[fic] bad beginnings (make happy endings)
bad beginnings (make happy endings)
taylor swift/pixie lott ; rpf ; 818 words ; pg
| Okay, yeah, Pixie’s in the music business herself, and her album’s gone platinum, so it’s not like she’s lower than Taylor or anything, it’s just. You know. It’s Taylor Swift. |
notes: idek, okay. the first of many of amanda's (venacavaa) birthday gifts. happy birthday (again), this time with our favourite crack pairing, tswift/pixie ♥
there's something about you,
that's like the sun,
you warm up my heart,
when i come undone
-- "Band Aid" by Pixie Lott
Pixie wouldn’t readily admit it to anyone, but she was kind of freaking out about the fact that in thirty seconds a seemingly innocuous door would open, and she would have to hold a steady, coherent conversation with Taylor Swift.
Taylor Swift.
Okay, yeah, Pixie’s in the music business herself, and her album’s gone platinum, so it’s not like she’s lower than Taylor or anything, it’s just. You know. It’s Taylor Swift. Whose debut album Pixie listened to on repeat for days, and whose music Pixie might relate to more than anything else she’s ever listened to, and who is known as one of nicest, prettiest, funniest girls in the history of ever, and who Pixie just watched play on stage for two hours, captivating the crowd in a way Pixie’s never seen. Taylor is… that girl.
Pixie’s stomach does gentle flip-flops when the dressing room door begins to open, reminiscent of those fleeting moments she’d experience when she was thirteen, before the heavy red curtains would draw up on the West End stage, and she’d have to sing her heart out to hundreds.
The dressing room Pixie quietly sets foot into is cozy; candles and cushions and blankets littered everywhere. It promotes comfort and an easy happiness that’s clearly a reflection of the girl inhabiting the space.
Pixie spots Taylor near the dresser in the corner, and her heart skips a beat, or four, or maybe it just stops completely, she’s not really paying much attention because she feels like her everything is focused on the pretty blonde girl across the room who’s¬-who’s only standing in her bra and knickers.
“Oh my god!” Taylor squeaks.
“Oh, god! I didn’t-sorry!” Pixie cries, immediately covering her eyes with her hands.
She hears a bang and then a lot of shuffling and then a crash before she finally hears Taylor mumble, “Okay, it’s-fine, yeah. You can look, um, now.”
Pixie peeks through her fingers hesitantly, taking in the ruffled blonde curly hair, the obviously hastily thrown on oversized grey sweatshirt, and the long skinny pale legs covered up to the knee with soft looking black socks. Pixie has to admit she still looks really, really gorgeous.
Pixie lets her hands flop to her sides, where they ball into fists from the embarrassment heating it’s way through her body (at least, she’s pretty sure it’s embarrassment). “I am so sorry,” she repeats, fixing her eyes on anything but Taylor.
“It’s fine,” Taylor says, and Pixie can hear the smile in her voice clear as day, “you just surprised me. I thought you were coming a little later.”
Taylor’s voice has a slight twang to it, Pixie notices, and it sounds warm and sweet, reminding her, bizarrely, of the Victoria sponge cakes she always used to beg her mother to bake for her birthdays.
Taylor continues, “Whatever. A situation like this would happen to me, right? I mean, you walking in on me in my underwear? Typical.” She laughs, and Pixie feels little tingles smatter across her skin at the bright sound.
Pixie smiles, now a little more at ease with the situation because of Taylor’s dismissive tone. “I’m Pixie,” she offers.
“I know,” Taylor says, a whisper of a smile flitting across her lips, “I kind of love your music -- I dance around the house to it.”
A flush spreads across Pixie’s cheeks at that, and she ends up stumbling out “Oh, no way! Your music is like, my life or something. I mean, obviously not my life, but it’s just amazing. You were amazing tonight, actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Taylor looks surprised for a moment, blinking repeatedly in a way that Pixie finds much more adorable than it probably is, before breaking out into a blinding smile that looks something like sunshine.
Taylor reaches her arm out and Pixie feels her fingers delicately stroke along the inside of her wrist. The movement does indescribable things to her heart that she suddenly wants to translate into a song.
There’s a sudden bang on the door and they both jump at the noise. Someone on the other side calls five minutes! and then presumably rushes off. Pixie feels her heart sink a little and knows that it probably shows in her expression.
She’s barely even spoken to Taylor, and what she has said wasn’t at all steady or coherent (not even taking the awkward entrance into account) and now she’s feeling like-like she doesn’t even know. Like Taylor might be the best person she’s ever met. Like she’s never found someone so heart-wrenchingly pretty before. Like there’s a certain something between them that Pixie doesn’t want to stray from.
“Do you want to come have lunch with me tomorrow?” Taylor asks unexpectedly, and Pixie responds almost immediately, the words tumbling from her lips before she can stop herself, a heady warmth curling around her chest.
“Of course.”
end
taylor swift/pixie lott ; rpf ; 818 words ; pg
| Okay, yeah, Pixie’s in the music business herself, and her album’s gone platinum, so it’s not like she’s lower than Taylor or anything, it’s just. You know. It’s Taylor Swift. |
notes: idek, okay. the first of many of amanda's (venacavaa) birthday gifts. happy birthday (again), this time with our favourite crack pairing, tswift/pixie ♥
there's something about you,
that's like the sun,
you warm up my heart,
when i come undone
-- "Band Aid" by Pixie Lott
Pixie wouldn’t readily admit it to anyone, but she was kind of freaking out about the fact that in thirty seconds a seemingly innocuous door would open, and she would have to hold a steady, coherent conversation with Taylor Swift.
Taylor Swift.
Okay, yeah, Pixie’s in the music business herself, and her album’s gone platinum, so it’s not like she’s lower than Taylor or anything, it’s just. You know. It’s Taylor Swift. Whose debut album Pixie listened to on repeat for days, and whose music Pixie might relate to more than anything else she’s ever listened to, and who is known as one of nicest, prettiest, funniest girls in the history of ever, and who Pixie just watched play on stage for two hours, captivating the crowd in a way Pixie’s never seen. Taylor is… that girl.
Pixie’s stomach does gentle flip-flops when the dressing room door begins to open, reminiscent of those fleeting moments she’d experience when she was thirteen, before the heavy red curtains would draw up on the West End stage, and she’d have to sing her heart out to hundreds.
The dressing room Pixie quietly sets foot into is cozy; candles and cushions and blankets littered everywhere. It promotes comfort and an easy happiness that’s clearly a reflection of the girl inhabiting the space.
Pixie spots Taylor near the dresser in the corner, and her heart skips a beat, or four, or maybe it just stops completely, she’s not really paying much attention because she feels like her everything is focused on the pretty blonde girl across the room who’s¬-who’s only standing in her bra and knickers.
“Oh my god!” Taylor squeaks.
“Oh, god! I didn’t-sorry!” Pixie cries, immediately covering her eyes with her hands.
She hears a bang and then a lot of shuffling and then a crash before she finally hears Taylor mumble, “Okay, it’s-fine, yeah. You can look, um, now.”
Pixie peeks through her fingers hesitantly, taking in the ruffled blonde curly hair, the obviously hastily thrown on oversized grey sweatshirt, and the long skinny pale legs covered up to the knee with soft looking black socks. Pixie has to admit she still looks really, really gorgeous.
Pixie lets her hands flop to her sides, where they ball into fists from the embarrassment heating it’s way through her body (at least, she’s pretty sure it’s embarrassment). “I am so sorry,” she repeats, fixing her eyes on anything but Taylor.
“It’s fine,” Taylor says, and Pixie can hear the smile in her voice clear as day, “you just surprised me. I thought you were coming a little later.”
Taylor’s voice has a slight twang to it, Pixie notices, and it sounds warm and sweet, reminding her, bizarrely, of the Victoria sponge cakes she always used to beg her mother to bake for her birthdays.
Taylor continues, “Whatever. A situation like this would happen to me, right? I mean, you walking in on me in my underwear? Typical.” She laughs, and Pixie feels little tingles smatter across her skin at the bright sound.
Pixie smiles, now a little more at ease with the situation because of Taylor’s dismissive tone. “I’m Pixie,” she offers.
“I know,” Taylor says, a whisper of a smile flitting across her lips, “I kind of love your music -- I dance around the house to it.”
A flush spreads across Pixie’s cheeks at that, and she ends up stumbling out “Oh, no way! Your music is like, my life or something. I mean, obviously not my life, but it’s just amazing. You were amazing tonight, actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Taylor looks surprised for a moment, blinking repeatedly in a way that Pixie finds much more adorable than it probably is, before breaking out into a blinding smile that looks something like sunshine.
Taylor reaches her arm out and Pixie feels her fingers delicately stroke along the inside of her wrist. The movement does indescribable things to her heart that she suddenly wants to translate into a song.
There’s a sudden bang on the door and they both jump at the noise. Someone on the other side calls five minutes! and then presumably rushes off. Pixie feels her heart sink a little and knows that it probably shows in her expression.
She’s barely even spoken to Taylor, and what she has said wasn’t at all steady or coherent (not even taking the awkward entrance into account) and now she’s feeling like-like she doesn’t even know. Like Taylor might be the best person she’s ever met. Like she’s never found someone so heart-wrenchingly pretty before. Like there’s a certain something between them that Pixie doesn’t want to stray from.
“Do you want to come have lunch with me tomorrow?” Taylor asks unexpectedly, and Pixie responds almost immediately, the words tumbling from her lips before she can stop herself, a heady warmth curling around her chest.
“Of course.”
end