The text had come in four hours ago, while Shane was lying on his hotel bed in his game-day suit, staring at the ceiling and trying to lower his heart rate. He hadn't known how to answer. He had typed I know, then deleted it. Typed See you out there, deleted it. Finally, he'd just sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Cowardly. Boring.
Meeting Ilya’s gaze now, Shane didn't know if they were okay. He didn't know if he would be okay if the next five minutes didn't go his way.
Shane leaves the Metros and moves to LA, all just to lose the Stanley Cup to Ilya.
Hi! Just wanted to drop in and say I love your blog and your writing! Gives me allllll the feels and I hope you keep posting such great stories. Happy holidays!
aw 🥺 thanks for sending this in, it means the world to me. keeps me motivated to write more, too! happy holidays to you too 💓
how are you? do you have any new story ideas churning away in your mind?
i'm good! i'm planning a series that's kind of a tour fic and working on some requests, hopefully they'll be up soon ☺️ (also general question do y'all prefer long fics >2k or shorter ones? and is anyone interested in a series 👀)
There was nothing quite like the smell of pine trees. It permeated the air the moment you stepped out of the car. Lines upon lines of trees stretched over the hills as far as you could see. Some towered high and others had clearly been planted this year, but they were everywhere, even in the fields across the road you’d just turned off from.
People in heavy coats and woolly hats milled about clutching polystyrene cups, studying trees in a way they never did any other day of the year. Salespeople with breath appearing as smoke in front of them, with high vis jackets and red noses, gaily discussed the merits of different trees with dubious looking newcomers.
“What are we looking for?” Andrew asked, eyeing one salesperson who’d already caught them in their eagle-eyed gaze. Andrew hated anyone approaching him with false cheer. No, he did not need help shopping, no, he knew what he was looking for and no, he did not want a fake fast friend. Just let him shop in peace.
Pardon me. I don't know if you can answer this. But what is Herzog? I've seen it mentioned in posts involving Hozier, but I do not understand what it is. Do you know what it is?
Werner Herzog is a german filmmaker! hozier posted about him for about a week during his self-proclaimed "International Herzog Week" on instagram haha
Hozier: one, interesting one– I don’t know, not interesting idea for a song… One was like the story of a dude who, you know, has a lover; but the devil keeps– keeps ringing him trying to swap places with him, because he, you know, he owes something to the devil. And the devil’s like “here,” you know, “your girlfriend, she’s lovely you know, how about we swap places and you take– you take over the position of being the devil.” And he says, he says “no, fu– eff that,” like, “warm up your oven, I’ll be down in a minute.” Like, you can– you know… Because he figures the only way he could tolerate existing as the devil is if he was able to come home to his lover everyday and tell her about it. So, he figures “no, I’m not trading places, so warm up it up, I’ll be down”
It’s been a really long time since I wrote a fic, but this seemed like it would be a fun one. This takes place during the 2021 holiday season (next year).
A little imagine of what it would be like to take Hozier to eat Thanksgiving dinner with your conservative Republican family. Again, this is meant to be light-hearted, and I am not here to demonize anyone.
hey! can i request some angst where andrew and the reader are breaking up (even though they still love each other)
why do you make me write something sad!? No, bizarrely I enjoyed writing this one - hope you like it!
It wasn’t that you were upset. It wasn’t the dinner going cold on the dining room table. It wasn’t even that he’d forgotten your anniversary. It was that he didn’t notice.
You hadn’t planned anything special for your anniversary, just a nice dinner, one of those high-end restaurant deliveries. You were both super busy but Andrew especially, as he was getting ready to release new music into the world. He’d been caught up in creation, disappearing for hours on end to tinker with a melody or edit some lyrics. It’d be nice to have a sit-down meal together for the first time in a while.
That didn’t happen.
The table had been set, candles and everything. A music playlist had been set up, ready for setting the mood, and the room looked cosy, warm and inviting. You’d gotten yourself a little dressed up, put on your favourite clothing and had done your hair up as you liked it. It had taken all afternoon to get everything ready to your liking. The sun had begun to set by the time the doorbell rang.
Grinning wildly, you’d tipped the delivery man and brought the food into the kitchen. It had smelled absolutely gorgeous and you were glad Andrew had agreed to spend out that little bit extra. Plating it up, careful not to spill any on your fancy clothes, you had taken it into the dining room and sat down.
You had sat. You had waited. You had continued to sit and wait. Even after you’d sent off a reminder text. Even after the food had gotten cold. Even after the candles had begun to burn low.
Heat burnt the backs of our eyes as you slumped back into your chair. Defeat was written all over your body when you cast your eyes skyward to stop the tears from falling. The time on your phone told you Andrew was two hours late.
Biting your lip, afraid the sting of tears would spill over, you rang Andrew’s phone. It went to voicemail. Your hand trembled with the overwhelming urge to chuck your phone across the room. Instead, you gently placed it down and stabbed at your cold food.
It was delicious. You stabbed it harder.
Andrew had done this before; you didn’t know why you were so surprised he hadn’t put the effort in now. No, that was unfair. It wasn’t that he wasn’t putting in any effort, it was simply that he’d forgotten to do so. When he remembered, he was wonderful.
The door opened. You shot to standing and stormed through to the front door. Andrew stood there, easing his shoes off. His eyes were heavy, and a sleepy smile spread across his face when he saw you.
“Hey,” he said softly, shuffling over. He didn’t notice how you were dressed as he pressed his usual greeting to your lips. He didn’t notice the tears in your eyes as he leant on you, just a little, the way he did when he was tired. He just didn’t notice a single thing as he half-heartedly asked about your day.
“I’m pretty beat, you doing anything tonight or will you come to bed?” Andrew took your hand and kissed it before yawning loud and wide.
All of your anger faded as you saw just how unaware Andrew was of the day’s importance, despite your repeated texts and calls. Instead, the months and years stretched ahead of you, clear as the present.
This would happen always. It wasn’t maliciously meant. Really, this behaviour had nothing to do with you at all. It would continue to happen all through your relationship, it’s just what he was like. So wrapped up and excited about his music that he forgot all else. A hyper fixation that would never go away. You weren’t sure you could bear it.
“I’ll come to bed,” you whispered, exhausted all of a sudden. He led you up the stairs, your hand warm in his, almost crying when he commented on your clothes.
The next day, he was up and out, never even sticking his head into the dining room. Andrew had laughed with you, wrapped you up in him and danced you around the kitchen. He’d dropped kisses all over your face and whispered words of love in your ear. But he didn’t notice.
So, you set in place the plan you’d thought of late last night, wrapped around him as much as possible. You loved him, god you loved him. He loved you. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. You needed more, or just different, than what Andrew could give you and you weren’t sure you were what he needed.
It was time to go.
The moment Andrew had left the house, you called your friend to arrange for a spare room. Then, you went out to town to grab yourself some boxes. You felt bad for beginning the untangling of your lives without his knowing, but it would take a while anyway. The conversation would happen eventually. Hopefully.
You threw away the cold anniversary dinner from the nightmare, tidied away the candles and cleared it all up. The dining room looked bare without it. Then, slowly, you went through the rooms. The kitchen was first. Anything you’d brought with you, things that had been collected over time.
The bedroom was last. It had been two days since you’d begun, and everything was almost done. There was the last of your laundry left to pack up and the rest of your clothes. Most of the boxes had already been moved to your friend’s house, safe until you could find another place to live.
Waiting for the laundry, you leant against a kitchen counter, sipping on a drink, staring blankly ahead. The door opened. Your heart jumped in terror.
Andrew sailed through into the kitchen, eyebrows knitting together as he looked back. You knew he was noting the boxes by the front door. They contained most of your clothes and all of your electricals. You gulped, not ready for this conversation. You’d hoped to put it off until tonight, after he was back, if he came back. Last night he’d come back at two in the morning. A suspicious woman might have wondered at something else.
“You going to a bric-a-brac or something?” He joked, reaching around you to put the kettle on.
“Or something.” You muttered, turning away from his expectant kiss, to get him a coffee ready. Tears were already threatening, and your battered heart was begging you not to break it, loud, loud, loud in your head.
“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Andrew took the coffee you offered and set it aside. He leant back against the counter too and dragged you to face him. He held your hands in his and peered at you, worry bright in his eyes.
“What’s the date, Andrew?” You asked softly. He had to check his phone before he told you. It took a few, long seconds to hit. His eyes went wide as it hit him like a sack of bricks. Immediately he burst into a flurry of apologies and promises that he would make it right.
“You would, I know you would.” Love for him almost overwhelmed you. He was so earnest, and he believed it so much that you almost believed it yourself. But this was the second time you’d heard it. Your heart would break worse if you stayed to hear it a third.
“But did you notice?”
“What?”
“The boxes, Andrew. They’ve been there for two days, did you notice?”
You could see realisation wash through him. His eyes went wide and filled. Both of you began to cry as you realised what was happening.
“But I love you.” Andrew whispered, pain tearing every syllable apart.
I've written a little fic about andrew and his herzog shenanigans which you can find here , if you wanna check that out. requests are open so feel free to send in some! (headcanons, small fics, everything's welcome really)
