improvements made from the boys today. Since you were spending a year in Japan, you decided that you could afford being a manager for Nekoma’s volleyball team. After some convincing from Kenma, your host family’s son, you agreed. Since you had some knowledge about volleyball from watching the Summer Olympics so much, it wasn’t too difficult fully understanding the tiny details of the game.

You were so engrossed in the multiple papers you had on each member that you didn’t realize that Kuroo, the captain, sat beside you.

“What’s wrong, Y/N-chan?” He asked, his minty breath wafting your face. You turned to look at him and was met with concerned eyes that dared you to lie to him. Kuroo always knew what was wrong. Not only was he good at reading the spikers’ movements, but he could also read you just as easily.

“Let me show you,” you replied as you reached for your phone. You unlocked it and tapped on some photos your friends sent you. They had taken the time to send pictures of prom dresses they thought were cute. Your heart ached when you remembered that you wouldn’t receive a reply until they woke up.

“Ah, it’s... prom, right?” Kuroo said before turning it into a question. You couldn’t expect him to know when most Japanese schools don’t have formal dances.

You nodded with a small pout, “Yeah, prom is very huge in America. I didn’t always want to go but going with my friends seemed really fun.”

Kuroo hummed, probably not understanding the significance of a school dance. After all, the last time he went to one was probably a festival in middle school. But the way you were pouting tugged at Kuroo’s heart.

The captain promised himself he’d focus on getting into nationals and graduate. His dreams could afford no distractions – but why was he enjoying the feeling of being sidetracked? An idea lit itself in Kuroo’s head. He knew exactly what to do.

After returning to school on Monday, you witnessed Kuroo act even more weird than usual. You sat behind him in advanced English, waiting for class to start. Obviously, the class was really easy so you could afford not preparing for now.

Then, you heard murmuring from Kuroo as he hovered over a piece of paper on his desk. Peering from the side, you grumbled that you couldn’t see what he was muttering. His broad shoulders were definitely useful on the court for blocking, but now they were blocking your view.

“Kuroo-san, what are you doing?”

Your sudden voice must’ve surprised him, because he jumped in his desk and quickly hid the paper. The whites of his eyes were as clear as day and his mouth was still agape. Something clicked in your head.

“Was that a...” You raised a finger and pulled out your phone to look up the right words. “Was that a dirty note?”

A rush of hyena laughter met your ears, causing everyone to look at you two. You looked up from your phone to see Kuroo hunched over from laughing so hard. You rolled your eyes as he forced himself to calm down, heaving all the while.

“Why? Are you curious, Y/N-chan?” He asked, with his eyebrows wiggling at you. He teased in a manner that could be interpreted in a manner that needed no translation. All you did was blink at him. He whined, “Don’t look at me like that. You look like Kenma when you do that.”

“Kenma taught me well,” you replied, sticking your tongue out. “So, what was that paper?”

“O-oh, I’m just preparing something,” Kuroo said, scratching the back of his neck. A soft pink tinged his cheeks and his eyes averted from yours.

How suspicious, but cute.

You shrugged, he’d surely tell you what it was sooner or later. Besides, the arrival of the teacher meant you couldn’t pester Kuroo for an answer now.

Soon, the school day ended with Kuroo still acting odd(er than usual). Kenma found you by your locker to begin your usual walk to the gym after school. Despite attending Nekoma for a month now, you still managed to lose yourself in the big halls. Hence, Kenma was your personal guide unless you two had different classes – aka you two never saw each other except for lunch.

Once you were finished, Kenma and you walked towards the gym. “Are you excited for practice, Kenma?”

As usual, his short answer was: “No.”

You chuckled, “One day, there’ll be a reason you’re excited for volleyball.”

“Doubt it,” he murmured in return.

A comfortable silence settled between you two. Kenma tapped away on his game and you enjoyed the last bits of sakura season. Sure, the pollen gave you sinus headaches but the photo shoot you had when you first came here was worth it.

A small trail of sakura flowers led to the entrance of the gym. You joked, “Someone must like sakura flowers.”

Kenma sneezed softly and muttered. “He’s lucky that I like him.”

You raised an eyebrow, about to ask what he meant, until Kenma opened the doors. Upon entering the gym, there was a center of sakura flowers accumulated in the middle. With a grin, Kuroo held up a sign that said: The only flower I want to take to prom is you. ♡

The bold, red letters in English were written with a shaky hand until touched up by someone more confident. Sakura flowers were carefully drawn and colored it, with patches of glitter thrown here and there.

“Awh, is this for me, Kuroo?” You asked, a smile bursting onto your face. You raised your hands to your face, shielding yourself from the cameras that were pulled out to record.

Kuroo nodded with a proud smile on his face. You approached him, unsure what to do. After all, this was the first time someone made such an effort into asking you out. “I don’t know if I did this right. I saw some videos of ‘promposals’ on YouTube, but I don’t-”

“This is perfect,” you said, quieting him by putting a finger to his lips. Then, the manager in you began to think logically about how this ‘prom’ would be pulled off. “W-wait, how are you going to do this dance?”

“Don’t worry, I got it covered,” Kuroo smiled confidently, raising a thumb at himself.

“Kenma, have you ever went shopping for anything but video games or food?” You asked, as you two drifted to a dress shop that Kenma’s mom had to recommend. Clearly, Kenma knew nothing about these types of shops until you asked him where they would be.

“Only if Kuroo drags me along to get sports gear,” he said with a shrug. His eyes were glued to a game, but he was still able to reply to you as if he gave you his absolute attention. You could never understand how he has yet to walk into a pole, either.

You shrugged, “Makes sense.”

Upon entering the shop, you two were immediately met with rows on rows of dresses. Drawn by a magnetic pull, you flew towards a section containing your favorite color. Eyes glimmering with the giddiness of a kid in a candy shop, you placed your hand on the silky material.

The best part? It had pockets.

Grinning, you asked a worker if you could try it on. Kenma mindlessly followed you to wait outside the changing rooms. The straps were a bit difficult to sort through; otherwise, it fit like a glove. You stepped out of the fitting room, and called Kenma to attention.

After he paused his game, Kenma looked up. His usual cat eyes widened slightly. “You look pretty.”

You beamed, “Should I get it then?”

Kenma nodded rigorously. Underneath his breath, too low for you to hear, he murmured, “Kuroo will like it a lot.”

The volleyball team managed to secure the gym for the event and decorated it to the fullest. You don’t know how they did it in such little time. The lights were dimmed except for some lights that you recognized from Kenma’s set up in his room. Little things here and there were objects that you remember the boys talking about in previous conversations.

Coach Nekomata smiled kindly as you entered. “You look beautiful, Y/N-san.”

“Thank you, coach,” you replied. “Thank you for doing this, too. I know it must’ve been a lot of work.”

“Oh, it wasn’t! Kuroo set it all up and I just watched,” the old man replied with a hearty laugh straight from his chest.

You blushed. Kuroo kept his promise. He said he would make it happen and it did. Speaking of which, your date had come prepared from the coach’s room. A small box was in his hands.

Unlike Kuroo’s usual, confident swagger, he seemed timid as he approached you. “I-I also saw that prom dates give this to each other.”

He opened the box, revealing a beautiful corsage that matched perfectly with your dress.

“How did you know my dress would look like this? I wanted it to be a surprise.” You pouted.

Kuroo blinked, “Kenma sent me a photo.”

You also blinked. Then you looked to the traitor pudding-head beside the rooster. “KYANMA!”

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you hid behind your hands once more. You murmured, “Ah, I was in my natural state.”

“You’re breath-taking, don’t hide yourself from me,” Kuroo whispered into your ear, hints of a smile in his voice.

Now you were definitely red and about to burst. You laughed, “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t give away compliments for no reason.” His genuine smile melted away the insecurities that bubbled to the surface. With your facial expression softening, he took the cue to lead you to the dance floor.

The different colored lights cascaded to drape Kuroo in beautiful lighting. Red was truly his color, as his face was shaded with the hue. Something about the mood shifted as his hands made their way to your waist.

Deciding to take the lead, Kuroo swung you two back and forth. The song was slow, so he adjusted as needed to match the beat. Should you have told them that American proms were basically fancy clubs with promiscuous music? Probably; although Coach Nekomata would definitely not approve.

Oh well, I can grind on Kuroo later. Wait -

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Kuroo chuckled as he lifted your face to look up at him.

You pouted with a glare, “I-I wasn’t looking at you like that!”

“You wish you were,” Kuroo laughed as your eyes widened.

“Why are you like this?” You scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“But you like me, don’t you?” He smirked as his eyes danced with mischief.

Okay Sky-Daddy, please kill me. As if Kuroo read your face, he hastily said, “Don’t worry, I like you, too.”

Your breath hitched, “But I’ll have to go back to America, Kuroo.”

“I know. Trust me, I know,” Kuroo sighed. “But in the little time that I’ve known you, I’ve already started to like you. Heck, it feels dangerous.”

“I don’t want to start something that might end on other sides of the globe,” you admitted.

Kuroo’s eyes drooped, “I know.”

“But I want to try,” you reassured. How could you possibly express yourself in a different language right now? Then, you remembered the phrase. It couldn’t be directly translated to English, but the feeling was universal. “It’s like ‘koi no yokan’.”

Kuroo grinned with a soft laugh, “Exactly. So, we’ll try dating?”

“Yes, Kuroo,” you affirmed with a smile gracing your features.

“Call me Tetsu.”

#kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu kuroo #haikyuu x reader

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queenofthefallenangels · 4 years

Text

She’s Mine Part 2

Jon Moxley X Reader

Rated M

Warnings: I don’t think theres any for this chapter

Chapter Summary: After breaking it off with Jon, she reflects on her relationship with Kenny and how it all started with Jon that fateful night.

Tags: @abadamn @hotyeehawman

The next night was the show. I always got their early and ended up staying late most show nights. I would be on my feet endlessly trying to help people and making sure that no last minute changes needed to be mad. I worked very hard at my job especially seeing how I was lucky to even have a job here. I needed to keep that job here. I had been worried about losing it ever since the affair started with Jon especially since Kenny was the one that got me the job in the first place.

Kenny and I met while he was in Japan wrestling and I was in school on a forgein exchange program in Japan and my roommates had talked me into going with them to one of the wrestling matches. I had very little interest back then in wrestling. My roommate told me that Japanese wrestling was nothing like American wrestling and she thinks I would love it if I gave it a chance. She was right. I adored wrestling as soon as I saw it the first time. After I came home from the first time seeing it, I began to do tons of research on the different types. I had become obsessed going to a match every night that they had one.

That was how I met Kenny. Kenny was wrestling one night when I was in the front row. He had done a high dive onto the person outside of the ring. Only, he missed his mark and went flying into me. He knocked me off my feet in more ways than one.

Medics took me behind the scenes to get checked up on as the matches resumed. They were going to take me to the ER, because it looked like I had gotten a concussion. I had no friends with me because for some dumb reason I went by myself tonight. Everyone else was busy with school work, but I had made sure my schoolwork was done before I came here tonight.

Kenny had heard that I was back here and came rushing back there to make sure I was okay. He said he felt horrible for the botched move he did. I am not exactly sure what I told him, but my memory is hazy from that night, but I remember him there. I remember him deciding to come with me because I had no one else to go with me. He waited in the waiting room while they looked at my head and made sure I got home okay.

“You know, a girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone.” He had told me while we were outside my dorm room.

I shook my head, “I should know better, but I really wanted to see the matches tonight. I didn’t think I would actually be in the matches.”

He smiled and chuckled softly at my joke. “You are really a dedicated fan.”

“Yes, I guess I didn’t grow up with wrestling like my roommates. I want to see what I missed all these years. I really love it.”

He nodded and leaned in, “You know, I have to say, you are the cutest girl I have ever fallen on while doing that move.” My cheeks darkened as the blood rushed to them. Was he actually saying this to me? I couldn’t believe my ears.

He slipped me a number into my hands before kissing my cheek. “I hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind me doing that.”

“I don’t have one.”

“All the better.” He said with a sweet smile before he left me standing there.

I texted him the next day, not even waiting as long as everyone told me to. He asked me out to dinner to make up for the concussion and I agreed. Just like that the rest was history.

Kenny and I were really happy together. The hardest part used to be the long distance we had while I finished school and he traveled. He wouldn’t let me quit though. He said it would all be worth it some day. He made that promise to me and it seemed like it was fulfilled when he was able to get me a writing job with absolutely no experience in writing. He made sure that we would never spend days apart like we used and everything was perfect or so I thought. It wasn’t until the night that he won the belt from Jon Moxley.

---

I was running to go congratulate Kenny on winning the belt when someone stopped me in my tracks. It was Don. He was part of Kenny’s new gimmick to help merge some people with impact into AEW. I had met him once before and he rubbed me the wrong way. He really did now with his hand in the air stopping me. “Kenny is busy right now.” “He can’t be too busy for his girlfriend,” I said crossing my arms. Kenny was never too busy for me. He always made time for me. Don scoffed and rolled his eyes, but let me pass through anyway. I smiled as I passed through and saw Kenny sitting there. “Kenny,” I said, opening my arms with a hug, but he didn’t hug back. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at me. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, she asks. Like you don’t know what’s wrong. You have still been helping Jon write promos.”

“He just asks me to go over a few things with me. Just like some of the other guys do. Adam still does at times. Jon basically writes his own and just asks me how it sounds. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is, girl,” Don interjected. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Don. “I am doing my job. It is the one that you wanted me hired on for, Kenny,” I pointed out. “I don’t get what the big deal is about me working with Jon or how it is any different from any other guy on the roster.”

“Little girl,” Don started, but Kenny stopped him.

“Let me talk with her about it alone.” He said as he took my hand and led me to the corner. I bit my lip. I didn’t like where this was going. Kenny never had a problem with me working around other men before, so why now? Why Jon? It couldn’t be just because they had a rivalry on the show. That was planned to be over soon.

“I don’t want you helping Jon anymore. He can do great promos on his own. We are supposed to be against each other. It looks bad with you helping him if others see that they might think something of us up. Besides, he might be using you. You know, as a way to get into my head. He is just using you to get to me. He might think that he can use you as a way to get me jealous or something stupid like that.” My mouth dropped at his words, “What, you don’t think he would actually ask for my help otherwise?” I couldn’t help the small tinge that his words made me feel. Kenny shook his head, “You're a great writer in all, but he has said a million times he doesn’t want writers' help with his promos. Why would he pick you out of all the writers to help? I think it’s better if you stay away before you end up getting hurt in this mess.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe the words he was saying. Jon treated me like a friend. It was no lie, I had been a huge fan of his when I found him during my research of the WWE. I might have developed a small crush on him. The fact remained he was married and I was with Kenny. It was nothing more than a harmless friendship where we help each other. “I don’t think Jon is using me to get to you. Maybe he is actually genuine. Maybe he actually likes my writing.”

“That man doesn’t have a genuine bone in his body.” Kenny sneered. “Whatever he made you think is a lie.” “Why are you acting so jealous, Kenny?” This wasn’t like Kenny at all. I didn’t know what was going on here, but whoever this man was it wasn’t Kenny.

Kenny cocks his head to the side, “Is there something I need to be jealous of? I am just trying to protect your feelings here. I know what a big fan of his you were and it's easy to get caught up in, but is there something I need to be jealous of now?” His eyes darkened a bit as he looked at me. “

“Of course not. He’s married.” I snapped. “Why do I need protecting? I can take care of myself.” “I don’t care if he’s married or not. If there is something I need to concern myself with tell me!” Kenny hissed.

“No, Kenny, you are acting ridiculous.” This was so out of character of him to be like this. He never cared who I was around before. I could be around tons of different guys and he never cared. Why now? And why with Jon?

“I gotta have you on my side, (Y/N),” Kenny told me. “You’re my number one girl and I want to show you off. I have plans of you coming out with me on stage.” He wrapped his arm around me.

“Why?” I asked. He had never wanted me part of his act before. Why would having the belt make any different. I looked down at my outfit. I wasn’t exactly wearing something you could go out on stage with. It was office casual at best. “What would I wear?”

“Don,” He called Don back. “Show her the outfit.” He said snapping his fingers. Don nodded as he pulled out the outfit. My mouth dropped. It wasn’t a bad outfit by any means. It just wasn’t..something I would wear. It was a tight black dress that was very short with black sparkly pumps.

“Uh, babe, I like it, but it’s not something I would wear.” I said biting my lip. Heels and me had never done good together and that dress was so short. I was nervous that I was going to embarrass myself on national tv.

“Come on, you will look great in it.” He said with a smile. “Go try it on for me.”

I sighed and did that to make him happy even though I was not in this dress at all. I did my best to walk in the heels but my ankles bent all around in them. It was not comfortable at all.

Did I wear it for Kenny that Wednesday night? Yes, of course I did. I allowed him to show me off as well like I was some trophy wife with his new belt. I didn’t know who I hated more, the belt or Don for changing Kenny. Kenny never cared what I wore. He never wanted me to dress up so he could show me off. He was proud of who I was and wouldn’t have ever made me wear that dress.

I left Kenny in catering to go get some air after his bit with the belt. I leaned against the wall and slid my way down to the ground, kicking off my shoes as I did. I didn’t mean to start crying. It kind of just happened. Kenny was acting like an asshole and I just wanted the Kenny I loved back. I would have been fine if this was just an act on stage, but he was changing off stage too.

“Hey,” came a voice. I looked up to see Jon come out of a puff of smoke. “You know crying in the alleyway isn’t the best idea.” He said sitting down next to me. He let out a slight groan as he got down. I rolled my eyes at him. “I would hate to see what would have happened if it wasn’t me that stumbled onto you. Now, what's wrong, kitten?” He asked me. I don’t understand why, but anytime he called me kitten butterflies flew around in my stomach and a small smile came on my face.

“Nothing, it’s just Kenny is being...an asshole.” I sighed. “He doesn’t want me working with you anymore.” Jon raised an eyebrow at me. “Why not?” He asked.

I shrugged, “You are using me as a way to get in his head to make him jealous.”

Jon let out a low chuckle. “Oh, wow.” He shook his head before taking another puff of his cigarette. “I didn’t know he thought that little of me. I don’t use people. I work with you, because you actually have good ideas unlike some of the other crap writers they got around here.” I let out a small giggle. “So, you aren’t using me?” I asked him.

“No! I would never use someone just to make someone jealous and if I wanted to make Kenny jealous.” He looked over at me, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. They were looking down at me in the dress. “It wouldn’t have gone like that.” His eyes met back up to mine. “Besides, I think you need to reevaluate who is using who here. That’s a nice dress, but it doesn’t seem like you.”

I shook my head. “No, I hate it. I don’t mind skirts or dresses, but I can’t wear heels and it felt like he was showing me off like a trophy. Like look guys, I have a hot young girlfriend you wish you had. I don’t like that side of him. He used to like me for who I was not because he could show me off.” I said letting another tear fall. Jon reached up with his rough and calloused thumb and wiped it away. “Thank you, Jon.” I said resting my head on his hard shoulder.

“For what?” He asked.

“For being my friend and not using me.” I said. We sat there in silence for a bit before Jon spoke again.

Well, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Before I knew it his lips were crashing onto mine. I couldn’t believe it. My heart did somersaults as his scent hit my nose. Cigarettes and mint. A spark hit me as we kissed. Something I never felt kissing anyone before. That was how my affair with Jon Moxley all began. He kissed me in a dirty alley and after that we couldn’t get enough.

#jon moxley #jon moxley smut #jon moxley x reader #jon moxley fanfiction #jon moxley x y/n #Kenny Omega #kenny omega x reader

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limenysnocket · 4 years

Text

Attention and Company

I couldn't help myself. @honorarytenenbaum

Summary: Sometimes you need someone to chill with, and that's okay. Maybe that person is your boyfriend who also gets a little roughed up at work sometimes. Pubs can sustain you both for only so long, but what you really need is to curb yourselves in the mall parking lot, right next to a shaved ice food truck.

Warnings: Just some light swearing, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and some brief mentions to "raunchy" behavior. This is a soft fic for y'all tonight, out here needin' some gentle lovin'.

A/N: Got some lonely feelings right now. I just wanna hug someone, dude. Yo, we could totally watch a movie over discord sometime... maybe.

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Today sucked. Flat out. The bags under your eyes didn't lie, and now here you were, outside of your studio, sitting on the hood of your car, eating a granola bar to stave off hunger for a few more hours. Hopefully.

You pull your phone from your pocket, looking at the time for a moment, then looking at your screensaver. It was the only thing that could make you smile. You had your arm wrapped around one of your closets friends, Taika, and the phone didn't capture it, but he had his arm wrapped around your waist. His curls were all messed up, and the picture perfectly showed how drunk you both were by the fuzzy pink on your cheeks. It was 99 cent beer night at one of the local pubs, and unlike the first one held at a baseball game, all went well.

Of course, there was a limit to how much the two of you were allowed to drink, but that didn't stop the many failed attempts at stealing other people's drinks while they were looking away, just to get a taste more. Didn't matter that you guys were eventually thrown out of the bar for breaking rules and coming close to breaking a few faces, you had a great night.

That night also lead to a few other places, including his hotel room, but that end of the story has to be saved for another time.

Instead of staring at your phone for another century, you decide to unlock it and dial the man up. You knew he was somewhere around here, either charming his way onto another movie set to mess with his rich friends, or getting his tired ass kicked by daylight savings.

His number was saved to your favorites, so dialing him was quick and easy. The wait for him to pick up didn't last long either.

"Talk to me..."

God, his voice sounds like one big yawn. Looks like he needs a bit of perking up too.

"I've got two curbside tickets to eat a snow cone and watch kids do loops on their bikes in the parking lot. One of those tickets has your name on them," you grin, despite sounding exhausted too. The day really made you strain your voice.

His musical laughter really makes the sun look brighter from its low position in the sky.

"That's oddly specific... where would these magical tickets take me afterwards?" He had cocked his eyebrows up and leaned against his office door while he spoke to you.

"If this were a booty call, I would have told you already, Taik," you snort and tease him. "So, it's either make yourself fat on some weirdly flavored snow cone, or take your horny-ass home."

"Okay, okay... I'd like to make myself fat for a night, as long as your there," his voice is dreamy, desperate and warm. "You there already?"

"Nope," your lips pop the p, "but I'm nearby."

"I swear to God, if you're talking and driving, I'm gonna whoop your ass," Taika stood up, acting serious when he was just really worried about your safety in general.

"I'm not, I'm fine," you laugh again. "Not even in the car. Sitting on it though, trying to convince the world's sexiest man to go out with me again."

"And you said this wasn't a booty call," he retorts over the phone, making you playfully glare at the asphalt on the road. It's like he's in front of you.

"You coming or not?" you change the subject and you hear him laugh again, but softer.

"Yeah... I'll be there in a few minutes, gorgeous."

He always made goodbyes so easy. Maybe it was because you both knew you would be seeing each other again, no matter what circumstances you were thrown into. But the dial tone still had its effects.

You slip off the hood of your car, and take a seat in the driver's seat. The warm summer air makes your skin glow, and your brain went fuzzy only imagining it doing the same to Taika.

The drive feels so quiet. For a moment, you actually thought about calling him again, but you knew for a fact that he wouldn't pick up if he was driving.

As predicted, kids are zooming around on their bikes, showing off to their friends or trying to be cool, even though they all were obviously teary-eyed each time they scraped a knee. It was amusing to you and Taika, especially when some of the older boys would try to catch your attention and zip past you and Taika. It ended up being a heckle fest in the end, and some kid always went home with his butt hurt.

Keys and wallet in hand, you trek to the small, blue trailer tucked in the corner of the parking lot.

"Damn, you must have beat me here by just a few seconds," Taika calls, rustling his way through the small spaces between a couple of cars.

"Well, you've never been a speed demon type, so last place is your calling when it comes to racing," you guwaf and grin at him. He rolls his eyes and comes to walk right next to you.

"I pride myself on road safety," he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You glance at him from the side, just to silently check up on him. His hair was tousled and his eyes were resteless. It looks like he had it rough from the start. He had struggled to get dressed this morning, but picked the most eccentric clothes in his closet to make up from his lack of sleep.

"Dare you to try the dill pickle flavor this time," his cocky tone wakes you up.

"Like hell I will," you snort as you finally reach the trailer, where a teen boy happily greets the both of you.

"Oh come on, it'll be funny," he eggs you on, his bottom lip pouting.

"Keep trying to make me get dill pickle, and the next time we have a movie night together, I'm getting the pizza," you sniff and he rolls his eyes. He thinks it is an odd threat. "And I'm making it all Hawaiian pizza." That got his attention.

"Bull shit, you would never. Not on a perfectly good pizza!" He gasps.

"Oh, just watch me, pineapple boy," you snicker and point to his pineapple print shorts. You break conversation to order two piña colada flavored snow cones. Taika usually took for-fucking-ever when it came to picking a single flavor, so ever since the second time you've been out here with him, he assigned you to choose for him. He usually got what you got.

Now, you wait.

You plop yourself down on the curb, as you promised, and he joined you with a long, loud groan. You give him a bewildered stare, wondering if his age had really gotten him this much. He smiles at you through a wince.

"Sat on my keys," he wheezes and chuckles at his own stupidity under his breath.

Your eyes float down to where he pulls out his keys and you start giggling quietly.

"Oh, come on, I'm sure you've done the same thing," Taika says, not handling the fact that you have new material to mess with him, and also trying to get some stories out of you.

"Well yeah, but I don't sit down as violently as you do," you prod his bicep, and he laughs.

"Such a lady. Must sit down gracefully and slowly," he says, mocking an English accent, but he was horrible at accents so of course it was bad. You smack his bicep this time, and he playfully flinches, like it hurt.

"I really need to get you into some accent classes or some shit, before you get your teeth knocked out," you shake your head with a smile.

"What? I think I'm great at accents. My American accent is the best one yet, don't you think?" He smirks at you, and proceeds to demonstrate. "All you have to do is put an 'er' at the end of everything, right? That's totally how they speak around here."

"I would be careful, Mr. Waititi. Could get in some trouble if you say that too loudly," you roll your eyes, and he sighs. Yeah. Things were going to shit in LA. It was clear to everyone, but what could two hollywood producers do to stop things like that? Keep making films, you guess.

"Two, large piña coladas!"

You look up, and so does he.

"I'll get them," you volunteer, but he places his hand on your shoulder before you could get up.

"Let me," he speaks softly, in a damn near whisper.

He stands up and strides right over to the trailer with so much confidence, you're envious. He comes back with two large styrofoam cups in hand, spoons, and a warm smile. His smile was always warm. It set fire in your belly.

He sits down a bit more carefully this time, even though his car keys were sitting in the grass, far away from his landing zone. He hands you your cup and a spoon.

"Do these have alcohol in them?" He nudges you with your elbow and you shake your head.

"As if they would let a seventeen-year-old serve alcoholic beverages," you throw in logic.

"I dunno... ever been to a ballpark before? Pretty sure some of those kids are way too young to be peddling there too, but that doesn't stop people from hiring them," he says while pointing his spoon at you.

"Fair point," you finish, then look at your snow cone. You decide to start eating before it melts.

Silence swarms the air, but comfortably. There's the occasional murmur of cicadas or humming cars drowning them out. Birds would land on the scorching asphalt to pick at whatever crumbs were left by other patrons, before fluttering away at the sight of a zooming bike getting too close for comfort.

Taika will point out a few of the kids doing tricks. He picks his favorites for the night, and he keeps himself busy by watching them. You, on the other hand, are occupied with him. You examine him from the tips of his dirty white chucks, to his frazzled hairdo.

"You look like shit," you mutter. He barely pays you mind and that comment was hardly acknowledged. It was like the air had gone a bit stiffer. He was hiding something from you.

"What's going on, Taik?" you worry. He never kept things from you, unless they were hard to bear.

He sets his cup down and holds his hands together. He looks so tired. So solemn.

"Today was total shit," he whispers and runs a hand through his hair.

"Well, yeah, I get that. I wouldn't have known if you had looked a little spiffier," you say, reaching out and gently tucking a curl on his forehead back in place with all the rest of its friends.

"Look, I--..." he says, turning to you, lips parted slightly, and a yearning sensation bubbling from the tips of his fingers as he rests a single hand on you.

There were tough times with the occupancy you both, willingly, chose. The hardest part about it was making friends, or making love, then finding out you have to leave it behind for a new location the next morning.

"I have to leave... for Sydney..." he says, reaching to gently take your cheek into the palm of his hand.

"When?" you manage, though you were clearly becoming upset.

"In a few weeks. Thor is waiting for me," he sighs, barely able to look at you while his thumb rubbed your ample cheek.

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"I don't want to leave you," he says, tilting your head up just the slightest bit. "And I don't want to stop loving you."

Your eyes search his for a moment, wide and a bit confused.

"I thought you said we were just a fling with--"

He cuts you off, "A fling with benefits. I know..." he sighs again, "but every time I find myself waiting for you to call on a shitty day, each time you rest your head on my shoulder, all the times you smile at me and tease me, I find myself falling... more in love with you." He has to pause to breathe.

It's so quiet. Dangerously quiet.

"What happens if I love you too...?" you muster your courage, and look right into his expressive, brown eyes.

"I don't know," he says to you, thumb still rubbing circles.

"Guess there's only one way to find out, huh?" you breathe, and he nods.

Still as statues, you wait for words to touch the air. It's only when his foot makes a wrong move and knocks over his snow cone, does the tension break.

His bottom lip pouts for him again and you quietly pick his spoon up off the ground. You clean it on your shirt and hand it to him, all before taking your cup, and holding it out to share. He smiles down at you, taking his spoon from your hand and sticking it into the shaved ice.

Your head leans against his shoulder when the sun disappears behind the mall building.

"I love you too," you whisper.

"I know," he says back, sucking at the tip of his spoon.

"Think we can keep this up over the phone?" you ask, wondering about a brief virtual relationship, just until one of you catches a break.

"Guess there's only one way to find out, huh?" he says, lowering his spoon, wrapping his arm around you, and giving you his full attention.

#taika waititi #taika waititi x reader #fanfiction #taika waititi imagine #taika waititi imagines #taika waititi x you #taika waititi/you #fluffy

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

Please write 20 (just dumped by partner before the holidays, please be fake partner I'm desperate)

20. i’ve spent the last nine months telling my family about my amazing partner and they just dumped me before the winter break; please be my fake partner

from winter writing prompts here

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

It’s a rare occasion upon which Hermann admits to himself that he could use a shoulder to cry on. It’s an even rarer occasion when that shoulder happens to belong to Newton. Though, strictly speaking, he’s not actually crying. Just…feeling exceedingly miserable. For a very good reason. He’s not actually on Newton’s shoulder, either, though he is sitting on the edge of Newton’s bed in Newton’s Shatterdome quarters, with Newton’s spare blanket wrapped around him.

“So he dumped you?” Newton says.

“No,” Hermann says. “Don’t be so…prosaic. He, er, simply expressed to me that our relationship was not working out, and that we should consider ending it to pursue better alternatives, and I agreed. It was wholly mutual. It was mature.”

“He dumped you, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann sighs, and hides his face in Newton’s blanket.. “He did.”

The worst of it is that Hermann isn’t even upset about Oliver breaking up with him for the reasons he should be upset. He’s not here in Newton’s bunk wailing about not knowing where it all went wrong (he does know), or wishing he’d asked for a second chance (he doesn’t), or simply mourning the loss of a healthy, long-term relationship (well, it wasn’t unhealthy). He’s in Newton’s bunk because he knows his family is going to be horrendously disappointed in him. “You don’t understand,” Hermann moans. “He’s the son of my father’s colleague—my family were all so very pleased when we began seeing each other. He was meant to meet my grandmother, Newton.”

“Ouch,” Newton says. He pats Hermann’s shoulder. His touch is warm, and strong. Newton’s hands are always so warm and strong. “That’s rough. But, hey, other fish in the sea?”

(“I’m sorry, Hermann,” Oliver had finally said, after a spectacular failure of a date, in which Hermann confused Oliver’s favorite dish with Newton’s at the restaurant, and, er, perhaps called out the wrong name during their more intimate coupling in Hermann’s bunk later. “It’s blatantly obvious you have some weird, unresolved feelings for your lab partner, and I’m not going to stick around for you to figure them out. Maybe you can take him home to meet your parents instead.”

“Blatantly?” Hermann had squeaked.)

“Yes,” Hermann says. “Er. I suppose.”

Hermann (having no one else to turn to) showed up at Newton’s door immediately after Oliver packed up his simple overnight bag and stormed out of the Shatterdome, promptly ending what was meant to be their weekend together and their relationship. Newton (in pajamas, clearly just woken up from sleep) had been so kind, showing him to the unmade bed, plying him with a lukewarm cup of fruity tea, spouting all the sorts of things that a friend was meant to spout (he’s not worth it, you’re better than him, want me to key his car for you?). Hermann had never seen him exhibit that sort of kindness before. It made his heart flutter, and his chest tight, and—oh, bugger. “No, it’s not that,” Hermann says. “It’s that they think I’m bringing him home in a week. They’ve got the guest room made up for us and everything. I’m fairly certain Mother has already made a place card for him at the dinner table.”

“So?” Newton says. “Just break the news tomorrow that you’ll be solo. Better sooner than later, man.” He frowns. “Your mom makes place cards?”

“The only reason I’m going home is for them to meet him!” Hermann half-shouts. Months upon months of feeding them stories about Oliver, lies about Oliver—about how charming and intelligent he was, and what a marvelous match they were, and how pleased Hermann was that father suggested he engage Oliver’s company in the first place—all so they’d stop prying into his bloody personal life—of course it was bound to backfire.

“Then don’t go home,” Newton says. “Holy shit, dude, you’re making this a way bigger deal than it needs to be. Either tell them you guys split and it’s just you this year, or don’t go at all.” He yawns, and does a poor job of pretending he’s not sneaking a glance at his Godzilla alarm clock. Two in the morning; Newton makes a habit of getting to the lab at six. Hermann is being rather discourteous keeping up so late, isn’t he? Though it really was kind of Newton to comfort him the way he did. Newton can really be considerate, when he tries—considerate, and caring, and such a good friend to Hermann. Hermann’s only friend, who none of his family have ever met, or would recognize, just as they wouldn’t recognize Oliver…Newton, who’s American like Oliver…who’s brunette like Oliver...who wears glasses like Oliver...

“Er, Newton,” Hermann says. He touches Newton’s hand. “What are your holiday plans?”

Newton is a bundle of erratic motion during the taxi ride from the airport to the Gottlieb family farmhouse: his leg bouncing up and down, his fingers tapping on it, his eyes darting constantly between Hermann, the driver, and the German countryside. Even his voice trembles when he speaks. “This isn’t going to work,” he mutters to Hermann. He shakes his head. “It’s not, it’s not.”

(“They’ve never met him,” Hermann had said, “and they’ve certainly never met you! You could easily pass yourself off as him!”

“There is no fucking way your dad hasn’t Googled me by now,” Newton had said. “Or do you not remember when that reporter asked me about the wall last spring?”)

Really, there’s no need for Newton to be this nervous. At the very worst, they’re found out, and Hermann is utterly humiliated, but Newton will be walking away all but unscathed. He’s not the one trying to pass off his lab partner as his partner partner to his family, after all. “It will,” Hermann tells him calmly. He reaches over and smooths out the lapels of Newton’s good suit. It’s stiff, and smells faintly of dust; Hermann wonders how long it’s been hanging in the back of his closet. He cuts a nice figure in it. “Right,” Hermann adds, before his mind can wander too far. “Now, remind me again who you are?”

Newton looks vaguely green in the face, and he swallows twice. “I’m…Oliver,” he says. “I’m the son of your dad’s old friend. I recently relocated to Hong Kong for work. I’m an engineer. I like yoga, and...baseball?”

“More or less,” Hermann says. The baseball part may be an embellishment, but he knows Oliver played some sort of sport.

He reaches out and smooths down Newton’s hair this time. His glasses are crooked, but there’s not much to do for that; besides, it makes him look oddly charming, like Oliver is supposed to be. Newton, to his surprise, goes pink in the face. “Uh. Can you give me anything else to go on?” he says. “I feel like I’m not getting enough into character. Like, what’s Oliver’s favorite color? Is he a cat person? Coffee or tea? Boxers or briefs?”

“Well,” Hermann says. “I. Er.” He shifts in his seat. Embarrassingly enough, he doesn’t know. “Just because Oliver and I dated for...half a year, or so,” he continues, “doesn’t mean we knew everything about each other. I think you’d be hard-pressed to get him to answer those questions about me, too. It’s nothing—”

“Do I wear boxers or briefs, Hermann?” Newton says.

“Boxers,” Hermann says automatically.

Newton stares at him. Hermann flushes.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Hermann says. “You have to use the bloody decontamination shower every other—”

“Kinda feeling like maybe he wasn’t the neglectful one in the relationship, dude,” Newton interrupts. “Alright, God, let’s get this over with. You owe me big time.’

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years

Note

"Is it too much to ask for something great?" For whoever you'd like :)

There’s cursing in here. This is the continuation of my Newsies Life in the ER Series. You can catch up here. We check in on Albert and Finch in this one. There’s some swearing in this one.

January 19, 2021

It had been a hell of a year, since the first COVID case was discovered in the United States. It had been eight months since he saw his first case at the hospital. He was ready for a solid week off with no plans, other than a road trip, catching up on Netflix shows and hanging out with his husband.

He pushed back from the computer with a sigh, giving Spot a look. “Need anything before I leave?”

Spot grinned, shaking his head. “No, but enjoy your time off. I’m insanely jealous, by the way.”

“Your time is coming - two weeks then I’ll be the jealous one.” Albert grinned, watching a chart fly by on the desk. Looking up, he grinned at Plums who maneuvered into a chair. “How’s that baby girl of yours? Has she figured out what sleep is?”

Her and Jack had welcomed Adelin Charlotte Kelly back in July. She was welcomed by many honorary aunts and uncles. Her birth was one the ER wouldn’t forget for a really long time.

Plums sighed. “She loves to throw ragers between 1 and 3 am. She’s got the lungs of her father. Jack was up with her while I got to sleep blissfully while she screamed her head off.”

“Racer and I told you we would take her for a weekend if you want.” Spot reminded her, giving her a big grin. “All you have to do is say yes.”

Plums grinned, pursing her lips. “Let me talk with Jack and I’ll let you know. Just make sure you don’t work the next day after you have her. She loves her ragers.”

“Duly noted.” Spot grinned. “We love her and she will be fine. Al, what are you going to be doing on your vacation?”

Albert leaned back in the chair. “Finch and I are going on a road trip up to Cold Springs for a few days before lazily lying on the couch catching up on Netflix and trying out a few recipes Finch wants to try.”

“What’s up in Cold Springs? I’ve heard it’s gorgeous in the summer but won’t it be colder than here.” Plums looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.

Albert laughed, raising his own eyebrows, grinning. “Finch spent his childhood up in Cold Springs - he always talks about the cute town and little shops along with some great skiing. And, yes it’s cold up there but that’s what they make fireplaces and cozy blankets.”

Spot and Plums both rolled their eyes and laughed at Albert’s expression. “Thanks but we didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked.” Albert grinned. “Now if you don’t have anything for me, I’m heading out.”

They both yelled for him to have a great vacation before he headed to the locker room before clocking out. With a final wave, he headed out of the Emergency Room, heading to his Subaru. Unlocking the car, he threw his bag in the back before getting in.

The car ride home was quiet, him relaxing, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Pulling into the driveway, he sighed, getting out of the car, walking into the house. He heard the familiar jingle of Rex’s collar, kicking off his shoes before letting the black Lab out of his crate. The dog danced at his feet as he made his way over to the backdoor to let him out.

Making his way to the bedroom, he quickly changed out of the scrubs and into sweatpants and a hoodie. Making his way out to the living room, he let Rex back in, quickly changing his water bowl before collapsing onto the couch. Digging his phone out of his sweatpants, he aimlessly scrolled through his social media.

He felt Rex jump off the couch before starting to bark, causing Albert to look up, realizing that two hours had already passed. He heard the door open as Rex’s excited paws pad on the floor as Finch’s bag hit the hit. Albert smiled hearing Finch talk to Rex, reassuring him he was home for the night. “Hey you.”

Albert pushed himself off the couch, grinning at Finch as he made his way over to him. “Hey yourself. How was your day?”

“Good. It was good to wrap some things up before vacation.” Finch grinned, kissing him again. “How was yours?”

Albert shrugged, sitting back down on the couch. “Two gunshot wounds and a few stitches. Just an average day in life.”

“That’s your average day . . . not most Americans.” Finch grinned, laughing. “Have you been home long?”

He nodded. “Like two hours. Spot and Plums pushed me out telling me they’re jealous of us having a vacation.”

“Have you thought of dinner?” Finch asked, loosening his tie, giving his husband a look while cocking his eyebrow.

Albert had the decency to look a bit guilty. “No . . . I got caught up in a game with Racer and lost track of time.”

“Feel like anything in particular?” Finch asked, heading to the bedroom as he unbuttoned his shirt, giving Albert another look.

Albert threw his head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling as he flipped through the possibilities for their dinner. Nothing sounds amazingly great to him so he figured he’d leave it up to Finch to decide. “Babe?”

Looking up, a wolfish smile crossed Albert’s face at how utterly gorgeous his husband was. Finch was dressed in ratty sweatpants and an old hoodie from their college days. “What’s up?”

“What do you want for dinner?” Finch joined him on the couch, lacing his fingers with his. “You alright, something seems off?”

Albert shrugged. “I don’t care what we do for dinner - nothing really sounds good. And all is good.”

“Uh huh . . .” Finch gave him a long look, squeezing his hand. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner then we’re going to have a long talk.”

Albert watched Finch pull out his phone, call their favorite pizza place before ordering their usual - a pepperoni pizza with breadsticks and a two liter of Pepsi. Hanging up the phone, Finch dropped it on the coffee table, looking at Finch. “I’m not going to bug you but what’s going on Albert?”

“What do you mean?” Al looked at Finch, biting his lip.

Finch sighed. “You’ve been quiet for the last couple of days and distant for a bit. I have been waiting for you to come to me but you haven’t said much outside of good morning, goodnight, and a text here and there. What’s bugging you, Albert?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking.” Albert started, biting his lip. “Have you thought about where you want our life to go and what you want out of it?”

“I want you and I want the life that we talked about in college.” Finch smiled. “The one that we were going to go on vacation with the destination picked by throwing a dart at a map. The one that we adopted a dog, hours spent on debating which one we wanted, only to go to the shelter to pick out Rex. The one that you come home and tell me about your hospital days and try to gross me out by talking about the goriness of the job. And the one that you're completely and utterly head over heels in love with me.”

Albert grinned, thinking back on the times they would sit under the stars and talk. He looked over at Finch, biting his lip. "Is it too much to ask for something great?"

The words were quiet as they left Albert’s mouth that it was difficult for Finch to hear. “Wanna say that again?”

“Is it too much to ask for something great?” Albert said louder as he looked down at their linked hands.

Finch faltered for a moment, not expecting those words to come out of his husband’s mouth. His mouth opened and closed for a second, not sure what to say to him. “You don’t have to say anything . . . just voicing the question.”

He looked at Albert, hurt across his face. “When did you stop telling me about your thoughts and ideas? One thing I’ve always prided myself in our relationship is how much you and I always talk and work things out that are bugging us.”

“We were talking about greatness at work. One of our docs is retiring and they were talking about how great his career was and how great he is walking away.” Albert started. “I’ve been thinking about how I can have something great. I love you and I love the life we’ve built. All I want is something great.”

“Babe.” Finch paused, shifting in the couch, squeezing his hand. “I think the life we have together is pretty great. I think it’s great that I get to come home to you, to Rex, and tell you about my day. I think it’s great that I can call you my husband and I know that you’re always going to be by my side and be there for me. What isn’t so great about what we have?”

Biting his lip, Albert shook his head. “Do you feel like there’s something we’re missing?”

“At this moment, no. I love our comfortable lifestyle, our jobs are great and we’re in a good spot.” Finch raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been thinking about adding kids to our life?”

A gasp escaped Albert’s mouth as a smile crossed his lips. “Only a few weeks. I see what Jack and Kat have with Addie and I’ve started thinking about us. We always talked about having kids but it didn’t become real until a few weeks ago.”

“We’ve been married for six months, Al. Do you want to add kids to our life so quickly?” Finch asked. “We can spoil Addie rotten for a bit longer . . .”

Sighing, Albert threw his head back against the couch. “I want kids but at times I feel like we’re being left behind. Race and Spot have been talking about kids as have Romeo and Specs. We’re not even at that point yet.”

“We’re also 26 years old.” Finch bit back, giving him a look. “Since when do we set our lives based on our friend’s lives and what they’re doing? I am starting to get the feeling that there’s something deeper going on Albert. Please just tell me.”

Unlacing his fingers from Finch’s, Albert tapped his knee. “Okay . . . don’t kill me when I tell you . . .”

“You can’t start a sentence like that, Albert.” Finch raised an eyebrow at him. He slid closer to Albert, pulling him into his arms. “Just tell me Albert, I’m really starting to worry.”

The doorbell interrupted them as Finch dropped a kiss on Albert’s head. Pushing off the couch, he retrieved the pizza, breadsticks, and the soda pop before dropping them on the coffee table. Finch took a deep breath, going into the kitchen to get two glasses of ice, paper plates, and napkins before dropping back onto the couch beside Albert. “Alright snugs, talk to me.”

Grabbing a slice of pizza and a breadstick, Albert relaxed on the couch with a sigh. “I had a doctor’s appointment a few days ago - just the annual physical. But there was something in my blood work that has my doctor concerned.”

“Concerned? What is it?” Dropping his plate onto the coffee table, shifting to look at Albert, Finch pursed his lips in concern.

“My white blood cell count was high.” Albert sighed, tears crowding his eyes. “But I feel fine and haven’t been sick lately. My doctor is running additional tests and I’m in a waiting period. What if it’s more serious?”

Pulling Albert into his arms, he ran his hand through his hair. “Thank you for telling me. What do you always tell your patients - don’t jump to conclusions. It could be that there’s something going on with your white blood cells that isn’t related to an illness.”

Pressing a kiss to Albert’s head, Finch sighed. “So you decided to bring up thinking about everything that you haven’t achieved yet to cover the fact that you’re potentially sick? Albert, I promised you, in sickness and in health that I will love you always. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah that wasn’t very smart of me.” Albert agreed, with a sad smile. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Finch ran his hand through his hair, chuckling. “How about next time you have news to deliver you just tell me? Yes, it may scare me but I’m not going to run; those vows and you mean too much to me.”

“Deal.” Holding out his hand, Albert smiled. “Do you want to continue our discussion of kids?”

Finch sighed. “How about we get through this hiccup in our lives first before we circle back to the kids front? We both know we want kids, that’s not even a question but the timing, we’re going to need to discuss that in more detail.”

Nodding, Albert smiled. “That sounds like a plan. We make a pretty good team.”

“We sure do.” Finch leaned over and kissed Albert. “I love you, snugs.”

“Love you too Finchie.”

Four Days Later

The door closed behind him as he kicked off his shoes. Walking into the kitchen, he placed the vase of flowers on the counter before looking around. The house was quiet as he peeked his head into the living room. Albert and Rex were curled up on the couch, both sound asleep causing Finch to grin brightly.

He walked into the bedroom, changing into sweats and a hoodie before walking out and kneeling next to the couch. He ran his hand through Rex’s fur as the dog looked up at Finch as his tail started thumping. Moving to run his hair through Albert’s hair, Finch grinned listening to Albert’s breath hitch as he peeked an eye open. “Hey.”

Finch’s smile widened at the grogginess of Albert’s voice. “Hey yourself. Long day?”

“Tough day. We lost a patient today.” Albert sighed. “I came home and cuddled with Rex and must’ve fallen asleep.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Finch lightly scratched Albert’s scalp, smiling hearing him sigh in contentment. “How was your day, Finchie?”

“I got an embarrassing bouquet of flowers but glad you got some good news about your tests.” Finch grinned. “Did you really need to send the flowers?”

Albert laughed, pushing himself into a seated position. “Yes, I could’ve called you and told you the news but thought you might like the flowers. I would’ve loved to see your face when they got delivered.”

Fishing his phone from his back pocket, Finch opened it tilting it for Albert to look at. “Ask and you shall receive. Amelia took a photo and sent it to me after the fact. Hey, Albie?”

“Yeah Finchie?” Albert looked up from the photo with a smile on his face.

“I’m really glad you’re going to be okay.” Finch smiled. “You just have to take an antibiotic, right? Nothing else?”

Albert smiled. “Just an antibiotic for a few days and a check up in three months. I’m okay, Finchie. But if you want, I’ll give Katherine the report and she can talk to you about it.”

“You’d let Katherine do that?” Finch asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Albie smiled and nodded. “If it gives you peace of mind, then yes, I’d let our friend do that. She’d tell you the same thing that I just told you. I’m going to be just fine, Finchie.”

Pulling him off the couch, Finch pulled him into his arms with a laugh before kissing him. “I love you Albie.”

“I love you too Finchie.” Albert laughed, pushing himself on his tiptoes to kiss Finch. “Now can we talk about kids?”

Laughing, Finch nodded, stilling Albert in their awkward dance. “We have all the time in the world but yes we can talk about kids, assuming you want to be a dad.”

“I was thinking a papa more like it but yes, I want to raise kids with you Patrick Cortes-DaSilva.” Albert kissed him with a passionate furish.

Finch chuckled. “And I want to raise kids with you too, Albert Cortes-DaSilva. I love you Albie.”

“And I you, Finchie forever and always.”

Thanks @cutesiewooren for sending this in!! Feedback will be amazing!

#newsies #newsies fan fiction #life in the er newsies series #ask #prompt #newsies drabbles #drabble requests #RedFinch #writing #albert dasliva #Finch Cortes

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katecarteir · 5 years

Note

What are some of your favourite Reddie fics?

Oh anon this is such a galaxy brain question, hell yes. I have so many favourite fics, and there’s so many amazing fic writers in this fandom we’re honestly so lucky!!

my absolute, absolute, absolute favourite reddie fic of all time is HANDS DOWN walk alone or run away by tozier. it’s one of my favourite characterizations of eddie, plus! insecure and vulnerable richie, reddie both being complete and total idiots, pining pining pining, gay athletics? runner eddie? bottom richie? literally what more could we ask for, i don’t know. nothing. it’s got everything. 15/10 recommend to everybody.

to the guy at the bus stop: by Ragno. iconic. amazing. richie is Irish?? with american eddie? the funkiest meet cute? somehow having a slowburn relationship while ALSO giving amazing relationship content through the whole fic?? they’re IN LOVE your honour and i could read this fic a hundred million times and never get tired of it.

georgie had two daddies by @tinyarmedtrex. i mean, of course, it’s pretty safe to assume if amelia wrote it, it’s good. but i have a huge, huge soft spot for domestic reddie. and throwing a kid in there? you got me, hook line and sinker. i promise you won’t be disappointed by this fic at any point, it captures the reddie relationship perfectly. and did i mention reddie with a kid? because hello! reddie with a kid!!

stop calling, stop calling (i don’t wanna talk anymore) by ironicallyinternational. this one is a bit more angsty, but that’s sort of my brand. we LOVE insecure richie in this house, we really do. throw in dumbass eddie which prompts even more insecure richie and tie it all up nicely with protective/concerned eddie? *chefs kiss*

dreambot by @finnwolfhard. i feel like this fic gets talked about less than stell’s other work, but HONESTLY i love it so much. this richie is so sweet, and the eddie is so baby and cute, not to mention it’s such a hodge podge of AU tropes! it’s like coffee shop au, tattoo au, it’s just super cute. we adore it, and we love how the relationship develops so naturally!!!

richie is NOT one up for a change by BCI603, milevenreddie. okay this one is a WIP, and the reddie isn’t So Much the main focus (though it IS the relationship) but its a richie centric fic that’s got??? siblings bevchie??? good parents went and maggie? big insecure richie!?!?!!?! good damn right. i actually go crazy when i get the email that this fic update i kid you, if i can i drop what i’m doing and read the chapter immediately.

empty world by @lo-v-ers. ari, too, has done some AMAZING work for this fandom. I kid you not, you could read any of her fics and you’ll never be disappointed. 10/10 always. empty world has a special place to me because it’s got some good richie angst, a little stanpatlon, loving and protective eddie and the notion that eddie and richie are absolutely soul mates and will always end up with each other no matter what sort of supernatural bullshit gets in the way.

how to know if you’re on a date with your best friend by @thundercatseddie. di, di, di, what can i say? we all know i love she. and i love her work just as much!! this is such a cute little thing, with dumbasses in love. i’m such a sucker for reddie being together and not being sure if they’re together or not, but both wanting to be together… ugh. iconic. perfect. show stopping.

take this sinking ship and point it home by @eddiefuckinkaspbrak. i think everybody has at least ONE favourite fic by amy on their personal favourites, and this one is SO mine. Long distance relationship? Friends to lovers? FRANK KASPBRAK? British Richie? If you haven’t read this particular fic by amy, i really do think you’re missing out. she absolutely hit it out of the park with this (as with every one tbh but let’s stay on track).

tender by @s-s-georgie. when it comes to leigh, i sometimes always associate her with her bichie fics because as far as i can tell, leigh is the queen of writing bichie but this!! precious. as she herself calls it; tender. sweet virign richie, understanding and comforting eddie. a relationship with a good conversation about sex?? making sure each other are comfortable and happy and things are good?? what else could we ask for.

stay for the storm by @hanscom. jade, jade, jade. what can i say. i hate celebrity aus, i really do. they give me trust issues. but i read this because jade wrote it, and i’m so glad i did because it’s amazing. the plot, the characters, the entire way their relationship is written is just fantastic. sometimes a fic about a sex tape can mean a lot to a person.

relationship status: dumbass by @tozierking. allie!!!! this fic is great because it really just has PEAK dumb reddie. the DUMBEST of ASSES. and they’re cute. they’re fantastic. i love they. we trust allie with our smut lives tbh.

and honestly,,,,, honestly……… there’s so many more and i’m so so sure i’m forgetting about a hundred but this should be a good place to start. i’d stand by any of this fics and their authors! big trust. big faith. big talent.

#reddie #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #r + e #fic rec #it fanfiction

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benaffleckofcrowdsurfing · 4 years

Text

Star Treatment - 1

TBHC Alex Turner AU

cowritten with @walkingidler

description: an escort, a millionaire, a hotel that breaks the boundaries of technology, time, and space, a flashing red light, and a shit ton of cocaine.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of mental illness, light drug use, and assault. I’d rate this chapter PG-13.

THE BEGINNING

**********

“We’re just leaving now. Should only be a few minutes. Brielle is very excited to meet you.”

“Lovely. I’ll step outside and wait for her arrival.”

As Alex stepped outside, the warm Los Angeles air hit him like a swift palm to the face. He took off his blazer and waited, not quite knowing who for. He knew she was young and at least somewhat attractive, he had been quite impressed by the pictures that his friend showed him. Who knew, though. Girls in LA never looked like they did in their pictures.

In only a few moments, a black SUV pulled up to the lavish restaurant. Alex smiled politely when a small brunette girl stepped out. Wow, he thought. She’s actually more attractive than her photos.

“I presume you’re Miss Brielle,” Alex took a step toward her as she strutted up to him, and shook her hand.

“And you must be Alexander,” the girl hummed. The word ‘Alexander’ left her lips like honey, leaving goosebumps down Alex’s spine. She looked up at him with bedroom eyes, her soft green irises twinkling under the moonlight. Alex couldn’t help but stare.

“Come on, Darling. There’s a bottle of wine waiting for us at the table,” Alex muttered, still admiring the petite girl’s beauty. She smiled up at him before putting her hands around his arm and allowing him to guide her to the table.

“So,” Alex pulled out the chair for Brielle. “How old are you, Brielle. You look quite young.”

Brielle thanked him as she sat down, and when Alex returned to his side of the table, she chuckled a bit. “I’m nineteen. I’ve been doing this for almost three years now.”

“Three years? That would have made you sixteen when you started. How did you get caught up in something like this so young?” Alex poured Brielle a glass of wine.

Brielle sighed. “You’re eager, aren’t you? Usually men don’t ask me my life story until at least the third or fourth date.”

Alex’s eyes grew wide and his face flushed. “Oh- I’m sorry. I’ve never actually done anything like this before, I guess I didn’t get the ‘escort manners’ memo.”

Brielle laughed again. “No, don’t apologize. It’s refreshing to sit down and have dinner with someone who doesn’t just want to talk about their tough day at work or their failing marriage or their kids who are probably all around my age.”

“Right. I guess you’re probably used to married men. I forgot about that.”

“Do you not have a woman in your life, Alexander?”

“I’m actually on this… er - date… by recommendation of a friend to help me get over my most recent ex girlfriend.”

Brielle frowned at Alex and stuck her bottom lip out in pity. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I’m sure it was her loss. You’re a very attractive man and from what my higher-ups said, you’re quite the businessman.”

Alex chuckled. “Businessman. That’s a funny one. But - and just let me know if I’m prying, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable - you never answered my question. I want to know how you got here.”

Brielle exhaled and took a long sip of her wine before tucking her hair behind her ears and looking directly into Alex’s eyes; it was like she could see a universe behind them as they gleaned against the dim lighting. “I’m just going to say this now, Alexander. I don’t want pity. I’m a big girl and I’ve worked hard to get where I’m at, even if you may not see it as the most noble lifestyle.”

Alex nodded. “I understand, and trust me I’m never one to judge your lifestyle. I am the one who hired you, after all.”

Brielle pursed her lips into a small smile before continuing. “When I was fourteen, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I had been suffering from it for a long time before I was diagnosed, and it really took a toll on my relationships with my family. My parents were never the best people, they’re quite wealthy and are kind of your typical ‘Real Housewives of Los Angeles’ assholes. My mother told me from a very young age that it was more important to be pretty and polite than yourself, and my father never really paid attention to me. So when I was diagnosed, they kind of just wanted to throw me on whatever meds would make me a zombie and would keep me out of their hair, but I wasn’t having it. I deeply understood that I was who I was because of BPD, and even if I was irrational or ‘crazy’ or whatever, that was me. So I never took my meds.”

As Brielle fell into her own little world, painting out the picture of her teenage years for Alex, he watched her. He watched how her soft lips fell when she was speaking about her parents, how her eyes creased in hesitation before going on about her mental illness, how her delicate hands acted out everything she spoke about. He listened to her voice, taking note of the way she giggled through her story and put emphasis on words like crazy and troubled. Alex usually didn’t like American accents, but there was something about hers he couldn’t get enough of. She sounded intelligent, he could tell that there was a lot going on in her brain and it made him want to hear more.

“When I was fifteen, my mom found out I wasn’t taking my meds. She was livid. She screamed at me for hours, that was one of the worst days of my life. She called me a spoiled brat and a fucking psycho and said that having me was one of the worst mistakes she ever made. That day really pushed me over the edge. I couldn’t stand living with her anymore. I told her to take me out of the trust and to never speak to me again, and I left.”

Alex furrowed his brows. “You left when you were fifteen?”

Brielle rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I was way too young to be on my own. But I had places to go. For that first year or so I stayed with some friends downtown. It was great. I got a job at a decent restaurant, and the friends I was staying with had an in to this club so we were constantly out partying and drinking and all that jazz.”

Alex frowned even more. “You were hanging out in clubs when you were fifteen?”

“Yes, Alexander. Fifteen. I dropped acid for the first time when I was fifteen. I did coke for the first time when I was fifteen. I had sex for the first time when I was fifteen. I was a bad kid.”

“I didn’t call you a bad kid, I just wanted to clarify.”

“Sure you did, Alexander.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Brielle, would you please just continue your story?”

Brielle shot Alex a dirty look before continuing. “One day, I was in the club, and a man came up to me. He told me he liked how I danced. I was like ‘okay?’ And then he told me he’d pay for me to sit with him and keep him company. At first I was like, ‘no, what the fuck?’ because I was a kid and I didn’t realize what he was asking, but I guess one of the guys we knew who ran the club saw and pulled me aside and explained it to me. He told me that if I wanted to pursue that, he could take care of the business side of everything, and promised to keep me safe. At that point I already had no morals for myself so I was just kind of like, ‘fuck it’, you know? Fast forward three years, and I’m still saying fuck it.”

Alex repeated the words to himself. “Fuck it.”

Brielle bit her bottom lip and raised her glass. “To saying fuck it.”

Alex grinned and put his glass to hers. “To saying fuck it.”

They both laughed after drinking their wine, and a waiter came up to them. “What can I get for you two?”

Brielle looked down at the menu and hummed softly. “I’d love the salmon, please.”

Alex handed the waiter his menu. “I’ll do the filet mignon.”

After the waiter refilled both of their water glasses and walked away, Alex looked back over to Brielle.

“I must say, Brielle. I’m absolutely enthralled by you.”

Brielle smirked. “As I am by you.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well,” Brielle took another sip of her wine. “You’re a lot younger than most of the other men I see. You’re unmarried, extremely wealthy, have a sexy accent, and are insanely attractive. I can’t quite figure out why you decided to hire an escort.”

Alex bit his lip. “So you think I’ve got a sexy accent?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Well, maybe I just wanted to be seen out with an attractive young lass.”

Before Brielle could respond, the waiter returned with their meals.

Brielle let out an excited gasp at the sight of her dinner, making Alex giggle. “That’s a mighty fine lookin’ fish you’ve got there, darling.”

Brielle picked up her fork in a hurry, and let out a little moan as she took her first bite. “Oh my god, this is insane.”

Alex’s eyes grew darker at the sound of her little noises of delight. This girl was driving him absolutely mad, just watching her lips curl around her fork and smile into the salmon was getting him hot and bothered.

Brielle looked up from her meal and scoffed at Alex. “Are you gonna eat your steak or are you just gonna sit there and drool over me?”

“Wow, Brielle. I would’ve thought a girl getting paid to have dinner with me would be a bit less blunt,” Alex chuckled.

“Jeez, sorry that I’m comfortable enough with you to not be perfect,” Brielle blew a raspberry at the man across the table, and then smiled and stuck her fork out to him. “Would you like a taste?”

Alex cleared his throat in order to keep his composure. “I’d love some.”

Brielle stuck her tongue out slightly as she moved the fork toward Alex, and as Alex took the salmon into his mouth, she averted her gaze from the fork to his eyes. He was looking directly at her, so their eye contact was immediate. Both their eyes were dark, the heat of the moment building up between them. Alex had no idea that such a small gesture could get him going so quickly, and Brielle had no idea that she could feel the things she was feeling for a client. As the two of them backed away from each other and leaned back into their seats, they held eye contact.

“That’s absolutely heavenly. I should’ve gotten that instead of the steak,” Alex raved.

“I’m sure your steak is quite good as well, it looks fantastic.”

Alex lowered his voice a bit. If she was going to be bold, so was he. “Well open up then, have a taste.”

Brielle blushed a bit, the apples of her cheeks lifting when the corners of her lips curled into a grin. She leaned forward, resuming her eye contact with Alex as she took the steak into her mouth. She let out a few moans of delight as she sat back in her seat, nodding as she chewed. Alex bit his lip in satisfaction. He’d hand feed her bites of his meal all night if it meant he’d get to hear those noises.

“Holy shit, that’s a really good cut of meat.” Brielle mumbled. Her mouth was still full, and Alex laughed at her poor table manners.

The eccentric couple sat and finished their main courses, making small talk and getting to know each other better. At one point they talked about their favorite films, having a rather riveting conversation about one particular French film, Le Cercel Rouge. Alex practically proposed to Brielle when she had mentioned the movie, it was one of his favorites and he loved a girl who knew French cinema. They also talked about Alex’s two Akitas, Vesta and Vulcan. Brielle gushed over the pictures he showed her of them, she loved dogs and begged Alex to meet them (to which Alex replied something along the lines of “that can be arranged”).

“Alexander,” Brielle purred.

They were eating dessert now. Alex had ordered a rather decadent chocolate mousse, and Brielle went for banana parfait.

“Please, Brielle. Call me Alex.”

Brielle simpered. “Alright, Alex. You asked me how I got here, but how did you get here?”

Alex frowned. “I already told you. A friend of mine recommended I see someone to take my mind off of my ex.”

“No, silly. Not here, here. How’d you end up in LA? Where did your wealth come from? What do you do for a living?” Brielle pointed her spoon at Alex to emphasize what she was saying.

“Well, alright. I’ve lived in the states officially for ten years now, but before that I visited quite often. I grew up in a little town in the UK called Sheffield, but my uncle owned a hotel here in Los Angeles and I often came to visit.”

“Oh, that’s really cool! Which hotel does he own?”

“Well, actually I own it now. It’s the Tranquility Base.”

Brielle’s eyes widened. “You own that thing?” The Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino was a massive building in the heart of Beverly Hills, and just so happened to be one of the most prestigious residencies in California. It was quite elusive. People were rarely seen going in and out, however it was widely known that this was where the most rich and famous stayed.

“Yes ma’am.”

“So, I’m assuming that’s where your fortune came from?”

“Well, partially. My uncle left me a lot of money, plus the hotel, but I also, um,” Alex paused to find his words. How could he say this without exposing himself? “I’m an entrepreneur.”

Brielle narrowed her eyes at Alex’s last statement. “So you’re a drug dealer?”

Alex’s eyes grew wide. “How did you-“

“Alexan- er, Alex, I’ve been escorting for three years. I know that ‘entrepreneur’ is code for ‘I’m a drug lord’. It’s nothing to be secretive about. I’m trustworthy.” Brielle leaned back in her seat with a sort of cocky look on her face.

“Okay, yes. I’m involved in… that sort of thing. Another gift from my uncle. High standing in one of the most elite drug rings in the country. Both a blessing and a curse, but it is what it is.” Alex let out a breathy laugh and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag full of a white powder. “Want some?”

Brielle’s face contorted into a Cheshire Cat smile. “You know, usually I’d decline. I may be dumb but I’m not dumb enough to take anything from a stranger. But I’m feeling lucky tonight, Alex. I trust you.”

“Off to the bathroom we go, then.”

***********

It was only two more days until Alex arranged another dinner date with Brielle, and a few days after that he called upon her for a quick dog walk with Vesta and Vulcan. Alex didn’t stop thinking about her for days. He thought about her in the shower, while he was working, during meetings, he dreamed about her, he had even asked his driver to follow her around one evening to see what she got up to in her free time. She was driving him mad, making him sick. He wanted her - no, he craved her, and at this point he’d pay her every night if it meant he got to spend time with her. She may have been some dirty fantasy of his at first, but in only a month he felt that he had strong feelings for Brielle.

Luckily for Alex, she thought similarly. Every time her “boss”, Enzo, told her that she’d be accompanying Mister Turner, her eyes lit up. As much as she hated that she liked someone as old as Alex, she was fascinated by him. Brielle had even gone to the extent of asking Enzo for his number, so she could see him outside of work, but that hadn’t gone well.

“Bri, you know the deal. No seeing clients outside of work.”

Enzo and Brielle stood against the club’s back wall, looking out over the sea of people.

Brielle scoffed after him and took a drag from the blunt the two of them were sharing. “Enzo, please. I’m not going to go behind your back and ask him for more money or anything. I just want to be able to see him outside of work.”

The tall man looked down at Brielle as if she had lost her mind. “Bitch, that’s the problem. You start fucking your clients for free and I’ve lost all my credibility. People will clown us, and I can’t let you cost me clients.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Enzo. You’re absolutely impossible. I’ll just ask him for it the next time I see him,” she whisper-shouted and began to walk away. Enzo chuckled before grabbing Brielle by the hair, slamming her against the wall and gripping her arm violently to keep her in place. She looked up at him with a spiteful look, “What gives, Enzo? Can you let me fucking go?”

“You’re forgetting something, Bri. I own you. You’re caught up with me, and there’s no getting out of it. You knew that the moment you started doing business with me.” Enzo bent down so his face was level with hers. He kissed her cheek before letting her go and taking the blunt from her hands. “You’ve got a date with Mister Turner tomorrow night. I’ll be watching you closely. Don’t do anything fucking stupid.”

Brielle nodded her head in compliance, and when he shoved her away, she stormed outside and kicked off her shoes. “I can’t fucking believe him. I cannot fucking believe him. I’m going to fucking kill him. I fucking- I can’t fucking- I-,” Brielle cried. She was warm to the touch, the tears streaming down her face seemed to be sizzling against her hot cheeks. She couldn’t do anything but sit on the sidewalk and cry, she had no one to call or talk to help her calm down.

“Need a cigarette, Love?”

A familiar voice reached from behind her.

“Hey, Alex.”

Brielle sniffled and wiped the tears off of her cheeks before turning around to greet him. Maybe In a different situation she would asked him why are you here, but she was just thankful to have someone there for her - no questions asked.

Alex sat next to her on the curb, and pulled a carton of Marlboros and a lighter out of his coat pocket. He pulled two cigarettes out of the pack, and handed one to her. “What’s going on, Brielle?”

“Just work troubles,” Brielle shrugged. She thanked Alex after he lit the cigarette for her, and laid back on the concrete to take her first drag.

Alex ran his hand over her small arm, a dark bruise was forming from where Enzo had held her against the wall. His voice got quiet. “I can see that.”

Brielle panicked and ripped her arm away from Alex’s soft touch. “Please don’t say anything about this to anyone. Enzo and I just had a bit of an argument. I’m okay.”

“Brielle, I know how Enzo is. If you’re in trouble you can tell me, I’m here for you.” Alex’s voice was low and soft, he seemed genuinely concerned and it made Brielle’s eyes well up once again.

“I can’t escape, Alex. You know how people like that are. If I ever go against his word he’ll kill me,” she mumbled. When Alex put his arm around her and pulled her closer, she burst into tears. “I want out so badly.”

Alex sighed and kissed the top of her head, his beard tickling her forehead. They sat there for a moment, just waiting for Brielle to calm down a bit, before Alex stood up.

“Come home with me, Brielle. Please. You need someone to keep you company.”

Brielle furrowed her brows and stood up to be more level with Alex. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Alex stepped closer to her, and Brielle quickly stepped away.

“I just…can’t.” She began to tear up again. As much as she did want to go with Alex, she was terrified of what Enzo would do. “Trust me, I’d love to be with you. I really would.”

Alex looked confused, but he let it go nonetheless. He was sure she had a valid reason. “At least let me drive you home. Please.”

Brielle smiled weakly and nodded her head. “Okay.”

Alex put an arm around Brielle and guided her to his towncar. He opened the door for her, and cleared his throat as the two of them slipped in.

“Brielle, this is my driver, Nick O’Malley. Nick, Brielle Roux.”

Brielle said a quick hello to Nick, who didn’t say anything, but rather nodded at her. The drive home was quiet, it mostly consisted of Brielle sniffling away her tears and telling Nick how to get to her apartment, and Alex comfortingly rubbing Brielle’s thigh.

“Here we are,” Brielle muttered as they rolled up to her apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.”

She planted a kiss on Alex’s cheek before slipping out of the car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Love.”

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anexplanationofunfortunateevents · 4 years

Text

democracy was on the ballot and it won

I am a slow-boring-of-hard-boards realist about politics. I am delightedly surprised when I get what I want AT ALL. Months and months ago, I said that my number one issue in this election was the desperate need to put the brakes on democratic backsliding in the United States. I’m not sure how to process the fact that I’ve started to get what I wanted even before the transition.

There is a real path forward for democracy reform in this country. EVEN WITH an aspiring autocrat doing everything he could to rig this election, EVEN WITH a pandemic raging, EVEN WITH malicious foreign actors still trying cause problems, EVEN THOUGH we still have not restored the Voting Rights Act, EVEN WITH all the structural imbalances built into our creaky eighteenth-century constitutional system:

Voter participation went way up! People voted over the course of several weeks from the comfort of their own homes, or on weekends, or on Election Day. And because people took responsibility and spread out their votes like that, it was safer to go to polling places. That was a huge collective choice to prevent a lot of suffering and even some deaths.

A big part of why they could do that is the enormous number of citizens who rallied to work at the polls so that the retirees who usually do the job could sit this year out.

Cities and states around the country took the time they need to count carefully.

Media gatekeepers, for the most part, had the discipline and the patience to be helpful to users about what we knew and what we didn’t. If anything, they’re erring on the side of being too cautious. This is after weeks of most media gatekeepers having the discipline to debunk a disinformation campaign by Trump’s allies and Russian backers, instead of aggressively participating in it.

Social media companies took the most aggressive countermeasures yet against election misinformation.

The person who got the most votes is also the person who won the election, which is pretty cool!

That is a huge improvement from EVERY PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY. Just in terms of how well the election itself was administered, my only major criticism is that we still did not do something called risk-limiting audits. In the case of an election, audits are basically a carefully calibrated statistical smell test. They’re not a recount. They are a reliable and cost-effective way of figuring out if a recount or some other type of scrutiny should be done for the sake of public confidence in the results – and that makes them a cost-effective deterrence against any bad actors who are considering sabotage. Audits are important whether an election goes your way or not, just like smoke detectors are important whether your building catches fire or not.

But that absolutely should not take away from the fact that we overcame all the new problems that were introduced this year and took some big steps toward solving a lot of old ones – despite the best efforts of Trump and all his enablers. Imagine what we could do under an administration that is helping democracy revitalization instead of aggressively hindering it.

The easiest way for us to make the most comprehensive change would be to win the Senate, which would allow a Biden administration to pass a revitalized Voting Rights Act and restore legitimacy to the federal courts. If you have any time or money to spare in the next few weeks, consider sharing it with the two excellent Democratic candidates in the Georgia Senate runoffs.

We should be realistic about the situation: we’re probably not going to get to do it the easy way, at least, not until after the midterms. But we’re not going to be doing it the hard way any more. The hard way is what we’re doing now. We’re about to get a Department of Justice that opposes civil rights violations and enforces what’s left of the current Voting Rights Act. The intelligence and military cybersecurity units are going to be able to work with the administration instead of around it. And we aren’t going to have to deal with a 24/7 fusillade of lies and voter intimidation coming from the Oval Office. To spin out the “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” metaphor: we’ve been running a marathon uphill carrying forty-pound backpacks. We’ve reached the top where the path levels out, and someone just took our bags and gave us protein bars.

And while we have our protein bars, let’s look around, because the view is as clear and as beautiful as it’s going to get. Donald Trump had every intention of wrecking American democracy, and the entire Republican party had every intention of supporting his aspiring dictatorship. And, while Trump himself is and always has been a clown, the person occupying the Oval Office is the most powerful person on the planet. Actually, that’s an understatement. Since Truman gave the order to drop the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, our technology has grown stronger and our government has concentrated more and more power in the executive branch, which means that every holder of that office has arguably been the most powerful person in the history of the world. Every other holder of that office has at least wanted to think of himself as using that power for the advancement of democracy and humanity. Donald Trump affirmatively tried to use all that power to entrench himself there permanently.

We stopped him. We stopped him peacefully. We stopped him without further harming the many vulnerable people he holds hostage in a hundred different ways. We stopped him not by elevating an equal-but-opposite charismatic demagogue for a two-men-enter-one-man-leaves smackdown, but by building a vibrant, heterogenous coalition and finding competent, experienced, principled leaders who respect that coalition in all its raucous power. We stopped him, in short, by choosing to do democracy.

That feels good today and it’s enormously consequential. It is also proof of concept. It is something that can happen, because it has happened.

Something that political scientists and democracy advocates have been saying for the past few years is that Trump has been a propaganda gold mine for dictators. They use him as a cautionary tale against liberal democracy or even against hoping that things can ever get better: see, even the Americans are no better than we are! Dictators can artificially insulate themselves from accountability in the short term, which makes them ill-equipped to think about backfire. Train your people’s eyes on the aspiring American autocrat, and they can all see his humiliating fall.

To our sisters and brothers around the world, from Idlib to Hong Kong, from São Paolo to Moscow, and along every wide country road in between: this is the only true thing your oppressors have ever told you. We are no better than you are. We are no more suited for or entitled to liberation. Look what we have done. Imagine what you can do.

There’s kind of a false dichotomy going on where people swung from “Trump is going to successfully rig the election for himself” pessimism to “oh, Biden only ousted an incumbent by a freakishly large margin, it wasn’t an immediate electoral college landslide, why did Trump get so close.” This take has set in before deep blue California and New York have come close to completing their mail-in ballot counts, which tells you that it isn’t serious, but it’s also beside the point. Trump succeeded in making the election unfair. If he hadn’t illegitimately put a whole lot of thumbs on the scale in his favor, if we’d actually had the free and fair election we deserved, I think he probably would have lost in a landslide. We did the work and showed up in numbers that were ultimately too big to rig. That led to victory, although not a victory you can quantifiably measure against the dozen or so American elections that were more or less free and fair. That doesn’t mean the rigging didn’t happen or have any impact. It means we beat the spread. As the world’s most prominent train enthusiast once said, that is a big fucking deal.

A government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the earth. One day soon, it may even exist. That is our charge. That is our choice.

So take a moment to recharge. Enjoy the view. Breathe. We got work to do.

#2020 election #democracy

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imaginejamesandsirius · 4 years

Note

Hey. I love these fics, they are some of my favourites. You’re the only thing doing this ship justice. Do you think you could do a Clueless au. With Sirius as Cher and James as Josh. Tysm

"Sirius, James will be coming over tonight, so be sure that you're prepared for a family dinner," Orion said, and Sirius just barely managed to keep himself from gaping at his father.

"What? Why is he coming here? You divorced Euphemia, like, three years ago." And his current outfit was far too good for someone like James. He didn't want James to think that he'd gotten dressed up for him or summat. Sirius just always looked this good.

"Yes, well, you can divorce a wife, but not your children," Orion said distractedly.

Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Isn't he busy in uni?"

"It hasn't started yet."

"Figures," Sirius muttered.

Orion glanced at him. "Why are you so against this? He's your brother."

"He's not my brother; he's your ex-wife's son. Our connection to him is long over."

"Can't divorce your child," Orion repeated, turning back to the papers in front of him.

Sirius rolled his eyes again and left the room. The term hadn't started yet, so what? It's not like James lived here. He had an actual home of his own that he could stay at, where he had a parent that actually had responsibility to him.

James showed up way before dinner, like he lived here or something. It's not like Sirius hated him, but he always acted like Sirius was an idiot. Like just because he didn't talk like a bloody professor all the time, that meant he didn't know anything. What a tosser. "Hey Sirius," he said, then took a swig of orange juice straight from the bottle. Who did that? Honestly, every time he came around, it was like living with a pig. If Sirius wanted to live with a pig, he'd buy from from the animal shelter or wherever it is people bought pigs from (how would he know? He's not a farmer, and a pig wouldn't fit in very well at their house-- pigs and this many stairs don't mix.).

Sirius made a face at him and reluctantly said, "Hi. Is this what you're learning at uni? How to mess up someone else's kitchen?" Because in addition to his bottle-drinking ways, he'd opened a loaf of bread and left the peanut butter with the knife still in it-- and still sticky with jelly.

"Relax, it's not like you're the one that has to clean it up."

"I can't believe Professor Binns gave me this bad a grade," Sirius said, frowning at his report card.

"Ugh, I know right?" Lily said, easily falling into step beside him. "I got the same grade. My dad's totally going to choke when he sees it. You look pretty calm considering I know your dad's going to flip too."

"It's not set in stone yet," Sirius said, thinking about all the other report cards that he'd been able to fix.

"You going to get it fixed?"

"Yep."

"Binns is notoriously hard to please. I don't think he'll change it for you."

"I've done the impossible before," Sirius said, tucking the paper in his bag.

"Like that time you convinced Severus to cut his hair short?"

Sirius gave a decisive nod. "Exactly. This is just a little grade; Binns won't even remember it by the end of the year."

"Good luck," she said, voice light enough that Sirius knew she doubted his ability to get it done.

But really, what did she know? Sirius had been taking care of his grades like this for years, and Orion was never the wiser that Sirius failed to turn in so much of his homework. He didn't have the time to do homework though, not after the designer stores started opening so close to their house. Great outfits didn't just put themselves together. Lily knew that.

"Hey kiddo," Orion said, looking up from his dinner as if suddenly struck with a memory, "where's your report card?"

Sirius had to swallow thickly around food he hadn't quite finished chewing. "I don't have it yet."

"You don't have it? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah, Sirius," James said, looking far too smarmy for his own good. "Didn't everyone else get their's today?"

Sirius glared at him, but he had to think up a response because Orion was still looking at him expectantly. "Dad, you always say that you should never accept a first offer. I'm negotiating."

James snorted, but Orion nodded approvingly.

"Do you think you'll be able to do it?" Orion asked.

"Totally."

"How?" James said derisively. "Going to give your professors a makeover?"

"Don't get mad at me just because you look like you went picking through a poor American writer's closet." Open plaid shirt? Really? James could at least try. And the graphic tee under it that said something about animal rights certainly wasn't helping-- also, faux fur exists for a reason, duh.

"-and I was like, er hello? Gideon's Welsh, and if we go on a date or something, people are going to expect me to know how to speak Welsh. It's like, a super hard language to learn, and I'd totally butcher it," Lily said.

"Welsh is hard. It's like, almost impossible to learn even if you are Welsh," Sirius agreed. "Total downer."

"It's almost impossible to learn Welsh because the British government is still trying to make it a dead language and is actively working to make that happen," James interrupted, and Sirius and Lily turned around to glare at him. He was eating cereal from the box. Again. "If either of you paid attention to your history class instead of talking about your nails, you'd know that." And then he stormed away. Like he thought he was some sort of storm god that came down to interrupt perfectly nice conversations. They'd barely been talking about Welsh and British colonialism in the first place.

"What's his damage?" Lily said.

"God, who even knows. Maybe you could ask Gideon on a not-date first. See if it's worth the trouble first," Sirius suggested. Then he shrugged and added, "Or you could go my route and not date because everyone our age is kind of a bonehead anyways."

"Are you including yourself in that?" Lily asked pointedly, and Sirius just rolled his eyes. As if.

"Hey Sirius, have you seen my cellphone?" Regulus asked.

"No, and I'm not going to help you look," Sirius said, flipping a page of the fashion magazine he was reading. Well, looking at. They never had good articles in these, he was sure. "Maybe next time you'll carry it in a bag like me."

"I'd look like a ponce," Regulus said, then poked his head up and looked at him. "Like you." He ducked back down before Sirius could decide to throw the magazine at him.

"Well there are worse things in life than looking like a ponce, Reggie."

"Don't call me Reggie," Regulus muttered, and Sirius summarily ignored him-- summarily, his big vocab word of the day; he was trying to get better about those so he wouldn't sound so clueless all the time.

"For one, you could be crawling around on your hands and knees looking for something that you could have so easily kept in your bag. For another, you wouldn't fail to find it and have to ask Dad for a new one. You know he's not going to give it to you, right? Not after he just bought you that new desktop computer."

"I'll find it," Regulus growled, all prepubescent certainty.

"Sure you will," Sirius said. "And while we're on the subject, I didn't say you have to carry a purse, I said a bag. Get a bag to match your school bag or something so that you can avoid being bullied like you imagine your dear old brother was."

"You weren't bullied," James said, choosing that moment to enter the room, looking a little more angry at the world than he usually did before talking to Sirius.

"Exactly my point! So, dear sweet Regulus, get yourself a bag. Or a purse, if you are so bold. Hi James."

"Er, hi. You lose something Reg?" James asked, bending over a little as if the changed angle would help him find the answer to his question. He was a total prick and all, but at least he had a nice backside. God only knows how he got it though, sitting around reading boring books.

"My cellphone. Matty said he would call me tonight, so I need my cellphone."

"Would that be the same cellphone I saw sitting on the balcony upstairs?" James asked. He had that answer all prepped and ready to go before Regulus had said a word. Weird.

Regulus shot up, eyes wide. "Really?" He went running off up the stairs before James could answer.

"You okay?" James asked, and Sirius frowned up at him.

"Yeah? What, are we having heart to hearts now? Because if there's something you want to talk about, there are therapists for that." Aka, please don't talk to Sirius about that sort of thing. It's not like he was against James talking to him, but if James was in a talking sort of mood, he'd probably want to talk about, like, world hunger or something and then James would get mad at him for not doing more to help-- just like he always did.

"No, I- I meant with Regulus?"

"What about my dear sweet brother? I was being honest before; Dad won't give him a new cellphone if he doesn't manage to hold onto that one for another month. At least."

"Not that. He called you..."

Ah, so James had been listening the whole time. "You can't say that surprises you," Sirius said. "The makeup is usually a dead giveaway for people when I'm not wearing a skirt." Although, he did usually wear a skirt because if he could look that good in something, why wouldn't he?

"Yeah, I didn't mean that." He was still giving Sirius a too-severe look. Normally at this point in a conversation, they'd be poking and needling at each other. "...Whatever." He walked around and joined Sirius on the couch, landing heavily specifically to displace Sirius's comfortable position. "Bloody hell, you're reading a fashion magazine. And here I thought you were reading something intellectual for once."

That was more like it. Sirius hit him on the head with the magazine and got tickled in the side for it. Besides, it totally wasn't fair for James to say that. Sirius had watched the news some to that he knew what a little of what was going on. And he actually listened when Professor McGonagall talked about the various disasters happening around the world.

"We should be friends with him," Sirius said, and Lily looked at him like he was crazy.

"Um, excuse me? Sirius, look at him."

Sirius looked. His nose wrinkled, but he shook it off. "Yeah, I know. God, I know, he looks like a total burn out." He had baggy clothes, and the lip ring wasn't doing him any favours. He'd dyed his hair green, which served to make his skin look pale and sallow. "But, you know Lily, we've been trying to do more good things for the world, and that starts where we live."

"That means planting flowers that don't grow on bushes; not bringing down our credibility by being seen with... someone like that."

"You'll survive," Sirius said before raising his voice and calling, "Remus!" while waving a hand at him. "Hi, I'm Sirius, and this is Lily."

Lily gave a terse little smile. "Hi." She sounded way too snooty for what they were trying to do.

Sirius gave her a warning glare for it, then turned back to Remus with a bright smile.

"Oh. Erm, I'm Remus. Just moved down here," he murmured. He had a Northern Irish accent. God, who even lived there anymore? At least it explained why he was more pale than he should've been. Honestly, the porcelain look had been a mistake for everyone.

"Yeah, that's great honey. Listen, if we're going to be mates, you need to not mumble everything. You're proud of yourself-- or at least you're going to be-- and people who are proud of themselves don't let their mouths muss up their speech so much. Okay?"

"Erm. Okay?"

Sirius beamed. "Great! You free tonight? No offense, but I was thinking you could come over and we could get started on a makeover for you. Maybe buy some new clothes this weekend if this is representative of your entire wardrobe."

Remus tugged on his shirt self-consciously. "I'm here on scholarship," he muttered, face getting a bit of colour as he blushed.

"Oh, don't even worry about that. I've totally got you covered."

"Why? I mean, why would you do that for me? We've just met."

"Because he's totally lost his marbles and decided that he needed a male best friend," Lily said, rolling her eyes.

"I've done nothing of the sort, Lily. I'm simply... expanding the group."

"Group? There's no 'group'. It's you and me."

"Well, now it's you and me and Remus, so we're a group. Right?" Sirius said, looking at Remus.

"I guess?" Remus agreed tremulously.

The good news-- the really really excellent news-- was that Remus was pretty cute once the weekend was over. His natural hair was loads better than what he'd done to it before, and with the lip ring gone, he had the face of an angel. Well, an angel with freckles, but some people liked that.

Lily had missed most of the transformation because she'd had a date with Gideon-- apparently, the Welsh thing wasn't an issue so long as they were still in the city because everyone around them pretending that Gideon wasn't Welsh-- but she was suitably impressed when they showed up to school on Monday.

"Okay, lesson number two, Remus, is making sure that if you're going to date, you're dating the right sort of person. Your new look, new diet, and new workout regime won't mean anything if you spoil it by dating the wrong sort of person. Benjy, for example, is a burn out. You don't want to join that crowd. They're all going to end up flunking out before they can decide what they want to do with their lives, and you're going to be just like them if you date him." Sirius wasn't used to being so harsh with people-- other than Regulus and James because duh, they both needed the help big time-- but Remus had given Benjy a shy smile and friendly wave when he'd seen him a few moments ago. Remus could always decide not to date like Sirius had, but Remus had seemed gobsmacked at the idea that Sirius wasn't having sex. Aiming him in the right direction had a better chance of success than convincing him that guys their age weren't worth his time. "Look, for example, at Peter." Peter was a friend, and they got on pretty well considering they hardly hung out because Peter lived in the exact opposite direction of Lily. "He's popular, very nicely groomed, and most importantly, doesn't smell like weed because he doesn't smoke it. Tell you what, I'll help you get his attention, and we'll see where it goes from there." As if he stood a chance of failure. He'd gotten two of his professors together just to help boost his grade; getting Remus and Peter together was going to be a piece of cake.

But Remus agreed, and that's all that was important. Even if dating Peter didn't last, it would get his mind off Benjy and on the right track.

"I bet you've never done anything selfless in your entire life," James said, and Sirius glared at him.

Partly for the (very unfair) comment, partly because there was no reason for James to be here right now when there wasn't a break in uni, but mostly because he was sporting facial hair that looked more like razor burn than anything else. "What is that thing on your face?"

"My glasses? I've had them since before we ever met."

"No, that disgusting peach fuzz on your chin. You look fourteen; it's despicable. Shave it off or you'll risk looking like an even bigger berk than you already do. There, I did something selfless."

James rolled his eyes. "It doesn't count as selfless if you're telling me to help your own senses."

"So you admit that that thing is an abomination to my eyesight?"

James snorted and muttered something about he was right about Sirius being selfish, but the light dusting of hair along his jaw was gone. He looked much better this way, but it's not like Sirius could say that to his face; that would be too much like getting along.

Still, James thinking that Sirius was selfish stuck with him. "Lily? Would you say that I'm selfish?"

"Not to your face."

Sirius pouted. "I do good things."

"Sure you do. You're better than me, anyways. I'm still not sure about your whole mentoring-Remus kick, but whatever."

This was probably the worst night of Sirius's life. Really. Worse than Dad's last wedding, when the priest showed up drunk, and Regulus puked all over the cake because he'd been sneaking ice cream all day and Sirius had had to run around fixing everything-- why Sirius had taken care of it instead of James's mum, he'd had no idea, but it had been very stressful. Wedding cakes took ages to make, and priests were surprisingly hard to pin down even though they were supposed to serve the people or whatever.

But anyways, this was worse. Because not only had Peter stolen a kiss and pretty much ignored Remus the whole party and come onto him in the car and then driven away when Sirius got out of the car because he wouldn't stop touching him, leaving Sirius stranded in the middle of nowhere, but someone had mugged him! Mugged! Like it was the bloody dark ages! he had no phone, no cash, and he'd gotten mud on his Jimmy Choo's. Mud. That wasn't going to come out. He'd just gotten these heels, and now they were ruined. Ruined! Why did he try to have anything good in this life? It was just going to end up splattered with mud.

Since he didn't know how to use the tube much less where it was and Dad would totally be mad at him if he had to leave the house to come pick Sirius up from a party he wasn't supposed to be at, that left Sirius with only one real option: James. James would come get him, if only because it would make Sirius owe him a favour.

Getting his hands on a phone he could use was a little bit more difficult than it should have been, and he was glad that he'd taken the time to memorise the number for James's dorm room.

"Hello?"

"Hi James, it's Sirius, and I need for you to come pick me up."

"Pick you up? Where the hell are you?"

"I was at this party that Dad doesn't know about, so I couldn't call him!" Sirius didn't really mean to shout, but he was tired and-- quite frankly-- on the verge of crying. "It's been like, the worst night ever. Someone stole my phone so I can't call a cab."

"Okay," James said slowly. "Weren't you at a party with your friends? Why didn't one of them drive you home?"

"Peter started to, but then he like, practically assaulted me for some reason, and he wouldn't stop touching me, so I had to get out of the car, and when I wouldn't get back in, he left. Can you believe that? He just left me out here all by myself, and then someone stole my phone and stuff, so I couldn't call a stupid cab for myself, and I just ruined my new pair of Jimmy Choo's, so I need you to come get me!"

"Jesus, I'm coming. Just- don't cry, I'll be there soon."

Sirius was already crying. He sniffled a little and went outside to wait since he'd already ruined these shoes and a little more harsh pavement wasn't going to do anything worse to them. Sirius thought that he couldn't feel any worse about himself, except he got in the car when James showed up, and some little fuck buddy of his was there, took one look at Sirius and said, "God, is he your step-brother or a rent-boy?"

Sirius ripped one of his shoes off and shoved it in their face. "These are Jimmy Choo's. Rent-boys that have to stand on the side of the road in the middle of the bloody night can't afford those, and I'm sixteen. If you want to be a piece of shite, maybe you could just say so." He put his shoe back on and sneered at him now that he was looking. "And if you want to say I'm pretty, you could just fucking say that too."

James pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, which kept Sirius from feeling even worse about himself. Of course, then James's little friend started talking about Shakespeare-- probably to make him feel inferior-- and he had to butt in partway through.

"That's Twelfth Night, not Taming of the Shrew."

"I think I know more Shakespeare than you do," he said, all condescension.

"Congrats, I know my American high school movies. Channing Tatum was the one that gave the greatness speech in She's the Man, not Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. She's the Man was based on Twelfth Night, so that's what it's from."

This time, James couldn't completely hold back his laughter.

"Hi Dad."

"Hi pumpkin," Dad said distractedly, not looking up from the paper in front of him.

"What are you working on?"

"Just a case."

"Ah." Sirius rocked back on his heels. He didn't feel like being alone, but he also didn't want to leave the house or... do anything, really. He just wanted to hang out with Dad a little. "Anything I can do to help?"

Dad looked up at him, over the rim of his glasses. Then he smiled. "Sure. Here," he said picking up a stack to the left and handing it to Sirius along with a highlighter, "highlight every call that was made on March third."

"Okay." Sirius sat down next to him and started working. It was pretty quiet, just the sound of them breathing, the squeak of highlighters, and the occasional paper being flipped.

"Are you watching the news?" James asked. He sounded a little surprised, but not incredulous.

"Yeah. Trying to stay up to date with the world like you suggested."

"Huh." James threw himself on the couch next to him and stole his snack.

People who stole his snacks should not be allowed to look so cute, especially since James said it tasted weird and then kept eating it instead of giving it back. And really, who looked cute in denim anyways? This was totally not on.

Sirius didn't think anything about the fact that he'd called James cute in his mind until a few minutes later, when James pulled a blanket over their legs. This was... soft. Comfortable, even. Snack stealing aside, it made Sirius's chest feel all warm to be snuggled up like this with James.

Realising that he fancied James was kind of like that time he was a kid and realised that he was stuck with Regulus for life, unlike Dad's wives that had a habit of coming and going before Sirius had to really accept them. Only this was worse because unlike then, there was no guarantee that everything would turn out okay. Sirius and Regulus had had to get used to each other; James was under no such commitment to fancy Sirius back, especially since James's type seemed to be arseholes that thought they knew Shakespeare and had no idea how to dress themselves.

Sirius hadn't decided what he was going to do about it, which made it so much worse when Remus turned to him one day and said, "Hey, would you help me get James?"

"What?" Sirius said, blinking at him. Surely that had been an auditory hallucination. Since when did Remus want to date James?

"James," Remus said, as if there had been any doubt. He might as well have elaborated to explain who James was for all that had made sense. Of course they were still talking about James. If they were talking about someone else, Sirius wouldn't care. More power to Remus for finally getting his legs under him. But James? Really? The last guy that Remus had been interested in of his own volition was Benjy. "Will you help me? I mean, you know him so much better than I do."

"Why would you want to date James? He's not exactly your type."

"You've been saying that I should get a new type," Remus reminded him.

Aw shite, he had said that. Of course, at the time that he'd been saying it, he meant Peter. He didn't mean that anymore, but he really did not meant James. "Well yeah," Sirius hedged, "but I don't think you're his type either. I mean, he likes, like, brainy people."

"Are you saying I'm stupid?" Remus asked, and he wasn't hurt by it, he was belligerent.

"What? No, I just mean that-"

"If you're going to be an arse about this, I won't bother sticking around," Remus said. Before Sirius could collect himself enough to protest or correct him, Remus had gathered his things and left.

"What the...?" Sirius shook his head. Whatever. If Remus wanted to act like he was better than him, then fine. Sirius didn't need him, and obviously Remus didn't need him anymore.

Sirius didn't know how big of a mistake he'd made with Remus until they were at school, and Remus didn't just brush off Benjy when he dropped by their table; he made fun of him. Listen, Sirius wasn't responsible for a change of mind, and he knew that. But there was something about the way he did it, like it was a performance he was doing to please everyone around him. The amused look he shot Lily afterwards only cemented that idea.

Sirius went to find Benjy after last class, because he figured someone owed him an apology and Remus sure wasn't going to do it himself. "Hi," Sirius said.

Benjy looked up at him, looking less stoned than usual. "Hey. Erm, sorry about your shoes."

"What shoes?"

"The er, red ones that I spilled a drink on. Like, a few months ago, remember?"

"Oh, those are so last season, it's fine. Listen, I wanted to apologise for Remus being... well, a total arse. I told him that he should take more pride in his appearance and like, apparently he took that to mean he should be rude to people that like him if they aren't popular." There were a few details that he was leaving out, but they weren't important to the situation. It didn't really matter that Sirius had given Remus a makeover and told him straight out that dating Benjy would bring him down, because Remus hadn't even listened to him. It was only once Remus had turned confident that he started acting like an arse, and Sirius didn't think he could be credited with that. "Did you want to-" god this pained him "-like come over for pizza or something?"

"Huh?"

"Just to make you feel better," Sirius said quickly. He didn't want Benjy to think they were suddenly friends. "You looked like a kicked puppy after Remus blew you off. And I need an excuse to order pizza," he added. Lily was going gluten free, and as the best friend, Sirius wasn't supposed to order any food that would mess up her diet. Of course, Sirius also wasn't supposed to be eating that much cheese and bringing Benjy around would give a good excuse for both of them.

Sirius had sort of been having not good luck lately, so it was a surprise when Benjy said yes, but not a surprise when Benjy, Lily, and Sirius showed up to find that James and Remus were already there. Personally, Sirius wanted to know why Remus thought he could invite himself over when they were in the middle of a fight, but whatever.

"James, do you want pizza?" Sirius yelled. He wasn't going to make the effort to go over to him and ask like a civilised person because he didn't want for James to think of him as put together all the time. Looking as good as Sirius did on a daily basis took time.

"Pineapple!"

Sirius only had to stare at him incredulously for a moment before he cracked up. He found it endearing. It was a stupid joke-- a barely there joke, even-- and James was guffawing, something that Sirius usually did not find pleasant in the slightest. Somehow though, all Sirius could think was that James looked super adorable and he wanted to squish his cheeks. Or maybe kiss him. Or maybe hug him. Feelings were confusing.

"Cheese is fine," James said.

Sirius stuck his tongue out then went to make a call, nodding when Lily said they should do thick crust. He had no idea what happened when he was gone, but Benjy and Remus had both vanished. Together, according to Lily. "Well where did they go?"

"Based on the moon eyes they were giving each other, I told them to get a room, and I think they listened to me," Lily said. "I'd give them some time alone before going looking for them. I don't think it's something either of us want to see."

"What, are they getting along again?"

"Guess so," James said. "Isn't that why you brought that guy here? What did you say his name was? Ben?"

"Well yeah, but I didn't know that Remus was here." Sirius narrowed his eyes at James. "What were you even talking about? And why are you here? Don't you ever go to school?"

"You're just now realising this?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius's crush on James was out of hand. Normally, Sirius only helped with Dad's work when Dad was around. The whole point was to spend time with him. Right now though, Dad was still at the office, and Sirius was helping with the work to spend time with James. He wasn't sure when James had decided to work with Dad, but it meant that Sirius was poring over papers in the study with James and Lucius instead of going shopping with Lily and Remus like he wanted to; he'd even gotten all dressed up for it, and it felt kind of ridiculous to be wearing a skirt this short if he was staying in but whatever.

If this was a different situation, Sirius might think that James was interested in him. Sirius was playing with his hair because he categorically refused to pull it back unless he was doing something physical, and he was trying to keep from getting too bored. It wasn't all that strange, but he'd be messing with his hair, and James would glance at him before tearing his eyes away. Then, a minute later, it would happen again. Sirius would poke James with the non-ink point of his pen, and James would give him a little shove in return. It was playful, almost like flirting. If it were anyone else, Sirius would think it was flirting, but this was James, and since when was James interested in someone like him?

Lucius shuffled some of the stacks around, looking confused. "Where are the call records?"

"What call records?" James asked.

"The ones our client made. It was over a hundred pages, where did it go?"

"You mean the March calls?" Sirius said, and they both looked at him. "I highlighted the calls from March and then put them in two piles since there was..." he slowed a little at the angry twist to Lucius's face, "so much. Was that not right?"

"No, you absolute idiot, it wasn't right. The March calls are nothing; we don't need them. It's going to take hours to find all of them again, and it's your fault."

"Hey," James protested, and Sirius shrunk back a little.

"We have to have this case ready by tomorrow, and now we won't be able to." Lucius shook his head.

"I didn't mean to," Sirius said quietly.

"Congratulations, you didn't mean to bugger up," Lucius said flatly. "You still did. Why are you here, again?"

Sirius wasn't in the mood to get yelled at, so he slid out of his chair and left the room.

"That was uncalled for," James said. "He's not getting paid for this, and he had no idea that he shouldn't split them up."

"Leave it to you to defend him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That maybe if you weren't busy making puppy eyes at him, you would've noticed that there was an issue sooner and we would actually have the time to fix this. But you were busy thinking with your prick, and now we're buggered. Besides, isn't he supposed to be your brother?"

"Step-brother, and we weren't bloody raised together," James defended automatically.

"Do whatever the hell you want," Lucius said, getting to his feet, "I'm calling in sick tomorrow so I don't have to explain to the boss why his stupid son messed it all up."

"He's not stupid; he's just not trained for this. He didn't have to be there at all, and-"

Lucius cut him off with a groan as they walked to the front door. "For god's sake, if you want to moon over him, do it with someone that cares. I'll talk to you when you have half a brain again."

"I doubt I'll ever see you again if you're ducking out of this now, Lucius, but go on and get a good night's rest, I'm sure you'll need it for job hunting." James sort of slammed the door as soon as Lucius was out of the house. He rubbed at his forehead tiredly as he turned, catching sight of Sirius sitting on the middle landing of the stairs. It was obvious that he'd been there the whole time. He looked sad. James had seen him upset a few times, but never so dejected. He had his knees pulled up a little, arms resting on top of them. The way Sirius dressed was so innocent. He wore a short skirt because he liked knee-high socks and the way his legs looked, not because he was trying to seduce anyone. That being said, James felt thoroughly seduced.

"Did I really mess it all up?" Sirius asked, sounding as depressed as he looked.

"Nah." James walked up the stairs and sat down next to him. "Lucius is just blowing off steam. I mean, yeah, it'll take some time to sort out, but it's not going to ruin the case or summat."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Sirius turned and hugged him, hiding his face in James's neck. "Thanks." Then, a moment later, he added, "Thanks for sticking up for me. I know you think I'm kind of vapid."

"You're not vapid; you're just not a bloody professor. That's not a bad thing."

Sirius leaned back a little. "Were you really making puppy eyes at me?"

"What?" James asked, a blush rising in his cheeks far too fast for it to be innocent.

Sirius kissed him. It was a little clumsy, but the important part was that James kissed him back. James's hand was warm on his knee, and Sirius wondered if it would be wildly inappropriate to climb into his lap.

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #lily evans #regulus black #remus lupin #filled #getting together #fusion #no magic au #hogwarts time #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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1056

survey by katesmarie13

(Merry Christmas! Or Happy Holidays! Or Happy Friday! <3)

Okay, just a few basics first...THEN the new stuff.

Your full name? I only feel like sharing the name Robyn today.

Your hometown? Manila, kinda. I won’t give away the city I currently reside in.

Age? 22, and a waste of a year it was. I’m so tempted to just turn 22 again in 2021.

Now for something different and completely random...

When you're having a bad day, what comfort food do you reach for? It differs per bad day and it also depends if I can afford to get whatever it is I’m craving. Though for the most part, I’ve found myself pining for samgyupsal the most often. It’s just the ultimate problem-fixer and makes-the-sad-go-away-er.

Do you have an item that is your good luck charm? I don’t really believe in those, so no. The farthest I’ve gone with a certain item and luck is how I insisted to use the same paddle that was available in our gym whenever I trained for table tennis back in high school. The reason I don’t think it has anything to do with luck is because I simply thought I had the best grip with that paddle, not because I was convinced I can win any game with it.

If so, what is it? See paddle situation aboe.

Your favorite thing about your job (or school)? It’s in the media/public relations field so there are lots of freebies and treats that come with the job that make what I do worth it, and a lot more fun. The entire team also consists of Gen Z-ers and younger Millennials, so there are practices we follow that bigger corporations might not have, like longer office shutdowns during Christmas (we don’t get back to work until Jan 4th), reminders to take mental health breaks, and a no-video-meetings rule every Friday afternoon.

Least favorite thing about your job (or school)? It’s very, very hectic so I have the tendency to get overwhelmed as early as 10 AM. There’s never any dead air and I don’t get rest for nine hours straight (my shift is technically eight hours, but I work through the allotted 1-hour lunch break as well). OT is also common, but at least I get paid for it. Demanding clients who micromanage and/or ask for too much work to be done from our end also make the job stressful.

Does global warming and the hole in the ozone truly bother you? Of course. My heart sinks every time I come across a new article saying glaciers are melting, that animals living in polar regions are suffering, that sea ice continues to drastically decrease, etc.

Do you have a "funny" toenail? I don’t think so? All my toenails look...the way they’re supposed to look like, lol.

How many times have you moved in your lifetime? The times I can remember, just twice. But my parents moved around a bit when I was still an infant.

Do you watch professional wrestling and is it real? I do watch and keep up with it, just not as much as I used to. I don’t recognize most of the new faces anymore, and I wouldn’t be able to give you a decent breakdown of the current storylines in any promotion, not even in WWE. The angles, results, belts, and characters all aren’t real, but the movesets (especially the submission holds) risks, and injuries very much are. Are we going to debate this in 2020 still? Lmao.

What's your favorite thing to microwave? Don’t microwaves just heat stuff up? I dunno if it heats a certain food better than others lol.

Could Pop-Tarts survive a nuclear attack? I doubt it.

Does anyone know where the UP (Upper Peninsula) is? Can I give you a different UP? That’s where I went to in college, heh heh.

What's the regular unleaded gas price where you are? I have no idea. I never paid attention. I usually just give the gas attendant anywhere between P300 to P700 and see how far up it would fill my tank.

Do you know someone who's been injured in Iraq? I don’t know. Probably not. None of my relatives who migrated ever signed up for the US military.

Do you remember what a Puff-A-Lump is? I’m pretty positive I’ve never heard of it before.

Least favorite TV show? Game of Thrones.

Favorite canned soup? I don’t consume that.

How far does your belly button stick out or sink in? How can I even measure this?

Do you have a particular coffee mug you drink from? Yes, but I’ve described it so many times in surveys from just this month alone.

What does that mug say/have on it? The first line reads “Seattle, WA” then “Starbucks” in big bold letters, then “Coffee Company” below it, and the last line reads. “Est. 1971.”

Your take on declawing cats? I don’t like cats a lot but this does not sound like a responsible thing to do, and it also sounds like a painful procedure for a poor cat.

Do have smoke detectors in your home? No. That’s not really a requirement or standard practice here.

Would it be easy to erase YOUR identity? I suppose it’s technically easy to hire someone who can do that (a la Breaking Bad), I just would not be willing to do it and give up who I am for anything in the world.

Do you know anyone named Sam? Lots. My cousin is named Sam; I also went to school with multiple Sams.

How many drawers do you have in your room/office? Five.

What was your favorite snuggle toy when you were a child? I was happy with a pillow. I was never into stuffed toys all that much.

Great! A few firsts then...

What was your first pet and their name? I had a goldfish that I simply named Goldy. I vividly remember this because Angela’s first pet was also a goldfish; and there was a time we did show-and-tell in first grade and she bought her pet. We had been bickering that day, as 7 year olds do, and I remember being an absolute asshole and snickering when she introduced her fish as Fishy because I thought it was a cheesy name and that Goldy was far superior. Sorry Fishy. You had a great name.

When your mind wanders, where does it go first? My biggest stressor for the day, usually.

Your first knick-knack (item you placed in your room/house)? I have no clue. I was 10 when we first moved in here, and a completely different person.

First "real" piece of jewlery? (This goes for the guys too) I’m going to forgive this survey for being a little sexist because it’s nearly 15 years old; but anyway, I’ve never had any expensive jewelry of my own. All the pricey ones I’ve ever worn are owned by mom.

What did you do on your first date? We went to a museum and had early dinner at an Italian-American restaurant. We also had coffee after, and then she slept over at my place where I let her play GTA V on our PS3 because she wasn’t allowed to play it in her house.

Who was your first best friend? Kaye. I can’t trace her down now because she has such a common name, but I hope she’s been doing well.

When did you first realize that life isn't easy and fun? I was 12, going through puberty and a generally not-nice time of my life, with everyone in the house hating and isolating me.

And lastly...

The last thing you thought about before you fell asleep last night? I briefly thought about how many hours I need to sleep to get a decent rest, but I passed out in like 10 seconds.

Your last argument? Last night my mom and I had an argument about where I last placed my phone because I had already misplaced it two times prior during the day.

Your last words to someone...? “You’re wearing black; it’s not too obvious” when my mom was complaining that she looked a bit big in her outfit for today.

The last place you'd go? I’m not very sure about the wording here. Do you mean the last place I went to (outside the house to pay for a delivery)? Or the last place I’d want to go to before I die (no clue)? Hahahaha.

The last thing you'd find yourself wearing? Again, not so sure about the grammar here.

What will be the last thing that you do today? Trying to doze off.

#survey #surveys

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aziraphalesrarebooks · 5 years

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Accidental Summoning

A tired and hungry Warlock Dowling accidently summons his old childhood Nanny by way of a bologna sandwich.

He was exhausted, it was fall but the heat was still present at his university making the already long days seem longer.

He’d been studying for a big exam in one of his history courses nearly the entire day and couldn’t be bothered to eat or drink anything that wasn’t coffee.

He opened the fridge and pulled out mustard, American cheese, and bologna. He was too tired to cook but this would do for the night; not to mention that he didn’t have much else to prepare.

He got out a paper plate and two slices of white bread. Cheese down, then bologna, then, he got an idea. He hadn’t thought of his Nanny in ages. Her snake tattoo had been a source of comfort for him as a child and thinking of it made him smile.

He always thought of her when he was anxious, he’d loved her dearly and had been heartbroken to see her leave.

He shook his bottle of mustard and drew the familiar mark on his sandwich, then circled it once so he’d have mustard on the edges too.

He placed the other piece of bread on top and reached into the fridge for some milk.

He froze when he turned around.

A man was leaning against his counter.

A very well-dressed man.

A very well-dressed man with familiar flaming red hair and sunglasses.

“Nanny?” He stuttered.

He smirked.

“Uhh… Sandwich then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Chips?”

“Mhm.”

The demon takes a bite, takes the glass of milk from his hand and vanishes.

The next day, he takes his test as usual but when he arrives back to his apartment, the glass is sitting on the counter and his fridge is completely full; albeit, full of foods he liked to eat when he was a kid but full nonetheless. There is also a suspiciously tartan throw now resting on his much nicer sofa with a stack of books sitting on a coffee table that definitely hadn’t been there that morning.

It’s almost a year later when he sees Nanny again. He’d been cooking lasagna for a date that had stood him up. He has a ton of food and even a dessert he’d hoped to share for later .

Warlock is old enough now to drink and opens what he considers a fairly good bottle of wine; granted he mostly drinks two-buck chuck from the local TJs.

He sits down at his worn kitchen table and absentmindedly doodles with his finger as he waits for the timer and sips his wine.

He truly doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until there is a clearing of a throat across from him.

He has the decency to not to scream but does spill a bit of his wine out of the glass when he realizes he’s not alone.

Nanny laughs and pours himself a glass.

“Uh… Hi again. It’s ah, I made lasagna.”

“Sounds good.”

“So… um, how’ve you been?”

“Not bad, living in South Downs now with the Angel. He says Hello by the way.”

“He’s more than welcome to a slice when it comes out of the oven. I er… I’d been expecting company, but they decided to cancel at the last minute. I even have some moose chilling in the fridge.”

“He’d like that.” As suddenly as he was there, he was gone.

The timer goes off and he takes the steaming dish out of his oven before pulling out an extra plate. There’s a knock at his door and he goes to answer, standing in the hall is Nanny and who is fairly sure is a better-looking Brother Francis.

“Uh, hi again. Come in?”

“Of course, Master Warlock! Thank you so much for inviting us!” Warlock then realizes he has two bottles of very expensive wine in his arms and Nanny is carrying what looks to be some sort of baguette.

After his second glass of wine, tongues are loosened, and they are reminiscing about his frankly odd childhood.

“I can’t believe you both thought I was the Antichrist!” he’s laughing at both the absurdity and the fact it explains so much of his strange childhood.

“Honest mistake! Was the nun's fault anyway,” he mumbles.

“Yes, my dear but it worked out all right in the end. One day you simply must meet Adam, he’s a charming young fellow.”

“Meet the Antichrist, that might not be too bad.” He says, he’s on his fourth glass and is so sleepy he can hardly keep upright in his spot on the couch. “I never said thank you, for the uh, couch and stuff.”

“It was a good sandwich and you really needed an upgrade. That old couch was evil, it was sent back to hell where it belonged.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” He pouted.

Crowley replied with a pointed look.

He fell asleep at some point in the night, likely finally reaching his alcohol limited and passing out.

When he wakes up the next morning, it is blissfully without a hangover. He muddles into his kitchen to make a pot of coffee when he stops, dead in his tracks.

His kitchen table is new, as is his fridge and stove. There is a shiny new instant pot sitting on the counter and the pot of coffee is already made.

He pours himself a cup and opens his fridge to find it has once again been filled, this time with his weight in cheese, wine, and sweets. He laughs, shakes his head and grabs the creamer from the door.

On the oak table is a note:

Enjoyed last night,

We should do it again sometime.

Crowley and Aziraphale

PS: Aziraphale says to make

your mother’s delightful fish

stew the next time.

And so, begins a tradition, Warlock cooks or sometimes he just buys pizza and either Nanny comes for a visit or both. Other times, especially the days where he is stressed beyond belief, Nanny will show up and take him to dinner or Aziraphale will stop by with a venti white mocha extra whip just for him.

It’s weird having them back in his life but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

When he decides to go to grad school two years after graduating from his undergraduate program, he picks a school in England. It’s more his home than this is, and he’d be closer to the bookshop Aziraphale owns but he’s yet to be able to visit.

He miraculously finds a flat that is in his price range near the shops and takes to working there part-time, if one can even call it that.

He never sells a single book; a feat Aziraphale is most proud of.

When he graduates with his graduate degree in library science and history, Aziraphale and Crowley both attend the ceremony, clapping proudly as he walks across the stage when his own parents don’t attend.

They take him to the Ritz for dinner in celebration and when they toast, he can’t help but thank that bologna sandwich and sleep deprivation for giving him back the family he’d so desperately missed.

#Accidental Demon Summoning #Good Omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #Warlock Dowling #Crowley is proud of his little snake #Warlock is totally their son #I don't make the rules #Good Omens Fic #Ineffable Husbands

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menswearmusings · 4 years

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Adjusting Your Perceptions of What “Fits”

There are two ditches most men seem to fall into when it comes to how they wear a tailored jacket. On one side are the large, oversized suits with sleeves and jacket too long and shoulders too wide, with pants sagging and drooping like they’re drapes. The other side is the super form-fitting, tight fit with bulging lapels, a short jacket length and very form-fitting pants. As with most things, somewhere in between these two is most ideal. Each aspect of how a jacket fits has a range of what could be considered a “good fit,” with personal preference and overall design aesthetic playing a part. In this post I want to give some basic principles for how a jacket should fit.

Shoulders: narrow or extended

This is one of the most critical aspects of jacket fit to get right, because altering it after the fact is essentially impossible. The shoulders of a jacket can be structured and padded, or soft and lightly or not padded; this depends on the design aesthetic and tailoring tradition (British suits are padded, Southern Italian ones are not). Since your body is three-dimensional, there are a few things that will impact how well a jacket fits you in the shoulders (such as how pronounced your deltoids are, etc.), but I’ll just talk about the width of the shoulders. In tailoring terms, the distance from the tip of the jacket’s shoulder, where the sleeve meets the shoulder at the top seam on one side to that same point on the other side, is called “point to point.”

Generally speaking, you want to avoid a jacket whose point-to-point measurement is so narrow that your arm juts out into the sleeve head (the top of the sleeve where it attaches to the shoulder). At the same time, if the point to point is so wide that the seam at the end of the shoulder sticks out far beyond your scapula (that bone at the tip of your shoulder right above your deltoid), drooping down, it’s too wide. So there is a range that can be considered well fitting.

Neapolitan tailoring tends to have a narrower shoulder, in part because Neapolitan jackets have very little in the way of structure, so a wider shoulder would just sag off the end of the shoulder. British and Northern Italian suits, with their padding and structured shoulder line, are often wider. But it’s not just about padding, it’s about design aesthetic, and tailors have tricks to get the jacket to do what they want. For instance, Florentine tailor Liverano, who typifies tailoring from his region, designs with an extended shoulder, yet does not utilize excessive padding for a structured look; he uses only what he needs to support the sleeve head, while still maintaining a softer, rounder look.

What looks most flattering on each person will be different depending on their specific anatomy, and your preferences will be personal as well. I prefer an extended shoulder, with a softer—but not totally rounded—look.

Notice the difference in shoulder width on these two jackets. In the first image, a more traditionally Neapolitan jacket with narrower-set shoulders. In the second, slightly extended shoulders. Neither jacket has any padding in the shoulders. The second supports the end of the shoulder only by the two layers of canvas that extend upward from the chest into the shoulder line.

Chest fit: clean or with some drape

The chest of the jacket is also important to get right because alterations on it are expensive. A jacket’s chest should lay flat against the wearer’s chest, without the lapels bulging outward—that would indicate it is too tight. A chest that’s too big will have lots of extra fabric, and will probably also fit very loose in the upper back as well. The armholes will also probably be low on a jacket that’s too big in the chest, meaning the sleeves will be very loose, too, meaning that even if you had a tailor take the jacket in at the back seams and in the shoulder blades, the jacket would still look a little sloppy on account of the low armholes, big sleeves and loose chest.

There is a range of aesthetic choices, however, that can be made. A close-fitting, clean chest is the norm today. If you touch the jacket in the chest while someone is wearing it, the cloth is fitting cleanly against his body. On the other end of the spectrum is what’s called the “drape” cut, or the descendants of the drape cut, which is purposefully making the chest fit slightly large (without the typically attendant loose sleeves, low armholes and loose upper back) so that it accentuates the waist below.

Length

There are a few rules out there for how long a jacket should be, but the one that is most objective is that the jacket should fully cover your rear-end in the back, like in the image above.

[Related Read: An object lesson in jacket length]

A recent purchase of mine and how it’s caused me to re-evaluate my perceptions of what I feel is the ideal fit

I recently bought a navy blazer from my local store Haymakers. It’s made by Ring Jacket out of Japan, so it runs a little small to size. I’d tried my normal size and it was tight, but the next size up fits excellently. However, this particular double breasted jacket is cut shorter than single breasted ones in the same size because of how the bottom front hem creates a horizontal line—if it’s too long, your legs would jut out like they do from an overcoat (or a dress). So there’s a small range of space where a DB should fall to so that it shows just enough of the fork of your trousers, without erring too short, which would make the hips look wider and like you’re wearing a little boy’s jacket (or a woman’s).

Anyway, to get the length I wanted, I had to size up an additional size—so two sizes up, total. Because of that, everything fit looser: sleeves were looser, the chest had more drape, the waist was loose, the shoulders were at the wide end of the spectrum on me, and the sleeves were also too long. Even though I had the waist taken in and the sleeves shortened, it still fits looser in the chest and sleeve width than any other jacket I own. And you know what? I’m loving it. It’s super comfortable, but if you look at it in photos or even in real life, you can’t tell at all that it’s a bit fuller in those two areas. It also helps illustrate a couple other aspects of jacket fit.

[For a more comprehensive beginner’s guide to building a tailored wardrobe, check out my ebook here.]

Armholes

A high armhole is one key to a stylish tailored jacket. If an armhole is too big, any time you move your arms it causes the entire jacket to move, the shoulder line raises up, the lapel pops out and the entire line of the jacket is ruined because the sleeve is tugging at the chest of the jacket. With a higher armhole, you have much less of those issues when you move as the sleeve moves a lot more independently without tugging at the body of the jacket. For an example of a good, high armhole, check out—of all things—the suit worn by Barack Obama in his recent speech to the DNC. You can tell when he moves his arms to gesture, the armholes are high, and the entire jacket doesn’t move when his arm moves. You can also tell the sleeve is trim—more on that in a second. There’s a range for any given guy for the right size of armhole that will look good and be comfortable for him. On this Ring Jacket blazer, the armholes are at the larger end of that range, but they’re still higher than many typical, inexpensive off-the-rack jackets in American department stores.

Neapolitan tailoring is famous for using a high armhole with a sleeve cut wider than would sew perfectly into the opening, and thus they gather the extra fabric at the top of the sleeve where it attaches to the shoulder and voila, the famous grinze that creates the waterfall effect that’s so beloved. Ring Jacket models its appearance after the Neapolitan style, so in the image above you can see it has the same waterfall effect at the top of the sleeve.

The second thing about this jacket that’s new for me is the fullness of the chest. Like with other aspects of a tailored jacket, there is a range for each guy for what constitutes a good fit in the chest of a jacket; and outside that range is objectively bad, but within that range it comes down to preference and style choices.

A more form-fitted, cleaner chest is what most would consider “correct.” In the pursuit of an ever better-fitting jacket, many size down too much and the chest is too tight causing the lapels to bulge outward. But this is a mistake: a jacket’s lapels should lie flat, even if the chest is more fitted. On the other end of the spectrum is a chest that has a bit of extra fabric, so if you touch the jacket, there is a bit of space between the fabric and your chest. Many bespoke aficionados love this type of chest, called a “drape” chest, for its comfort and style. With a slimmed waist, a fuller-fitting chest accentuates the top of your physique (along with your shoulders) and creates that inverted triangle from shoulder to waist.

Compare this SuitSupply double breasted blazer to the dark navy Ring Jacket above. You can tell a couple things from the photos. First, notice how cleanly the chest of the jacket sits against my chest. You can tell there’s no space in between my body and the jacket. Second, look at how trim the sleeve is, particularly above the elbow. It’s slimmer on this jacket than the Ring Jacket.

This Ring Jacket definitely falls into the “drape chest” category. While some of my other jackets have a bit of room in the chest, this is definitely fuller than any of them. And you know what? It looks flattering, and it’s comfortable.

In the past, I’ve erred on the form-fitting side much more. But when I look at some of the most stylish men and how their clothes fit, I see a lot more room in the garments, allowing for the cloth to drape more. Particularly in the colder months, when fabrics are heavier, a looser fit allows them to take on a life of their own. That said, I grew up seeing lots of poorly fitting suit jackets and baggy trousers, and have a strongly negative association with them. Getting a look that’s intentionally loose without veering into that ditch is the biggest challenge for me. Generally speaking, my taste for softer, more Neapolitan (or these days, frankly, probably more Tuscan) style protects me from that—the worst offenders in baggy, badly fitting garments are cheap, mass produced things made by companies without any pedigree in real style, or at best are diffusion lines made to low standards (Lauren RL anyone?).

In a follow- post, I’ll write about pants and how they fit with a couple specific insights into how to get a better fit with tailored trousers.

In the meantime, what do you think of this Ring Jacket blazer I picked up earlier this year? Does it appear too large on my frame to you? Or does it look flattering, comfortable and stylish? Let me know below.