#the people playing the music understood the assignment. as did the people making the cards
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Celebrations
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Words: 1644
Warnings: mentions of abuse, my usual hatred of John Winchester
AN: I miss him a whole lot. Happy birthday, Dean <3
Read it on AO3 here!
When Dean turned four, his mother baked him a birthday pie instead of a cake. It was apple, his favorite, and made the house smell like heaven the whole day. Better than heaven, as Dean would learn when he was much older. They threw a party for him, surrounded by his friends from pre-school and their parents, they were allowed to run around the house because it was too cold and snowy to play outside for long. Dean still remembers the way that he slid across the wood floor to get to the umbrella base in tag, laughing as his friends chased him.
They had opened presents and Dean had gotten new Hot Wheels and two new Lego sets. He remembered that he got the first piece of pie with a candle in it, that they had all sung him happy birthday, and that they had ended the day with a snowball fight and hot chocolate in front of the fire that night, where Dean was curled between his mother and father, sleepily holding the little black muscle car he had been given in his hand as his mother stroked his hair.
That was the last birthday party he ever had on earth.
When Dean turned ten, his father had taken him shooting. They had stood in front of some stationary cans, a makeshift gun range in the middle of the woods of Colorado, and John had kept him at it until he could hit every target with his eyes closed. He had known how to hold a gun from the time he was six years old, but he swelled with pride when he hit one of the cans, looking up at John for approval, getting a half-smile and a hand ruffling his hair every so often.
When Dean turned sixteen, he spent the day in school staring out the window and wondering what his father was hunting this time. He wanted to be there, he wanted to be out there saving people, hunting things, protecting his father’s back, showing him that he was ready for the life. He wasn’t cut out for school his report card that he intentionally made worse than it could be showed that, he wanted to show his father that he was really made to be a hunter. Too bad he couldn’t even fake being bad at math and science, he always got As in those classes, no matter how hard he tried to fail them. His birthday gift that year was a 100 on a math exam. Damn.
When Dean turned eighteen, he had already dropped out of school to hunt with his father. Sam would stay behind, only hunting during summer break, focusing on school, which Dean had never been able to do. He and his father took out a pair of ghouls, and John had given Dean a swig of his whiskey as a reward. It was, in Dean’s mind, an invitation to becoming a man.
When Dean turned twenty-one, he got shitfaced at some seedy bar while Sam studied for the SATs and John was on a hunt turned binge drinking session. They hadn’t seen him in two weeks, but that was becoming more and more routine, as every time he was home, he and Sam would fight. Dean would always get in between, always protect Sam, and if that earned him a black eye or two, so be it, he would do anything when it came to Sam. They had thrown him out of the bar when last call came around, and Dean had sung happy birthday to himself as he stumbled back to their hotel, ignoring Sam’s bitchface as he focused on his flashcards, determined to escape the life that Dean knew he was stuck with.
Birthdays came and went like any other winter days after that. Twenty-two, thirty, thirty-six, forty-one, they all passed without incident, without mention, without name. Dean didn’t mind, it was easier that way anyway. At least, that’s what he told himself when he got himself a slice of gas-station pie on a solo hunt when he turned thirty-seven. He was lucky to be alive at all.
Dean doesn’t make it to forty-two, he misses it by a few months. Time is supposed to move differently in Heaven, but Dean still knows that it’s his birthday. He spends a lot of the day at the lake by his perfect little house, not really wanting to be bothered. He knew this day would be harder for Sam down there on Earth than it would be for him. That still bothered him, even in the middle of paradise, that Sam was hurting and he couldn’t help him through it. It was an adjustment, they all told him, something that you got used to, but how does he forget that he left his brother, the man he raised, that he loves with all he has, on Earth by himself. He’s not by himself, he reminds himself fifty or so times, staring out at the smooth, glassy surface of the water ringed with aged trees, he has Eileen, he has a life.
People seem to understand that he wants to be alone, no one swings by like they usually do to check in with him. They seem to understand that his first birthday in Heaven may be one that he wants to spend alone. Except for the dark-haired angel who settles in his own chair at the end of their little dock, sitting silently and watching the water with Dean. Dean occasionally takes his eyes off the water and settles on the angel, in his beat up Zeppelin t-shirt and jeans and boots, his messy hair and his bright blue eyes.
“Should I tell you happy birthday?” Cas eventually asks, looking at him directly, not out of the corner of his eyes, “Or is that not appropriate anymore?”
“You can,” Dean watches the minnows twirl in the water at their feet, not able to meet Cas’ eyes, “Are they looking for me?”
“I told them not to,” Cas responds, not taking his eyes off of Dean’s face, “I figured you’d need a little time. Many of them have been here for years, they forget that it takes some getting used to, especially for someone stubborn like you.”
Dean rolls his eyes but huffs a laugh in spite of himself.
“It’s not so much me,” he lets the words fall out of his mouth, uninhibited here as they were so often on Earth, “It’s more Sam. I still worry, even though I know he’ll get here eventually.”
“You raised him, it’s understandable,” Cas’ hand reaches for Dean’s and Dean takes it automatically, feeling the tightness in his chest ease at the feel of Cas’ strong, warm hand in his. He still wasn’t used to it, wasn’t used to having Cas to wake up to in the morning, having Cas hold him at night, having someone that understood him so fully, inside and out.
“Should I stop being mopey?”
“You know as well as I do that I can’t tell you what to do,” Cas smiles, “But I think Ellen might like it if you came to the Roadhouse today.”
“Why?”
“Because she wants to give you a real birthday party.”
Dean feels the way he did when he was four again: almost weightless with excitement. He doesn’t even pause, just stands up and starts dragging Cas to the Impala, speeding towards the Roadhouse and the idea of his very own birthday party in nearly forty years.
It’s just like he had always dreamed, one of those things that really made him believe this was Heaven and not just some made-up djinn dream. Everyone was there, everyone he had loved and lost and found again in the sprawling eternity that was this place. They had his favorite food, his favorite music, his favorite beer…everything was perfect. Well, he thought so anyway, until his mother came out of the kitchen with a steaming apple pie with a candle in it and set it in front of Dean. They all sang happy birthday, and he took the first bite of his birthday pie with a smile so wide he thought his face might split in two.
“Did you set all that up?” Dean asks Cas when they’re in bed that night, Cas tracing the freckles on Dean’s skin with his long fingers.
“No, I just planted the seed. Mentioned to Mary and Ellen that you might like a birthday party.”
Dean listens to the trees rustle outside their window for a while, trying to find the words.
“How’d you know?”
“Because I know you’ve never really been able to celebrate you, any milestones, any accomplishments. It’s not a hunter’s life. It’s not that I knew you wanted it, it’s that I wanted that for you. You deserve it.”
Dean closes his eyes at the words, letting them wash over him like a warm shower. He had never really thought he deserved anything, but he was starting to understand that, whether he deserved the party or the family and friends he had, he might, just maybe, deserve Cas.
“I want to give you a birthday party.”
Cas laughs, pressing his lips to Dean’s hair.
“I’m many millennia old, I don’t think I ever had a date assigned.”
“Pick one, then.”
Cas considers for a while, hands still running along Dean’s skin.
“September 22, the fall equinox.”
Dean doesn’t question it, just leans up to press his lips to Cas’.
“I’ll start planning,” he pauses again, steeling himself to find the right words, “Thank you. For today. I love you.”
“Of course. And I you.”
Dean falls asleep that night dreaming of Cas, of birthday pie, and of fall birthday parties. He learns to let Sam be, to be his own person, to celebrate himself, for a change.
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Let’s talk about love | l.mark
Pairings: mark lee x reader
Word count: 3.36k words
Genre: fluff // college au! (my fave)
Warnings: cursing
Summary: Though Mark Lee isn’t necessarily the most charming person on enough, he still wanted to be his first kiss to be as special. After the small encountered he had with you, he has never been so determined to love someone this hard before.
A/n: Sorry if this is messy I don’t even know what this is but enjoy...also this is not proofread as per usual
Mark was said to be quite vague as many would say.
He wasn’t one to know how to express his feelings perhaps only in certain ways that would always come out as awkward.
Yes, he was known to be the most attractive amongst the campus and even during high school. Despite having girls and guys confessing to him, he would nicely and awkwardly turn them down because believe it or not, falling in love was one of the things he was the most scared of.
It wasn’t one of those typical scenarios where he gets heart-broken by the love of his life but it was frankly him being completely clueless about falling in love.
He had always thought there were some kind of rule of falling in love or maybe a guide to teach him about flirting. It wasn’t his forte but the thought about falling in love intrigues him in a way. Watching his close friends having their own partners itched him even more to find himself a girl.
There’s just one thing, he completely sucks at flirting.
It would either come out as rude or just plain awkward. Till then, he would never put himself in that situation again and go on another date. Such a shame how all most of his dates ended up being his shyness as a turned off and completely bummed him out completely.
In fact, he had never kissed anyone before. There were some who he went out on a date with who tried to take his “first-kiss virginity” away, but he would always turn them down and make the situation even awkward than it was.
He wanted his first kiss to be perfect. The perfect girl, the perfect setting, everything. He wanted it to be romantic and memorable, like how all first kisses should be. It did sound like he was asking too much but he always thought he would only dream of having a perfect first kiss.
-
It was his 3rd year of college and he could not wait to survive one more year here and finally finish his degree. Music was everything to him. Producing, writing, singing, rapping, that was his ACTUAL forte. He got praised a lot by teachers, friends and random students about his music. He worked a lot with his senior Taeyong who he then befriend, definitely learning a lot more about music from the older.
Consistently, Mark had a reputation for never having the write’s block issue till one day. He couldn’t thought of anything to write and ideas of producing and it was driving him crazy. Nights spent wasting his time staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him, hoping that something, just something that would come in mind.
It was one of those nights for him. The dormitory he shared with his best friend Donghyuck who was a year younger than him. Despite them being in different majors, in reality they had so much in common.
He was sat on his desk, the small table light he had lighting up the dark room as he tried to come up with at least a line of lyrics. The coffee he had by his side wasn’t doing wonders and he was definitely coming on short of it. He was indeed sleepy but the assignment was due in two weeks and he couldn’t afford to sleep now.
Deciding on whether or not he would break curfew and take a walk around campus, he eventually did and left with his jacket. Winter was coming around and he didn’t want to catch a cold to add in to his list of problems. Thank the lord that usually there weren’t any security who would check out this late of the night which then would be pointless for the university to set up a curfew.
He usually had his earphone in all the time to get inspirations but this time he didn’t. Opting in just taking a walk to clear his mind out from all the shit he had to do. It drove Mark absolutely insane having to think about his assignment and taking a little breather is something he needed.
The campus grounds was as expected, quiet. The only sound that were audible were his sneakers and the sounds of crickets. He even walked around inside one of the dark buildings thanks to the moonlight that illuminating the halls of the building. I guess this was what he just needed. He felt fresh but apparently not fresh enough to come out with a line of lyrics.
He went deeper into the building where the music rooms were located and was met with the soft tunes of the piano. His heart beat quickened as he made his way to the instrument room, where every music major kids would go to practice.
The sounds of the piano became louder as he got closer and from the small window that the door had, he could see a figure sitting on the piano stool, their fingers brushing effortlessly against the piano tiles. He couldn’t make out who it was but he was too mesmerised but the skills the figure had and it excited him in a way.
He noticed the song as a famous piece that he heard Taeil played before and it felt different when it was played by the person playing it at the moment. He thought he would’ve gotten away without getting caught when his phone started to ring which rang throughout the hall and made the stranger abruptly stop playing. His eyes went wide as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and saw that it was Donghyuck, who probably noticed that he wasn’t In the dorms. He cursed at himself and quickly went and shut the ringer off.
You on the other hand heard the ringtone. At one point you got scared because you’ve been sneaking out like this for the whole year now and it was weird that suddenly now there was someone who’s awake like you on the campus ground.
Getting up from the seat you walked to the door and from the small window attached to the door you could see a mop of brunette hair peaking. The person must’ve tried to hide themselves.
“Who’s there?” You said loudly.
Thanks a lot Donghyuck.
He didn’t realised that his hair was showing and he was about to sprint away when he felt the door come in contact with his body, forcing him to the ground with a loud thud.
Your eyes went wide as you went to the boy’s side.
“Oh my god I'm so sorr- wait, Mark?” Confusion was written all over your face as you studied the boy infant of you who was still grunting in pain.
Mark looked at you and his heart literally skipped a beat. It was you, Y/n, one of Donghyuck’s close friend. The both of you have seen eachother before and even had lunch together with Donghyuck once but you never exactly talked to him before, just seemingly you were good friends with the same people. It was weird how you hang out with Donghyuck all the time when Mark is around but you never talked to each other properly before. Just a few ‘’hi’s’’ and ‘’hello’s” here and there but not once a proper conversation. You weren't a music major, instead you were majoring in Chemistry so he didn’t know how you had the access to the music room without a card that was usually only held by the music major students.
It was no lie that you were attractive tho. Mark has tried so many times to talk to you before but him being the shy boy himself, could not muster up even a simple greeting which results in you initiating it first. He would curse at himself for it but you were just too pretty that he gets all nervous when you’re around.
You weren’t a music major like him, instead you were a med student but he knew from Donghyuck that you have been playing the piano since you were a kid and it just sticked around you till today. He just never heard nor knew you were good at playing the piano.
“Uhm, hello?” You waved your hand infront of him and Mark finally snapped out from his trance.
“Uh,” He started before sitting up properly when he realised that you were quite close to him that he could see the small features on your face despite the hallway being dark. “I’m sorry, I just, uh, was walking around and heard you playing the piano and I started to watch you- WAIT not in that creepy way tho I-,” The boy continued on rambling before he was cut off by you giggling.
Ugh even her laugh sounds heavenly.
You then got up from where you were crouching and brushed the dust off from your pants. Offering a hand to him, he hesitantly held it and you helped him get up. This was your first time being so close to Mark that you didn’t realise how he was slightly taller than you making you having to tilt your head upwards a little so you could face him.
“Any reason why you’re lurking around here at this time?” You started as you made your way towards your respective dorms.
He chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling nervous over your simple question.
“I couldn’t think of anything to write and I guess I needed a little breather,” His words comes out hushed without intending for it to be.
You gently shoved him with your album and smiled up at him.
Oh fuck was he going to pass out
“Why do you look so nervous?” You said mirroring his action and shoved your hands in your pocket. “It’s just me, you don’t have to be so awkward,” You let out a small laugh to break the awkward tension.
“What are you doing awake this late?” He mustered to ask after a short silence.
You shrugged and looked ahead at the dark pathway, the lamp post illuminating the little to nothing light to guide the both of you back to the dorms.
“School just started and I'm about to lose my mind, perhaps the stress getting to me,” You whispered the last part.
Mark could relate with you in a way. Despite taking a whole different major from you, he understand the pressure of having to do the best. You didn’t exactly explain more verbally but he understood your point. You were one of the smartest students in the campus and obviously the professors and teachers are going to want you to do your best. Same goes to him, being the best producer and writer for the whole music department took a toll on him and the peer pressure of his professor wanting him to do the best stressed him out.
“Don’t worry Y/n,” He started as you guys arrived at your dorm. “You’re the smartest person I know and you definitely will live up to your teacher’s expectations but don’t go too hard on yourself, you’ll do fine,” He continued.
He was surprised by his own words. When did he suddenly get all the confidence from?
You gave him a small smile and rubbed his forearm which sent electricity to his entire body. He could feel shivers running down his back and suddenly the temperature become a bit too warm.
What kind of effect did you have on him, he think he’s going insane.
“Thank you Mark, you’re one hell of a producer, you’ll do great,” You said and finally brought your hand to your side again. “Thanks for walking me back to my dorm,”
“No problem,” He said returning the smile.
He was about to leave when you called him.
“Hey Mark?” You called out.
He turned around and looked at you with a questioning look.
You tucked a strand of your hair behind of your ear before speaking.
“Let’s hang out more,”
-
That night, he told Donghyuck about his encounter with you and boy was it a huge mistake.
He couldn’t stop teasing Mark about how he finally grew balls to talk to girls and it was basically a session of Donghyuck telling Mark that he was finally a man which concludes in Donghyuck getting a pillow thrown at his face.
Ever since that day you and Mark have finally talked with eachother a lot now which makes Donghyuck happy because there would be no more awkward tensions between you and Mark when the three of you hangout together or when you are with your shared group of friends.
You and Mark have finally gotten to know new things about eachother every day and at the same time the two of you have gotten closer with eachother. It was shocking news to the rest, two finally see Mark out of his own bubble and finally having the guts to talk to others without having them to initiate the conversation first.
Mark was stunned by his own behaviour. He was always too shy to even ask for help. He didn’t know what made him like this. Ever since he had that conversation with you, his perspective towards others changed completely. He didn’t know why he was never like this with the other guys, probably it was just something you could do.
After that night too, all new kinds of ideas roamed his mind as he finally found lyrics to write and sounds to compose. He was never one to write love songs, furthermore he had never even written one before but this time, he felt like his new assignment should be a love song. Soft, pleasant with a touch of melancholy to it which earned him an A+ and a pat on the back by his professor as a sign of congratulation.
He told you the news about it and you were now ecstatic to hear his project. The second you asked to listen to it, sweat immediately started to form on his forehead and dripped down to his neck. He didn’t want you to listen to it because the song was about you. How was he suppose to tell you that the song that got him and A+ was about you? He then told you that you probably don’t want to hear it since it was a sappy love song that would make you barf. But what Mark doesn’t know was that you were a total sucker for love songs and you were now more intrigued to listen to his piece.
He told you yes you could when he should’ve said no.
For the first time ever in his 21 year of existence, he was anxious over a person. He had many episodes of him getting anxious but never when it comes to a person. He was scared that you would be creeped out by the song when you know it was about you.
He met up with Taeyong the day before he planned the day for you to listen to the song just for moral support. He would go to Donghyuck but he knew that Donghyuck would end up saying some unhelpful shit that would just cause him extra stress.
Thank god Taeyong was all the help he could need.
“I don’t know what to do hyung, what if she slaps me and thinks that I'm some sort of pervert for writing a song about her, what if-,” He continued on rambling. He had a problem with rambling too much that he starts to say things that don’t make sense the slightest.
Taeyong just laughed at the kid infront of him. Taeyong has been by Mark’s side ever since he started college and obviously he knew all about the deal with Mark and the problem he has when it comes to talking to women, he too knew how severe it seemed but ever since he started talking to you, it changed him in a different way, like how he became more comfortable talking to people.
“Do you like her?” He asked the 1 million dollar question to Mark.
Here’s the thing, he never knew about his feelings for you. All he knew was that he liked being around you and want to spend more time with you. I guess you could say that he did have crush on you.
“I do, hyung,”
-
After the pep talk he got from Taeyong, his confidence level risen up a little, emphasis the little. He was still nervous but he felt like things would go better if he just shows you the damn song.
He opted the meet up to be at one of the recording studios in the campus that he usually goes to and reserved it just for today. He wanted everything to be perfect. He didn’t want to mess things up with you.
He was pacing around the studio, trying to get rid of his risen anxiety when he heard a knock on the door and a soft, “Mark is that you?”
Oh god this is it
He wiped his sweaty palms on the surface of his jeans and opened the door of the studio with shaky hands.
There you were.
You were in simple clothing but you looked mesmerising.
“H-hi, Y/n,” His voice shook.
You laughed at his nervousness as he moved to the side to let you inside.
“I’ve told you this a million times Mark, stop being so nervous, it’s just for me,” You said before sitting down on one of the chairs infant of the computer.
How could I not be nervous when I'm here alone with you.
He took his seat next to you and started opening the draft for his song.
“What am I supposed to expect from this song?” You asked casually, looking at the shaken boy beside you.
“Probably an awful amount of sappy lyrics,” He joked.
Clicking on the draft he then leaned back on his chair as the familiar melody of the smooth guitar riff and soft beats come together. His voice finally came out and you thought that his voice was the prettiest thing ever. It was soft, honey-like with a touch of melancholy feel towards it.
In all words, it was perfect.
You were too engrossed into the song that you didn’t realise Mark staring at you majority of the time. His mind was running wild with what your opinion was towards the song, in hopes that you liked it. You looked cute with how concentrated you looked whilst listening, makes him want to tuck the strand of hair falling on your face behind your ear but he obviously had to restrain himself for doing so.
After the whole 3 minutes, the song finally ended. You were in awe with how the song came together and to say that you were in love with the lyrics was an understatement.
Turning to Mark, you caught him staring at you and usually he would turn back but this time he didn't. He didn’t want to cower away this time. This was his chance, the chance to make you his.
Slowly, he came closer to you till he could practically feel your breath against his lips and he finally closed the gap. He was definitely shocked when you kissed him back.
Your lips moved in-sync with his and he could taste the cherry chapstick on your lips. It was everything he wanted. This was it, this was the first kiss he dreamt of.
He pulled away once he felt himself getting out of breath and you probably were too. The both of you were panting as you looked at each other’s eyes.
“That was my first kiss,” You said in between breaths.
“That was mine too,” He said, grinning. “I like you, Y/n, I really do. You have some type of spell upon me that I’m just so addicted with you and if you can’t tell the song was about you, I want to be with you.”
Instead of replying you brought him back to a kiss.
You knew the song was about you.
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Second Chances Chp. 4
Disclaimer: Okay, I got more notes than I thought I ever would, so while the world is quarantined...I wrote another part.
Warning: Mention of death, fluff, I don’t want to mislead anyone this will very much be a slowburn
Summary: Can you imagine being widowed at such a young age to a man you thought you’d have forever with? On the anniversary of his death, on top of a mountain, Thea and Chris begin their new journey together.
(I want to experiment with a different perspective if its trash I’ll redo this chp. )
Thea had no idea why it was so hard to ghost this guy. It should be easy, they hung out for half a day a week ago. He should already have her out of his head, but no he still continues to call.
“Ms. Mulligan I finished reading the chapter what should I do now?” Thea’s 3rd period reading support class was currently working on finishing their novel. She would typically read to them but her mind had been scattered all week.
“Kay, why don’t you draw a picture of your favorite chapter so far on the smartboard?” Thea prompts, knowing that Kay loves to draw and she really is interested in the novel...even if she won’t admit it.
“Can I listen to music, puhleaseee?” She spins around with a great big smile on her face.
“As long as you don’t blast it and its not that Billie Eye Lash person,” Thea rolls her eyes with a smirk knowing what would follow.
“Mully, you’re embarrassing yourself you know her name is Billie Eilish because I’ve stalked your Spotify playlist, right Kai?” Kai, who was too busy reading the next chapter to even look up when she responds, “Yeah Mully, we are currently working on one of those mixtapes for you so be prepared.”
The nickname Thea fought for a good three months but finally caved when her co-workers started using it as well. As for the Spotify stalking, not surprised more impressed and she was now looking forward to the next mixtape they give her.
Last semester, Thea assigned the class a project that required them to find a song to coincide with each chapter of their novel. The students also had to write one paragraph explaining why they choose each song. That was when the revolting started for about 20 minutes until Andrew, in the back of the class, had enough and shouted, “She is legit letting us listen to music all class period and write like 10 paragraphs for a week. The other students have to write an essay on like literary devices or something and they had to read the book all by themselves.”
“Legit?” Kay announced shocked.
“Legit Kay, legit,” Thea sighs, “Also we have like 78 words on the word wall can we work on using one of those instead of ‘legit’?”
“Bet.” Kai says with her hand in the air and at that point, Thea just puts her head down silently laughing.
Her phone buzzed on her desk again, this time it was just a CNN update but the missed call was still staring her in the face. All Thea has felt since that night was guilt. She felt like she was cheating on Jamie and all they did was hug before getting in their own cars and driving away. The bubble burst though on the drive home when the waterworks wouldn’t stop and she had to pull over on the side of the road almost three times.
And then Sunday morning, her phone rings and she watches as it goes to voicemail and then it vibrates again with a voicemail. She stares at her phone for a few more minutes before playing the message.
Hey Thea, I just wanted to call and check in on you. You never messaged me when you got home last night and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Leaving West Point now and you were right I think I definitely made the guard’s day. I’m sure you are busy getting ready for the school day tomorrow but if you have a second to talk I’m around. Okay, take care now.
He called one more time that evening but no message. It was now Friday and Thea had five missed calls and two messages in total. She did not know how to process all of this and she had been burying herself in work trying to stay busy avoiding the topic. She did that with most things and she knew it wasn’t going to end well and that she was being selfish. So she picked up her phone and tried to type out a text, but then the bell rang and the class started to pack up.
“Okay, guys I’ll see most of you in 7th and 8th for Math, make sure to have your homework notebook, hint, hint hint,” Thea says with a wink. She knew their anxiety would soar if they walked in not knowing about a homework check so she always made sure she casually mentioned something to them. Her co-teacher was not a fan of this, but her kids, her decision.
Thea now had a prep period and then lunch to try and sort out all of her thoughts. She even had time to call Chris back, but she did not trust herself to keep her emotions in check, especially while at work.
Hey Chris, Sorry for the disappearing act. I’m still just trying to process everything and work has kept me occupied. Can we talk tonight? Text, call or even facetime if that’s easier.
Sorry again.
Chris’ phone finally vibrated in his pocket as he was walking out of a bagel shop in New York City. He was supposed to make his way to Boston to see his family after his trip upstate but that was sidetracked by some work stuff.
His new movie, “Captain America: Civil War was being released in a few weeks and he had a few talk shows and then the Lower Manhattan premiere was on May 4th. He knew he was going to be in town for some time now and wanted to see Thea again.
She just didn’t want to see him.
He had no idea what he did wrong and wanted a chance to see her and explain that. So when she finally answered him back he wasn’t sure how to respond. He would prefer to talk in person but did not want to upset her or whatever else he may have done. He tried to call his brother for some advice but that call went to voicemail as well, but his mom picked up on the first ring.
“Chris, honey you okay?”
“Yeah Ma, I just needed a little advice and Scott didn’t answer,” he admits to his mother.
“Well, why would you call him before me? Does he give better advice or somethin’?” This was a rabbit hole Chris would very much like to avoid.
“It’s about a girl Ma, he already knows most of the back story,” Chris sighs through the phone.
“Ahh, so this is about the girl you met on the hike, well more like Dodger found, who you had to call your brother about in the bathroom while on a date with her?”
“Wait what? We weren’t on a date and wow did he really tell you everything?” Chris says in complete shock. “And let the record show that I called him when SHE was in the bathroom.”
“Of course he did, I’m his mother, he tells me everything” cue the eye roll.
“Okay Ma, and yes I called Scott, obviously that was a mistake,” Chris chuckles “He apparently blabbed everything.” Chris still wasn’t sure why he called his brother when Thea went to the bathroom, he just was so happy for the first time in a while that he needed to tell someone.
“So this is the girl that you’re going to marry, huh?” His mother bluntly states, causing Chris to almost drop his phone.
“What the fuck did Scott say? Who said anything about marriage? We talked for like four hours and she has been avoiding me all week.”
“Scott said you were going on and on about how you finally ‘found her’ which is why he called me 20 seconds after hanging up with you.” Thank goodness for the ballcap and the glasses or all of NYC would see the flushed cheeks of Christopher Evans.
“Okay, can we circle back to that whole topic later? Or maybe after I have a word with my kid brother. How do I ask her to meet up with me tonight when she only wanted to talk on the phone? Is that too forward? Should I just say yes to the phone call?” Chris continued to ramble to his mother.
“It can’t hurt to ask,” such a simple response and yet it was perfect. “Just mind your manners, you were raised better Christopher.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Chris says finally smiling because he has a plan.
“And if you need to call anyone on this date, call me not your brother,” she chuckles on the phone. “Love you and let me know how it goes.”
“Love you too”
Hey Thea, a phone call would be perfect unless you would want to meet up in person? I’m still in New York and would really like to see you again. If you wanted to meet in the city or someplace by you...whatever is easier.
Thea wanted to act like she was shocked by the message but she understood. Jamie and her relationship started out as long-distance, so when you have the opportunity to see someone in person you jump.
She didn’t know if she was ready for all of this, but she also knew it wasn’t fair to Chris. They needed to talk and put all of their cards on the table.
I would like to see you again too, but whatever is easier for you.
Long Beach is about an hour train ride to the city, but not sure would be better for you with people and stuff.
You could also come here and we could get some ice cream and take a walk on the boardwalk? If that doesn’t sound too cliche...
The bell is going to ring so no rush we can figure this out after school.
Thea finally stopped blowing up his phone by her overthinking and put her phone in her bag for the rest of the school day.
The afternoon went by in a flash, Thea waited until she got into her car after school to look at her phone.
Not cliche at all, that sounds perfect. I can be to you by 7, just send me the address of the ice cream shop
Thea forwarded the address and then made her way home. She had a few hours to kill before she would see Chris so she tried to busy herself with things to do to prevent the overthinking.
Chris on the other head couldn’t stop the overthinking and the worst-case scenarios that played out in his head. He has so many things to worry about with the movie and all the press but he cannot get her beautiful smile out of his head.
He just didn’t know what it was about her, everything about Thea just seemed authentic. She had been dealt such a tough hand that would make any person cold and distant, but she still wears her heart on her sleeve. Even Dodger could see her genuine soul and stepped in to defend her when we were on the mountain. Chris just wanted to get to know her better, he thought he might miss out on something unbelievable if he just walked away. He also understood that she was still so hurt and wanted to help her in any way that he could.
Chris thought about that while driving down to the ice cream shop and pulling into the parking lot a few minutes early. He spotted Thea as she was laying down a blanket in the trunk of her Jeep. He could only see the back of her and he was glad she was wearing something comfy and casual. It made him feel better about his jeans and t-shirt that took him an hour to finally commit too. He parked his car and made his way over to her, he closed his truck door loudly and called her name so he didn’t startle her. She didn’t turn around, she was too busy struggling with her own nerves. She had been fixing this blanket for a good 10 minutes and trying to decide whether or not it was lame and if she should scrap the whole idea. She didn’t even have a clue that Chris was behind her for a few minutes before she actually turned around with a jump.
“Sorry, I was trying so hard not to scare you but you didn’t respond when I called your name a few times,” stumbled with his words.
Thea kept a hand over her heart trying to steady her breathing and when it was finally calmed she looked up to see Chris’ concerned expression.
Thea couldn’t help but laugh, “Well you looked like the last time we met too, only I had a knife in my hand and yet you look more scared now.”
And just like that the tension that had worried them both had broken as Thea walked over to give Chris a big hug. They make there way over to the line and ordered two sundaes and then head back to her car.
“I figured we could sit here while we ate our ice cream and then head to the boardwalk, its a few minutes away but I didn’t want the sundaes to melt”
Chris continues staring at his ice cream trying to find a way to ask the question that had been driving him crazy all week. He didn’t know how to phrase it without making the situation worse.
Thea scoots back into the car and sits like a pretzel, “So let’s talk about it before the elephant in the room gets any bigger.” Thea used to be all about beating around the bush but after everything that happened, time is one thing you can never get back.
“Did I do something to upset you? I have been trying to figure out why you didn’t answer and I am coming up short” Chris admits finally looking away from his ice cream.
“You did nothing wrong and I don’t want to sound like an asshole when I say that this had nothing to do with you,” Thea says while running her fingers through her hair. Chris sits patiently giving her a second to collect her thoughts.
“I want to explain this right, so please take everything I say with a grain of salt because I am bound to put my foot in my mouth” Thea sets the stage with a disclaimer because she is absolutely terrified of the direction this could go.
“You know that feeling when you are exercising or playing a sport and your breaths are coming shorter and the tightness in your chest is growing? You can still breath but it’s a struggle and you cannot wait for it to subside? And then finally you stop and you catch your breath and the air in your lungs fills again and you know you are going to be okay?” Chris nods along to Thea’s analogy trying to see where she was going with this.
Thea takes a second to collect her words again, “Chris, I have been trying to catch my breath for three years now and no outlet, no resource, nothing was helping. The panic attacks while I was awake and even when I was sleeping, I just couldn’t...” Thea tries to collect herself shaking the tears from eyes refusing to let them spill. “And then I ask Jamie for a sign that it’s okay for me to stop running and I turn around and there you were” Thea clears her throat again.
“And Chris, I finally started breathing again.”
“Then we hugged and I got in my car and started to drive away and all at once it was gone and my lungs were aching and I was terrified and lost all over again” Chris is not sure at what point he reached for her hand but he was gently squeezing it as Thea continued to shake her head.
“Out of nowhere, I was angry at myself that I let this happen and how I was a fool for thinking I could be normal again.” Thea pulled her hand away, “I woke up to the text you sent me and then the guilt set in. I felt guilty being happy with you and wanting to answer you and then guilty because I was not being fair to you and then guilty because we only knew each other for a few hours and I was giving so much power to something that wasn’t real.” She swirls the melting ice cream in her lap, “and now I am just sad because sitting here with you right now with all these emotions I am breathing just fine.”
“And I am scared of what will happen next.”
Chris had no idea how to react to all of this, she had so many layers and so much going on and unintentionally he hurt her. Thea was right though this wasn’t about him but the fact that he was helping and hurting her at the same time was making his head spin. Nothing was sitting right with him and maybe ice cream wasn’t the best choice because his stomach was churning.
“I don’t know what to say, the thought that I am causing you pain, it makes me sick. Why would you say this isn’t real though?”
“Chris,” Thea sighs “I don’t know, you’re you and I’m me and I am talking this Chris not that other guy so don’t jump to conclusions. I am filled with scars and a heart that may never work again. You are so sweet and caring and could be anywhere right now and yet you are here with me eating ice cream in my trunk. We only talked for one evening, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Isn’t that how all great stories start though, with a great evening that leads to many more?”
“Chris, the only thing I can offer you is a hand to hold and friendship, I don’t think I can handle much more and that’s not fair to you.”
“Deal, sold, I’ll take it. Now let’s head to the boardwalk before it gets too chilly” Chris says while taking the melted ice cream and tossing it.
“Wait what?” Thea says completely taken back.
“I am not done getting to know you and I have a feeling this will all be worth it,” Chris says with a smirk.
“Chris, I really don’t…” Chris cut Thea off, “I’m an optimist so let’s just enjoy each other’s company, okay?”
Thea nods and recommends that Chris should follow her back to her apartment building to leave his truck so that they can just walk from there to the boardwalk, parking was bound to be crazy on this warm spring night. When they finally park and head to the boardwalk, Chris, optimistically, grabs Thea’s hand and they start their walk with the breeze from the open pushing them along.
Chris decides while looking at her windblown hair, that he is going to help her no matter what. She deserves so much happiness in this life, Chris made a silent promise to her that all of her hardest days were behind her.
Giving her hand an extra squeeze, Chris looks out into the distance and makes the same promise to the night sky that was watching over her.
@chi00072 @capstopavenger
#avengers#chris evans#chris evans x original female character#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x ofc#chris evans x reader#steve rogers#steve rogers x oc#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#marvel masterlist#captain america#captain america x you#captain america x female reader#captain america x ofc#original female character#marvel#military#dodger
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The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting
Ch. 1; ao3
Chapter summary: in which Crowley learns and yearns.
“And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love with the Principality Aziraphale— who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.”
Step 2: Gather Intel:
The castle wing generously bestowed to Crowley and the rest of his Legion was lavish in its towering ceilings and ornate tapestries; pristine in its Heavenly whites and creams and the dutiful servants keeping offending grime away; and above all—it was spacious. Wide and echoing. Fit for royalty, one might say. So, it was quite understandable how it really chafed away at Crowley’s (remaining) patience (and sanity) to find Hastur and Ligur squirreled away in his quarters.
Again.
Yes, he understood that they may be his footmen, but this was also precisely why Crowley tended to “disappear” for hours (even days at a time) in his own abode in Hell’s Kingdom.
Crowley paid little heed to Ligur’s scrutinizing gaze as he approached the attached study; to do so would show weakness before his subordinates and that was a decidedly unwise thing to do given his current position.
The position being smuggling another one of Hell’s scarce literary publications for his Guide’s reading pleasure.
But it was Hastur that broke the silence with a sly grin and a meaningful look as he eyed what was in Crowley’s hands. “Another tome, Prince Crawly?”
Well. Some greeting to your Prince. Crowley shot him a scowl. “Another remark out of you and you’ll crawling back to Hell.” Nevertheless, Hastur looked nonplussed as always so Crowley shrugged; he’ll get back at him later for that. “Besides, this is payment,” he protested. More so for the Angel’s delightful company than any real progress in his princely responsibilities, but they needn’t know that bit.
“Payment to the Guide assigned to you by the Queen herself?” Ligur added with a derisive snort. “Ah yes, what a great boon to have this queer Bird in our midst.”
“A Bird in hand is worth two in a bush,” Crowley assured. Not that he would even entertain the absurd notion of replacing Aziraphale as his Guide. “Nothing wrong with a little encouragement.”
Ligur was decidedly unconvinced. “You two spent the last week traipsing about every fine eatery in this God-be-damned Kingdom. I think he’s plenty encouraged.”
“Ah, but perhaps not in the manner the Prince would like?” Hastur said with gleaming eyes.
Crowley didn’t outwardly flinch. Of course he didn’t. “He’s—” lovely to be around. “More than entertaining—”
“But not quite like the rest of your toy soldiers, eh Your Highness?” Ligur remarked with a sneering curl of his lips.
“Certainly treats him better than his own lot!” Hastur supplied with a chortle, sneaking a conspiratory smirk at the other. “Looking to nest with this particular Bird before gettin’ shackled to the old ball and chain?”
And that’s when Crowley decided he’d had enough. “Bah. No need to be so crass.” He waved the insinuation off, wishing he could do the same to the twin annoyances holding in snickers and rude gestures at his expense.
It really wouldn’t do to have them meddling in his personal affairs.
And yes, his blooming—whatever it was he had with Aziraphale—was most definitely personal.
Crowley cleared his throat. “His company aids in getting accustomed to being flocked by other Birds.” A bit of a lie, but what’s the harm in that?
Aziraphale was hardly like the others. He was an oddity, certainly, but a rarity with his unabashed enthusiasm towards his indulgences, his general love for his comforts and all matter of life around, the soft glow about him, such a stark contrast from the lurid light and air of sterility the others exuded.
But that was why Crowley liked him so much. He gave a brief hum. “Though I suppose I am curious.” And a grain of truth to really throw them off— “Why, indeed, send such a queer Bird to sort me through this whole mess.” He’d meant the question to come out—detached. Perhaps just a bit pensive. But it didn’t. “Out of literally anyone else.” It came off rather hopeful, wishful.
Apprehensive. It’s not so often that my luck happens to turn out all right. Makes a Demon all sorts of anxious, Crowley thought.
Thankfully, it seemed neither of the two picked up on it. “If he can put up with the likes of your company, why not? Besides…” Ligur eyed the tome in Crowley’s hands. “He’s certainly got you on your best behavior.”
There were several responses Crowley could have chosen. He could have denied it of course, playing deeper into the Demons’ hands at his own expense. He could prove them wrong—which in all intents and purposes would have been the more entertaining option, especially if he could pin the ensuing trouble he’d been itching to cause on to them. Or he could have played the Royal Card—remind them of exactly who they were serving: rotten branch of the Royal tree or not, Crowley was their Prince—at the cost of letting them know deep down, that perhaps yes, maybe Crowley did care a bit more for his Guide than what was probably, Demonly, comfortable.
Instead, he opted for a scoff, a one-worded rebuttal, and a suave saunter as he exited the room. “Nonsense.”
He had no remark, however, for why he took the tome with him as he headed off.
He was already late in meeting Aziraphale as it was.
.
Why was it that whenever one was late, it couldn’t be for a few seconds—or even a few minutes?
Some impassable obstacle just has to miraculously (or cursedly, really) manifest to snowball a small hindrance to an entire ordeal.
And that entire ordeal came in the form of a balding Bird with an insincere smile, just outside his quarters. “Prince Crowley, if I could have a moment of your time?” Crowley frowned all the while and didn’t relent his pace. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Your Grace—”
Right. The halls echoed, after all.
Crowley did his best to pay it no mind, already picking up his pace, legs widening their stride. A scan to his side and—yep. It*** was following him. Fuck. After a tick or two of silence, Crowley sighed. “Our people have long lost Her Grace—no need to address me as such.”
“Right. Of course,” it replied easily. “Sandalphon, Prince Crowley,” it greeted, though it did not offer its hand as customary for other Birds. “You have questions, I’m to understand? About the Principality Aziraphale.”
That gave Crowley pause. “Principality, you say?” His Guide? The book-hoarding, sweets-loving, sunshine-smile Aziraphale— a warrior?
Birds often didn’t give Crowley a good feeling—save Aziraphale, of course—but this one was particularly unpleasant. “Indeed, but by title alone.” Crowley didn’t like the way it seemed far too excited to share whatever it had to say: “His ranking—is…In a dubious state.”
And there it was.
Crowley gave it an unimpressed look. “Is it now.”
Unfortunately, the Bird was simply undeterred. “Oh, yes.” It nodded, almost somber. “He was an absolutely adequate warrior. Lead his own platoons during the wars past—”
“Aziraphale?”
Crowley knew he made a fatal error from the wide grin spreading across its face. It leaned in, whispering low. “He even served as Archangel Gabriel’s subordinate.”
It all suddenly clicked into place. So that’s why he’s so familiar with the Archangels.
This was…indeed quite valuable information. But even then—Crowley couldn’t see it. Aziraphale obviously didn’t want war—seemed to be wholly devoted to the cause of keeping peace between their kingdoms—at least, when Crowley wasn’t purposefully distracting him with little gifts payments and banter. He had thought that perhaps the Angel had been too soft for war; he never considered the possibility that perhaps he was softened by it instead. Still, it wouldn’t do well to have a little chinwag with someone so eager to defame his Guide. Especially with a being that knew full well his relationship with Aziraphale.
The professional one, anyways.
And Crowley had to remember to keep playing that part. “Well, it seems they brought the right person for the job, then,” Crowley responded, almost testily. He knew what the Bird was baiting him for, but Crowley wouldn’t comment on the status of Aziraphale’s title. To do so felt like a betrayal to his Guide—and to do such an incredibly thoughtless sort of thing that would no doubt place Crowley far from Aziraphale’s good graces.
Not that Sandalphon needed encouragement in the first place. “Oh agreed, Prince Crowley. It’s certainly a mutually beneficial little arrangement. Well of course, Aziraphale has everything to gain from it anyways.” This Bird was more than content to sing like a canary. It gave a wheezy chuckle. “Probably begged the Queen herself to allow him some task to prove his worth to her again.”
Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes and heaving an exasperated breath. “Are you content to prattle on about another Angel’s business to anyone who pays you mind?”
It backed off, raising its palms in an inoffensive manner. “I’m merely giving you some insight!” It gave another slimy grin. “You asked a question, after all.”
And damnit all questions were always Crowley’s favorite weakness. He gave one, hard look at the Bird before relenting, carefully keeping the uninterested façade. “All right. I’m listening.”
“Rumor has it—” It gave a cruel smile. “—that he was dishonored and stripped of his flaming sword. And no one knows why—save for the Queen and Aziraphale himself.”
There was a beat of silence before Crowley’s resolve further buckled. “A flaming sword, you say?” he asked evenly.
And how Crowley detested that wicked sheen in its eyes. “Yes. It flamed like anything.”
Again—quite a bit to take in. There were several methods and modalities available at Crowley’s disposal to respond to this influx of information. He could very well give a curt nod and leave it as is—allow the Bird to believe he ruminated the information for a moment—just a moment—before tossing it away as just a fanciful fact. He could very well thank the Bird for the interesting intel, perhaps even bait the being into telling him more—but honestly, even the offhanded thought made Crowley’s stomach churn in a way that wasn’t even remotely pleasant, so that was obviously off the table.
So, wisely, Crowley settled for a derisive snort. “Ah. Must have been impressive, especially to give such a dangerous weapon to a pacifist,” tone disbelieving, uncaring. “But if he no longer has it, then this information really serves no purpose to me. I’d be more concerned were it the case that he possessed such a weapon and used it in an untoward way against myself or my Legion.”
“Err…I suppose…” It responded cautiously, perhaps unknowing of whether or not to be affronted by the utter disregard for what it had known to be reality-shattering knowledge.
And perhaps—in a way, this information was.
But it would take a lot more than hearsay to change how Crowley felt about Aziraphale. “And you say these are—” He gave it a scrutinizing look. “Rumors, is that right?”
Sandalphon startled. “Well, they may be rumors, but—”
“All baseless drivel when it comes down to it.” Crowley huffed.
It must have known Aziraphale cared more for peace than winning an expensive, horrendous disagreement for power. It didn’t matter that in times past that the Angel was out there in the bastions and fortresses, armed and ready to lay down his life for this useless struggle.
To add a bit of insult to injury, for his Guide’s honor, Crowley added, “Is that everything you wanted to say?”
Who he is now is all that matters.
The Prince made a show of rolling his eyes when he was met with a beat of silence. “And to think I believed you to have something useful to tell me.”
And right now his Angel—his Guide—is waiting for him, waiting for Crowley. And damn it all, Crowley was really late!
“I—” it stammered.
Crowley turned, continuing his way as he gave the Bird a wave of dismissal. “That is all.”
.
It was quite easy to turn tail and head away from that blathering Bird and its rather rude insinuations towards Aziraphale—
But it was quite different to get away from what he’d learned. Rather, it was impossible to unlearn and unlisten to the implications. Not particularly aimed at Aziraphale, and not even the insinuation aimed at their…well.
Work relations, as it were.
Besides, it normally wouldn’t bother Crowley to hear that he was just an assignment—a woefully accepted obligation—he’s been used to that all his life. But what did bother him was that this didn’t seem like Aziraphale at all.
Granted, he’d only known his Guide for a little over a week—but Crowley prides himself in being an excellent judge of character.
Which was precisely why it seemed like this Angel was the only being he’d ever truly felt drawn to.
He didn’t know everything about the Angel, but he felt like he had one of the most important basics down: the Angel loved his comforts. He loved his fine wines and lazy afternoons, cozy reading nooks and buttery pastries. He hardly seems like the type who’d thirst for blood for his scorching, battle-ready blade. It was quite like a adding a tomato to a fruit salad: you know it’s a bloody fruit, but it doesn’t quite fit the description, nor fill the role.
The thing about these niggling thoughts, however, is that the harder one concentrates on not thinking about it, the harder it becomes to ignore. And it’s hardly Crowley’s fault—that stupid Bird brought it up—and even now, with Aziraphale regaling to him of the Archangel Gabriel’s penchant for fine clothes—the question burned at the back of his tongue. So, Crowley did the only thing a Demon could do in a conundrum such as this:
Yield to temptation.
“Say,” Crowley interjected. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”
Aziraphale sputtered to a pause, a fragment of Fraisier slipping off his fork. “I—I’m sorry?”
“Yeah,” Crowley ventured, carefully casually. “Heard it flamed like anything.”
Aziraphale blinked, absorbing the words but not quite extrapolating its meaning quite yet. It’s fine. Crowley can wait.
He was prepared for the awkward silence and unrelenting tension that would no doubt follow. He was prepared for the Angel to deny it, lie with a flushed face and a nervous titter, and attempt to redirect the conversation. He was prepared for the Angel to sigh, soulful and deep, and ask who told Crowley. But Crowley, in his careless preparation to the consequences of opening this particular can of worms, forgot one, vital thing:
This was Aziraphale he was talking to. “I—I, well—uhm!” Prone to flustering. “That is…” And prone to being thrown into a prickly, nervous frenzy. “It’s—it’s hardly any of your business now!”
And prone to vehemently reprimanding Crowley about what should and should not be said in a public restaurant.
Crowley took a wary glance about them; most of the patrons and staff scurried from the Prince’s glare. He really ought to have chosen a better place to spring a question like this. “Angel—”
But it looked like Aziraphale was getting ready to leave—to flee.
And that was not something Crowley was prepared for at all.
“Angel—Angel, wait!”
But in a heartbeat or two, he’d vanished— strawberries and cream left unfinished.
.
Crowley supposed Aziraphale couldn’t be that mad. He didn’t fly off into the sunset leaving Crowley as just a sulking mote of dust behind him, after all. No, instead he simply chose to ignore Crowley as the prince helplessly, and hopelessly, trailed after him like an offending lover, ready to swallow his pride after a tiff gone awry while the Angel stomped all the way back to the castle.
“Slow down, you bloody Bird,” Crowley groaned and miraculously—
He did. He stopped right in his tracks and sat down on the stone bench overlooking the pond.
Crowley sagged against the garden bench, finding that while he was content to call out after the Guide, he wasn’t quite ready to lay out everything he felt like he should say just yet.
The prince cast his gaze to the scenery instead. The pond before them mirrored the vibrant pinks and indigos painting across the sky; the bustle of the castle and its inhabitants sounded so far away from behind the towering walls, encasing the sliver of paradise with silence and solitude.
Aziraphale had led them there, Crowley realized with a start, with the intention of talking without interruption and witnesses.
Beside him Aziraphale scoffed. “Really, Prince Crowley, to approach someone with such a personal inquiry in such a public area—”
“For the last time, Angel. Just call me Crowley.” He looked over to Aziraphale, seeing the mounting trepidation on his face and stiffness on his shoulders. But he was trying to keep the conversation open and he wasn’t running—that was better than what Crowley could hope for. “And better my asking than the other Birds,” Crowley countered. “Squawking behind your back, telling tall tales and spreading rumors—”
A pause. There went that nervous habit again. “Oh. So, you’ve heard from—one of them.” Soft, plump hands, tugging and straightening the whites and creams of his robes; delicate fingers and manicured nails, not meant to brandish swords and spill blood.
Hands Crowley wanted to take in his own, hold them still and feel those fingers curl and intertwine with his instead. “Not by my choice, mind you.” But Crowley didn’t. “The balding one—bit of a slimy fellow—”
“Sandalphon.”
“Yes, that one.” Aziraphale was avoiding his gaze, resolutely staring off into the still waters before them. Crowley swallowed and thought that at the very least—the Angel deserved to hear the truth. “Started raving about your title, or well lack thereof, and—” Quietly, gently, though it was easy enough for Crowley to say. “I didn’t believe it.” Because it was true. “Not the important bits anyways.”
There was a quick, darting look towards him and Crowley uneasily shuffled closer, facing the Angel fully.
“I know you’re a Principality—that seems to be common knowledge amongst the other Birds. But I don’t think you were stripped of your honor like that.” That response garnered him a questioning look. “At least—not for the reasons anyone else could think of.”
“What…what makes you so say that?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley hated them all for making is Guide sound so unsure.
He gave a chagrined smile. “Do I really have to say it?” He blew a noisy sigh, hoping to ease the ascending tension with petulant humor. “You’re an Angel.” No, not like them. You’re better than the others. “I don’t think it’s actually possible for you to do the wrong thing.”
Whatever reaction Crowley was hoping for with a response like that, he certainly wasn’t prepared for the heartbreaking disbelief and awe in those Angel eyes.
“Crowley…” Neither was he prepared for that something in the quiet, tender way Aziraphale gasped his name—
—that made Crowley want to dive straight into the lake to douse the turbulent flood of warmth that sank its fangs straight into his chest, squeezing the bleeding organ with its lovely thorns.
Crowley coughed, suddenly finding his throat dry and chest pounding. “Well, my theory was that you probably didn’t even want a war in the first place—and there’s really nothing wrong with that.” Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit oh FUCK THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING— “After all this war business is utter rubbish, I tell you. About damn time we made actual efforts in forming a proper treaty. Not that I completely agree with the modality they’ve chosen to enact in the name of armistice, but—”
“I GAVE IT AWAY!”
The thorns squeezed tighter. Crowley could barely let out a wheezing, “You…what?”
Aziraphale looked absolutely wretched.
And Crowley wanted to kiss that expression right off his beautiful face.
“The sword. The one given to me by the Queen.” The Angel raised his arm to gesticulate something before giving up halfway, letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, what was I supposed to do? Our platoon did our best to minimize the damage, but even then, that battle absolutely decimated that village! There could have been all sorts of terrifying beasts out there, not to mention marauders and the like with their defenses gone!”
“…What?” was Crowley’s ever-intelligent reply.
Aziraphale fortunately took that as a Please, do go on, I’m ever-so-intrigued by this turn of conversation and not at all finding myself at the brink of despair at the horrific realization of my own stupid emotions.
“So I thought, ‘Well, they need it a lot more than I do right now’ and I told the village leader Take it, don’t bother to thank me!” He rubbed his hands distractedly, frantic anxiety bleeding into his voice. “And—and, the magic on it should only protect them, it shouldn’t be used to start any—”
“You…gave your sword away. The sword given to you by Her.” Crowley’s heart was hammering now, driving the pinprick points deeper, yet it did little to calm the stone-drop of cold dread at the pit of his stomach. “To protect some vulnerable people? Angel…” That’s wonderful. You’re wonderful, you foolish, lovely git. “Well, where is it now?”
“In…” The Angel floundered, gaze darting to his lap again. “In a quaint village. Hopefully nicely repaired and thriving by now.”
“Well, go get it then!” Yes, please, let’s go—run, run far, far away— “Put an end to the rumors—stick it to Sandalphon’s grubby little face—”
--far enough that maybe then these feelings won’t reach you.
“It’s…not so easy,” Aziraphale answered apprehensively.
“Come now, Angel. I’ll even come with you—like one of our day trips!” Crowley himself was already warming to the idea. It was like a little adventure. Like seeking a lost treasure—a real one! Clearing the Angel’s name, off to conquer the Nosy Gossips of Heaven’s domains, to slay the evils of shit-talking— Prince Crowley and Principality Aziraphale—
Crowley and Aziraphale--
And maybe Crowley did want that. Maybe he did want to go off with Aziraphale, forget this Prince and Guide rubbish for just a while, escape to a small pocket in time where titles and responsibilities didn’t exist. Just them two, and a grand, old adventure laid out for them both. There were surely lots of places to see. It’s a great big world out there, just out or reach from the two borders of their respective kingdoms. The Other Side, where the maps ended but the skies continued on.
And where other lines blurred completely.
But. Baby steps. Crowley reigned himself in again, despite the frenzied beating in his chest. “I mean, you’ve been wanting to show off Heaven’s charming little towns—”
“Erm…” Aziraphale was starting to look panicked again. “That’s the thing.” He gave an anxious little smile. “It’s…not in Heaven.”
Normally, Crowley possessed a fine and rich vocabulary borne of years under strict tutelage all because his mum shacked up with the King of Hell and spawned him in the process. “What?” Today, all those lessons flew out his brain—
“It’s…a bit farther than that.” Aziraphale held his gaze to Crowley’s. “A bit further South, rather.”
—missed the pond completely and smacked straight into the white stones of the garden walls. “Angel…”
“Yes, okay?” Somehow, Aziraphale managed to look even more miserable—and dramatic, by far. “The village—my sword—It’s in Hell’s domain.” He gave an imploring and helpless look to the stone-frozen Crowley. “But shhh please, promise you’ll keep this a secret?” And just like that, he took Crowley’s hands in his own, asking, beseeching, “Just between us?”
Crowley would have confessed to all the Divines in the High Heavens that this was the moment Crowley fell—horrifically, dreadfully, disastrously, and absolutely— in love with Aziraphale. There, underneath the peaking moon and glitter of stars. In a garden, after Aziraphale shared with him his greatest burden—that this Angel had sacrificed his loyalty for love and protection for a people he did not know or understand, for a belief he didn’t know he had in himself.
“Yeah…” Crowley squea—no, no, that was not a squeak damn you. He hastily cleared his throat, covering those soft hands with his own. “Yeah, no worries there.” He met Aziraphale worried eyes evenly and vowed: “I promise. You have my word, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale slipped his hand out of from Crowley’s and Crowley’s stupid brain had the fucking audacity to think the appropriate response to that was to instinctively whine at the loss of contact.
Aziraphale, luckily, did not take heed of this offense. “Thank you…” he breathed, shoulders sagging, as he held his hand to his chest. Crowley wondered if the Angel’s heart was beating just as obnoxiously as his. “And…thank you, for. Well...” If the Angel’s heart mirrored his own. “It’s nice to finally get that off my conscience, really.” The Angel gave a tired laugh, one that didn’t really meet his eyes, one that sank and fell flat on itself. “I always did worry if that was the best course.”
“Like I said, Angel.” His hand came forward, floundering before finding its way to the slope of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if it’s actually possible for you to the wrong thing.” You’re too good for that.
Too good for me, a dark, traitorous thought echoed back.
Crowley would decree that it was here, beneath starlight and Aziraphale’s sunbeam smile that Crowley would embark on the path of rewriting his own stars for a change. He knew that he was endangering his entire Kingdom and the Kingdom of Heaven by choosing Aziraphale, despite his royal obligations— but he’s a risk-taker with a lot of imagination. He doesn’t know how to persuade two kingdoms to accepting his choice—if that could even become a possibility at all.
And if not…
Maybe running off wouldn’t be such a bad option.
Running off—together.
But—baby steps. Firstly, he must start with getting Aziraphale to accept his courtship.
Speaking of which… “Oh! This is for—you.” He reached into his pocket, wriggling the tome out from where it had been jabbing him while he ran after the flighty Bird. “I brought you a little something.”
There was that smile again. “Crowley, this is—oh my…” The one that likely damned him from the start. “It’s lovely—”
Crowley attempted a scoff, though it likely sounded like a sputter. “It’s a rather sad and dreary one, written over a millennium ago by a rather sad and dreary fellow. I thought it’d be right up your alley.” He watched carefully from the corner of his eye, seeking any discomfort from Aziraphale, any sign that the gift was not to his liking, not to his standards, not up to par with what he deserved. “Always preferred the funny ones myself.”
“I’m honored.” But he could find none. Only an excited smile and eyes of far-off skies poring over the text; just the look of an Angel utterly enamored at the prospect of reading a new tale, exploring another world within the confines of word and mind.
And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love—this moment where the evidence stared back at him so boldly in his face, that he realized the extent of these rather inconvenient feelings he had towards the Principality Aziraphale—the Principality who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.
Because damn it he wanted Aziraphale to look at him like that.
And upon accepting that foolish thought as truth, it all came crashing down in that very instant.
Fuck. I love him.
------------------
Fun fact: Sandalphon’s pronouns in the book and script are “it/its.”
Thank you for reading~
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Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]
Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?
Rating: NC-17 // NSFW
Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut
Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC
Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut
Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46
Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]
Word Count: 3,314
Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg,
Chapter 46: Euphoria
“You’re the sun that rose again in my life;
a reincarnation of my childhood dreams.”
© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.
Jungkook groaned softly, his brows furrowing as a beam of sunlight sliced across the backs of his eyelids. A hand immediately went up to shield his face, frowning upon being roused from the deep sleep he was enjoying. When he shifted, he felt a weight on his arm and quickly froze. Craning his neck slightly, he lifted himself up a measure to see a curtain of dark curls draped against light brown skin. Jungkook gave a sleepy smile, his hand reaching out to brush Eden’s hair from her neck. She moved away from him only a little, a child-like moan of protest issuing from her and he watched the sleeve of her sweatshirt slip away to expose her bare shoulder.
Taking a moment to card his fingers through her hair, Jungkook leaned forward and pressed his nose into the juncture of her neck – inhaling her scent slowly. His lips were feather soft against her skin, his hand moving from her hair to smooth over the curve of her shoulder.
He would never get tired of this; of her.
These moments were his favorite. Jungkook felt like it was a journey around the world to finally breach her barriers, but Eden wasn’t exactly a vulnerable human being. She’d been hurt so much in her past that trusting others was difficult. She’d said as much. Hurt by people she opened her heart to; hurt by people she trusted to show her more delicate side.
Her stubbornness only urged Jungkook to pursue her relentlessly. He knew what it was like to feel alone in the way that she did. He understood her need to reach out and then pull back at the last second, doubting what she saw in front of her.
Even he felt the same despite the brotherhood he’d developed with his childhood friends.
Readjusting the arm she was laying on, he slid his hand beneath the sweatshirt so his fingers could slide past the underside of her breasts. Reaching over her waist, he pressed his large palm over the flat of her bare stomach and her abs tightened from the chill of his rings contacting her skin. Eden stirred in his arms and he watched the goosebumps form on the back of her neck – his hand gliding between her legs. Dipping beneath the fabric of her panties, he let his long fingers take pleasure in the warmth of her folds.
His lips caressed the curve of her jaw and he could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back. Jungkook wanted her; wanted this forever. He wanted to show her that it was okay to fall into a river of passion without the risk of drowning in it.
He’d never let her get swallowed up alone.
“Jungkook,” she mumbled, “what are you doing?”
Her voice was thick with sleep. It was deep and raspy, and it made Jungkook want her even more.
Eden turned in his arms, forcing his hands to cease their movements much to his disappointment. The bleary look of sleepiness on her face, however, only made him smile instead of pout. She rubbed at the backs of her eyes with the heels of her palms and he pulled her closer against him. A hand slid down her long, bare leg and he hiked it up to rest her thigh on his hip.
He leaned in closer as she finished rubbing at her eyes, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Good morning,” he greeted, and he chuckled when she opened one eye to look at him. “Sleep well?”
She tried to turn away from him, presumably to go back to sleep, but he held onto her leg tightly – making it impossible for her to flop onto her other side. Eden tried to pull away a few more times before finally giving up. Expecting a glare, however, he was surprised to feel her lunging her body forward to slam her chest against his. A grunt pushed from his lungs in response and he could only stare wide-eyed at the wall as she nuzzled her face into his chest.
He tried to wrangle his emotions, mentally kicking himself for still acting like a child with a schoolboy crush as his heart thrummed heavily against his ribs. She seemed to pick up on this immediately, feeling her smiling against his skin.
“Don’t you laugh,” he said, his eyes meeting hers as she peeked up to look at him.
He saw her grin widen. “Or what?”
“You’re going to get a spanking.”
She laughed outright. “Promises, promises!” she replied, her hands snaking up along his sides and it was too late before he realized what she was getting ready to do.
Jungkook let out a sound that was a cross between a squeak and a yell. He felt her fingers dipping into his hips before they scurried over his ribs and at the tender spots just below his armpits. Flopping around like a fish to escape her, he crashed onto her apartment floor tangled in blankets and sheets. When he finally managed to free himself, he saw Eden dashing out of the small bedroom and into the bathroom.
Letting out a groan, he buried his face into the mattress – resigning himself to being on breakfast assignment the minute he heard Eden turning on the shower.
It didn’t take him long to get dressed into a pair of comfy sweatpants and a grey hoodie. Not caring that his fringe poked out from beneath the hood, he sprinted down the long street until he was able to reach the convenience store a block away. He bought two small cartons of milk – one chocolate and one strawberry – some Danishes and two sausages on a stick. He quickly paid for the items and dashed out of the store – the plastic bag rattling at his side as he opted to walk back instead of running.
Patting one of his pockets, he scratched at the side of his nose impishly. Jungkook was glad that Eden decided to take the day off to rest. Taehyung agreed to handle things at the recording studio for the time being and there hadn’t been any real reason for him to help his other brothers with their affairs. Though originally she opted to take more time off from work so she could support Anastasia (who was, for all intents and purposes, carrying his niece and/or nephew), Jungkook wasn’t about to let such an opportunity pass him by.
Jungkook reached the stairs to the rooftop apartment and climbed them slowly. When he made it to the top, the image he saw was completely unexpected. He had to rub his own eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.
Eden was outside, pulling laundry off the lines. One set of sheets threatened to blow away from the sudden gust of wind and she chased after it – laughing at the potential crisis that was about to happen. She managed to catch the bedding just before it flew off the roof, her body leaning over the edge. Jungkook almost moved after her, but when he saw her body spinning around and away from the ledge, he stopped and continued to look on as she let the sheets fly behind her. Music played from her phone on the ground nearby and she seemed oblivious to his presence.
He remembered reading about nymphs in a Greek mythology book once when he was younger. He didn’t particularly believe in the supernatural, but he believed that there were people beyond human understanding. Whether they were humans or something otherworldly was undeterminable, but in that moment, he swore that Eden wasn’t of this world. The way her hair flew behind her as she ran around with the sheet, laughing so freely, he believed that she was a mythical nymph.
Jungkook dropped the bag and this seemed to knock Eden out of the trance she’d placed herself in. Her bare feet came to a halt and the sheet fluttered against her back – gathering in a strange bundle at her heels. She blinked, brushing some of her wet curls behind her ears.
“Oh, Jungkook-ah,” she said, wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, “you’re back.”
He said nothing. He could only look on as he took a step toward her.
“Where’d you go?”
Again, he couldn’t say anything. Even if he wanted to, the words just kept running away from him; tumbling from his brain. All he did was take another step forward.
And another.
And another.
And another.
The distance between them was short, but it felt like it took him half a lifetime to get to her. When he did, all he could do was gaze down at her confused face. She blinked up at him and he reached out to tuck more of her hair behind both of her ears.
Neither of them said anything. He just continued to hold her face in his hands, a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest and reaching up to wrap around his throat. She must have seen something in his gaze because she placed a hand on the back of his – stirring him out of the hypnosis she’d unknowingly put him under.
“Hey,” she called to him softly, “are you okay?”
Jungkook shook his head. “No,” he said gently, “not yet.”
Before she could ask anything further, he took a step back and then slowly lowered himself down onto one knee. He reached into his pocket, fishing out the item that he’d been carrying with him for the better part of a month. The velvet blue box was revealed and Eden dropped the sheet to the ground completely. Her eyes widened, tears instantly filling them the moment he opened the box to show the white gold band with the soft blue gemstone situated on the gem mounting.
“Ya,” Eden managed to choke out as she covered her mouth, “w-what are you doing?”
When she took a step back, Jungkook’s arm moved with lightning speed and he caught her wrist – halting any and all escape attempts. When he felt her resisting him, his thumb dug into her skin to secure the hold he had on her.
“Noona,” he called to her, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, “please…”
He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. But the words felt like sand on the tip of his tongue and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to repeat what he was about to say. Eden’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but her body seemed to relax a little more. Taking comfort in this, Jungkook’s fingers slid from her wrist to hold onto her hand.
“I wish I had the right words to tell you how I feel.” Jungkook could barely hear his own words, muffled under the sound of how loud his heart was thundering in his ears. “But the only thing I’m confident enough to say is that I love you. I love you sogoddamn much.”
Jungkook curled his fingers into her palm, pulling her toward him a half step. The sheet was abandoned as her bare feet shuffled forward. He watched her wiping at her cheeks with her free hand, silently waiting for him to continue.
“I know I probably don’t deserve the moments you give me, but I’m thankful that you do. I’m grateful that you decided to give me a chance. To give us a chance.”
He pulled her arm forward so that he could press his forehead against the back of her hand.
“It’s going to take some time, I know, but…” Lifting his face to look at her, he gave her a weak smile. “…will you also give me the chance to occupy every inch of your heart? Will you let me stay there forever once I do?”
Eden’s facial expression didn’t change. He saw the tears continuing to fall despite her efforts to clean her face with her free hand. He felt a heavy weight on his chest and was sure he’d pass out from the pressure building there.
“Eden McGee…” Jungkook held the box up a little higher. “…will you marry me?”
Everything was silent except for the breeze that blew through the skies, causing the laundry to flutter on the line.
Then he heard it. A half sob, half laugh. Jungkook blinked and saw the most unguarded look on Eden’s face he’d ever seen. When she wiped her nose with the back of her wrist, she nodded and laughed again. Jungkook let go of her hand long enough to pluck the ring from the soft silk bedding inside the box and slip it onto the appropriate finger. He figured she would take a moment to admire it, but the moment his hand left the ring, Eden threw herself into his arms and hugged him.
Jungkook wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting both her and him up off the ground. He spun around and peppered her face and neck with kisses. Again, she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
This was the beginning of the rest of their lives.
Together.
Jungkook fiddled nervously with his vest, straightening the garment for the dozenth time while Jimin watched from a corner of the room, biting back a smile. He glanced over at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Is it normal to be this nervous? I love her. I want to marry her.” He stared back at his reflection in the mirror. “So why am I so nervous?”
Jimin pushed himself off the wall and approached Jungkook, grabbing his shirt collar and straightening it out, smoothing down the corners with gentle fingers. “Because you love her. Because it’s a big step.” Jungkook frowned a little, which caused his brother to smirk. “There’s a million reasons why you’re allowed to be nervous, so stop being nervous about being nervous,” he said, patting his cheek. “You love her. She loves you. It’s that simple.”
Jungkook couldn’t help the shaky sigh that managed to escape him. Jimin was right and he knew that. Sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. Jungkook rarely followed such a principle, but today was the day he would. He had to.
Two weeks had passed since Eden accepted his proposal. Once emotions were finally settled, they had a lengthy discussion and both agreed that it was probably in the best interest of everyone to marry in secret. With Anastasia pregnant, Raelyn busy with her hospital work, and the rest of Jungkook’s own friends focusing on staying off the Jade Fangs’ radar, it was better to just have a small ceremony between the two of them.
They still needed a witness; someone they trusted implicitly.
Jimin didn’t fuss or fight against any of it when Jungkook brought it up to him a week ago. In fact, it surprised him how readily he was willing to accept the role. Jimin reassured Jungkook that he just needed to focus on getting ready and planning the best honeymoon he could for his future bride. It wasn’t the most extravagant place, but it was important to him and Jimin agreed that Eden would appreciate it more than some trip to a resort on a remote beach somewhere.
Jungkook grabbed Jimin’s hands and gave them a squeeze before stepping back, looking at his brother – the one who was constantly giving him words of wisdom while fussing over him at the same time. “Is it really, though?” he asked, almost pointedly.
He watched Jimin raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say anything further. When he didn’t, he patted his cheek again with a wry grin. “You have nothing to worry about, Jungkook-ah. It really is that simple for you. Eden loves you. She wants to marry you. So go out there and get married. You’ve both done so much with your lives and you have so much more left to do.”
What he said made sense, of course. He loved Eden more than he’d ever thought possible. He’d never met another woman who stirred the same kind of emotions in him than she had. Jungkook knew that he probably never would; not in this lifetime, anyway.
He gave his brother one long look before relaxing, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “You’re right. Just…I want you to be happy, too, y’know?”
“I am happy.” Jungkook winced when Jimin flicked his forehead and he rubbed at the sore spot. “Now, stop being so twitchy. Relax. Put a smile on that ridiculously handsome face of yours and go out there so you can greet your lady and, you know, marry her.”
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Well, do I look good, at least? Come on, Hyung, you’ve got to help me out, here.” He gestured at himself, indicating the suit he’d chosen to wear.
The soft gray and black pinstripe suit stood out against the taupe stained walls of the chapel waiting room, bringing out the darker tones of his eyes. He’d thought it was appropriate. Black seemed too somber a color, and he was ready to start a new chapter of his life - one with his soon-to-be-wife - with energy and positivity.
Jimin snorted softly and reached up to ruffle his hair, though he smoothed it back down after. “You look fine, Jungkook. Handsome and happy. You’re lucky to have each other. Now, let’s go get you out there. We don’t wanna keep her waiting. She just might change her mind and run off.”
They left the room chuckling together, Jimin following slightly behind him, as if he were herding Jungkook along. And he may very well have been. Jungkook's nervousness aside, he knew he wanted to see Eden more than anything. And though none of them were terribly superstitious, Jimin managed to convince him not to try and see his future wife before she was walking down the aisle.
Jungkook tried not to start fidgeting again, Jimin silent and reassuring at his side as the priest stood at the front of the chapel hall. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves as his white gloved hands wrung against each other. Jimin placed a hand on his shoulder, causing what nerves remained to drain out of him. He met his brother’s gaze and smiled, the two of them turning as the door to the chapel opened.
A few scant moments later, he saw her. Eden. She stepped out, into the light, and his breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, unable to see anywhere else. She was beyond beautiful. Of course, he already knew that. But in the soft light reflecting off tan walls and pooling through stained glass windows, her simple off-white dress that stopped at her knees seemed to radiate light. Jungkook couldn’t hear the music of the pianist; he didn’t see the priest or his brother.
Nothing and no one existed except her.
The ceremony itself was a blur, both too fast and too slow. He didn’t even really register what was said, or by whom. Rings were exchanged - again - their shining surfaces and dark patina a testament to their age. Jungkook had the rings engraved with the date of their wedding.
The vows were said, rings on each other’s hands, and he was kissing her, their lips finding each other. He would have stayed like that for much longer, but someone cleared their throat, a reminder that it could wait for later. They separated and he looked down at Eden, his dark eyes swirling with desire and pure happiness.
They were married. She was his wife. From now until the end of their lives, and beyond. From this moment onward, they were a true team; partners in every sense.
Ride or die.
#networkbangtan#btsbookclub#btswriterscollective#thekpopnetwork#bangtanarmynet#bts#bts fanfiction#bts fanfics#kpop fanfic#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfics#bts mafia#bts mafia au#bts mafia!au#bts crime au#bts crime!au#bts angst#bts x angst#bts romance#bts x romance#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts slow burn#bts x slow burn#thebiasrekkers#bts thebiasrekkers#thebiasrekkers bts#make it right bts#bts make it right
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You don’t have a Codeword (Part Three)
Part One Part Two
Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Words: 1594
Author’s Note: Thank you for the support! I’m trying really hard to post a part every 1-3 days, however work is getting pretty crazy for me in regards to finding time to edit.That said, the replies, messages, and notes go a long way. Thank you again! Enjoy!
How you ended up swinging through New York with the spider himself? You’re not exactly sure. All you knew was that you were not expecting the adrenaline soaring through your body. You always stayed in your room, as the sight of the timers always filled you with melancholy. But now- being out- it was such a rush.
Peter donned his new suit- the ‘project’ Tony was talking about- and practically begged you to go out into the city with him. He wanted to try it out before… you frowned upon remembering. He ended up stopping on the roof of an apartment building you didn’t recognize. You quickly followed using the web shooters Peter lent and taught you to use. He immediately began stretching, using one of the railings on the side of the building.
“If you don’t stretch, you might get a cramp” He chided you while he did lounges. You laughed at the sight, ignoring the numbers that danced above his head.
“I think I’m okay” You responded, smiling at the way he shook his head at you. It was on that roof that you began trying to get to know each other. What were your favorite colors, favorite movies, who were your friends, family. You could tell from the timer that nearly 3 and a half hours had passed since you both had left, when he suddenly grew quiet. You felt a chill down your spine as the early morning winds pushed against your hair.
“(Y/N)…” Peter breathed out next to you. At this point you were both sitting, dangling your legs off the edge of the building, knees almost but not quite touching. It was as if there was a boundary that neither of you were willing to break, with good reason. You turned to him, tilting your head to the side- uncertain of what would follow. “How did you get your powers?” He asked, glancing down at his fidgeting hands on top of his lap. You felt the cold creep into your stomach, recalling the memory. “I mean… Mr. Stark said that you had an accident but was that a lie as well? Were you born with them?” He continued before looking back up at you. What he saw on your face immediately had him backpedaling. “But you don’t have to tell me! Sorry, just ignore me. We can go sight seeing some more, I know this great place where-” He went to stand up. You instinctively reached out, wanting to capture his wrist and bring him back down, but stopped before you grabbed it. He understood and sat back next to you.
“It’s okay. I said... whatever you want, right? Well...” You took a deep breath, swallowing the ball that grew in your throat, “When I was seven…
The mall seemed so huge to seven-year-old you. You held your mom’s hand as you strolled past each store, trying to find the perfect gift for your dad’s upcoming birthday. Your mom told you that anything you picked out he would love but you wanted something that would really make him happy. She appreciated your determination and handed you her credit card, telling you, “In that case, I completely trust that you’ll get the perfect thing”
After spending 2 hours searching for it- you didn’t exactly know what it was but once you saw it you knew you would, the two of you decided to get a bite to eat. It was in the food court that you noticed it. It was on display, right behind the window of the storefront next door. You couldn’t see it very well, but you felt drawn. While your mom was distracted, completing the transaction with the food clerk, you snuck away to the store.
You had waltzed in, straight to the cashier asking for the item in the window. The man behind the counter had asked you where your parents were, and you had explained that you were buying a gift for your dad and wanted your mom to be surprised too. You remembered how he laughed to himself before grabbing it for you.
Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was a music box. The man had asked you if you wanted to see “Iron Man in action”. You nodded, eager to see what the box could do. After winding it, it opened to feature an Iron Man replica flying around a miniature version of Stark Industries with a crowd of people near the base of the tower posed in typical cheering stances. You weren’t exactly sure what the tune playing came from, but it reminded young you of fairies, mystical and sweet. After seeing it, you confirmed the purchase, using the card your mom gave you. The man asked you if you needed help finding your parents, but you shook your head, saying that you knew where your mom was.
However, upon walking back, you didn’t see her, and you didn’t have a chance to look before the floor below you slightly rumbled. The scene in front of you had changed and you heard the distant sounds of screaming while the hairs on the back of your neck stood out. You saw crowds of people running past you towards the exit, but you were frozen in place. It wasn’t until one individual of the continuous flow of sprinters bumped into you, pushing you down, that you began to cry. Feeling the tears pouring down your face, you wailed for your mom, gripping tightly onto the box you were so excited to show her. Smoke began flowing from the other side of the mall, searching for an escape. You closed your eyes, feeling a slight burning sensation when the smoke hit them.
As you continued to call out, you felt yourself being picked up and carried, an arm under your knees and another around your back. You felt joy fill you as you latched on, facing what you expected to be your mother but instead was a stranger. She whispered words of comfort to you, while you struggled to be free from her hold, trying to hit her with the box that you held onto. “Please, just let me save you” She cried, voice wavering. It was then you noticed that the stranger also had tears streaming down her face.
You stopped struggling and heard a noise coming from back where you were. Looking behind her, you saw a person in a white jumpsuit, with a matching full-face gas mask, fizzle into visibility. The person took off their mask to reveal his face, cruelly smirking at you. In the coming days, turned to years, this would be the only thing you would remember about his face. Fear clogged your throat, pushing down a sob. He seemed to stare directly into your eyes as he slowly waved his right hand at you. He then lifted his left hand, showing a cylindrical piece of metal with a red button on top. Mouthing the word ‘Bye’, he pushed the button, putting his mask back on and disappearing before your eyes. The ground began to rumble again.
“I really am sorry” You heard the woman whisper to you, turning your attention back onto her. You wanted to ask her why, but when you felt the floor breaking apart under her, the words never came out. She tossed you away from her, inches away from the exit, debris falling around you. You laid there staring at her as a second later, the ground underneath fell into itself, dragging her down, instead of you. You’re not sure how long you laid there but you began to hear your mom calling for you. You picked yourself up, grabbing the box- landing a foot away from you when you were tossed, and ran outside searching for the owner of the voice. Upon seeing a crowd of people, you grew confused and scared. Not because you couldn’t see your mother, because you could, but now, everyone had these strange numbers above their heads.”
Upon finishing the true backstory of your powers, you looked over to Peter. He was looking back at you, but there was something new in his eyes. You had never seen that look before, hence why when you racked your brain to place it, you were unable to. It made you feel warm and yet it was unsettling. Unsettling because you liked it. A lot. You bit your lip in thought, wondering what could be if there was more time.
You quickly filled the silence that welcomed these thoughts. You recalled the countless times that you tried to save people whose times were running up, like the woman did for you, but they always seemed to follow their assigned timer regardless of the age, situation, or how desperately you wanted to save them. It didn’t take long before you were tired of seeing timers slowly run out, fully breaking you when you had to watch your own mother’s.
“I really want to save you. I’m just not sure if I can.” You whispered honestly, seeing a distant memory of your mom lying on her deathbed as you looked at Peter, the boy so close to being on one too. You felt a single tear escape from your eyes. Peter lifted his hand in an attempt to brush it off, with only a slight hesitation before resolve set in his eyes. It was mere inches away from your cheek when a voice bellowed from behind, freezing his hand midair.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
Part Four
#angst#spiderman#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#spiderman x reader#spiderman x y/n#spiderman x you#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fanfiction#spiderman fanfic#spiderman fanfiction#peter parker imagine
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I haven’t been posting a lot recently and I’m sorry! I haven’t had much time or much energy. These last few weeks have been challenging to say the least and I’ve been trying to get back into the swing of things.
That being said, I wanted to make this post despite my fear of talking about this particular subject: academic success and mental illness/learning disabilities. I never want to sound like I’m victimizing myself, defining myself, or enabling myself. I’ve made those mistakes in the past, and I’m not proud of it, but I’ve grown from it and learned so much (so, I guess then they’re not mistakes!).
Having bipolar disorder and ADHD is a strange combination. It wasn’t until very VERY recently (6 months or less) that I began to really educate myself and take my medication/therapy/treatment seriously. The ADHD I’ve learned to deal with over the corse of about 8 or so years, but the bipolar didn’t come into play until about a year ago, and it’s been harder than I ever imagined.
So here it is, my list of tips and tricks to maybe help anybody going through something similar. No matter what it is, big or small, we’ve all been in bad places, and we’ve all had to work our asses off to get ourselves back. I’m unbelievably proud of myself for how I’ve handled this and how much I’ve grown in the past few months. I hope at least one person takes something positive from this!! Nobody is alone, and support is all around you. Even if you’re your own support network. You got this.
Let’s do it. Here are my tips, tricks, and advice:
*self care is complicated and not easily defined. Sometimes it’s buying yourself flowers, sometimes it’s skipping classes so you can sleep, sometimes it’s watching your favorite show or movie, sometimes it’s taking a bath or a shower or making food, sometimes it’s sitting on your kitchen floor all night trying your best to stay alive and to breathe. But sometimes self care is forcing yourself to get up and do that assignment, clean your kitchen, try to get out and go for a run or dance or go to the store, sometimes it’s forcing yourself to go to work or class. Self care isn’t just candles and flowers and face masks — but sometimes it is! Know yourself and know the difference. I know it’s hard, and I know that sometimes none of that is possible. But you have to try. Try something, anything. No matter how big or small.
*doing something for 30 seconds is better than not doing it at all. Read one page of your textbook. Do one problem. Write one sentence. It’s okay if it’s shitty and it’s okay if it’s hard. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be easier, maybe it won’t. But it’s better to do a little bit than nothing at all.
*it’s okay to fail, but it’s not okay to beat yourself up. I’m not proud to admit it but I got a 48 on my chemistry midterm. I took the hardest bio exam of my life a few days ago. I wasn’t studying or doing assignments, at least not the way I normally do. But I was fighting something that, last time it happened, I dropped out of school for. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not hating myself or beating myself up. Be kind to yourself. It’s not permanent. Go to bed, and try again tomorrow. Just try again tomorrow.
*success and recovery are never linear. Know that. Know yourself. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. Progress is progress even if you have some bad days. Progress is progress even if it’s small.
*talk to your professors and TAs. I never thought this would work out well, so I never did. But it got so bad I didn’t have a choice. And you know what? Some of them understood and were overwhelming in their kindness, understanding, and desire to help. Some didn’t care. But talking to them helps, and it’ll lift some of the anxiety that comes with late/sloppy assignments and less-than-stellar test scores.
*sleep. Eat. Put on clean clothes. Stretch when you get out of bed. Wash your face. Take a deep breath. You’ll be okay.
*never underestimate the power of music.
*youll get your passion back. You’ll get your motivation back. Until then, take it one day at a time.
*hard work is still hard work even if it doesn’t seem like it. Try your best every day. Sometimes your best isn’t going to be much. But you tried. And that’s all that matters.
*this one might seem random but GET A DRY ERASE BOARD FOR STUDYING AND HOMEWORK. Trust me on this one! You can draw diagrams, use it with flash cards, do math/science/chem problems, draft for papers. I don’t know why I find it better and easier, but I do. It helps so much with the ADHD.
*you’re not trapped. You’re not broken. You’re not pathetic. Your brain just needs a lil help from time to time.
*suicidal thoughts can be terrifying. But they’re serious. If that’s something you’re expierencing, take it seriously and find help. There are plenty of free online resources that you can use. Same with self harm and/or substance abuse. Don’t think you have to fight it alone.
*people say this all the time but it’s true: your health and well-being are more important than anything else. Do what you have to do.
*Time management is...... the worst thing. I totally get it! Balancing working, classes, research, and dance is overwhelming for me. It’s okay to push things to the side. Prioritizing is key. You don’t have to be everything all at once.
*Take. Time. Off. I had a day off work yesterday and instead of cleaning my apartment and locking myself in my room to study for 8 hours you know what I did? I went to the lake with my friends. We collected fossils. We drove around listening to cheesy ‘80s music. It was beautiful and sunny and a perfect temperature outside. I never do anything social. And did that make today harder for me? With cleaning and work and more assignments than I’d like to think about? Yes. But it’s okay. Please, don’t forget to live.
I can’t think of more right now, but I’ll add some if I think of more! Feel free to add your own too :) wish me luck today guys! And I hope you all have an amazing week. You’re stronger than you think you are. You’ll be okay. I know you will.
#biology#notes#stem#study#studyblr#university#chemistry#motivation#self care#mental health#bipolar disorder#ADHD#advice
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Mikki, July 11 2020, Melbourne
During the course of my interview with Mikki, I realised eight minutes too late that half of what had been said so far had not recorded. This lost section illustrates for me two things: 1) the fallibility of technology, and 2) the irrecoverable nature of speech. Thinking about the former, I consider phone calls that cut in and out, one friend lagging behind the others. For a short while, whenever Mikki and I called, only one person could be heard at a time, so I had to make sure not to “mm” in response or I’d risk cutting her off. This meant monologuing and not interrupting, something akin to the interview form.
I’ve always been attracted to the interview. I think teenage magazines, which I read religiously (often standing in the supermarket aisle with the magazines and stationery and greeting cards), were the first indicator of this love. A decade later, recently, I reflected on the unique beauty of speech in written form in Rachel Cusk’s “Outline” trilogy, which are written almost entirely through her characters’ monologue-style speech. I then read her interview in the Paris Review, in which she says the following:
I suppose I recognised that certain worlds could be almost prepared for me by other people, that other people had abilities to perceive their experiences in ways that I found really useful. That sounds a bit like I got other people to do the work for me, but I just thought, Actually you can just use that particular narrative gift for narrative form in speech. […] I think what I was looking for in writing these books was almost a sound frequency. I think I’m very aware when these passages of life occur—when people are able to give voice to themselves. One of the things that is said about these books is, People don’t talk like that. But I think they probably do. Maybe not all the time, but I think they do. The people that I tend to have speaking in my books have a momentary emergence, like someone getting out of the sea and standing on a rock for a minute and sort of looking around, and for whatever reason they can see where they are.
Like Cusk, I wish to glean from others’ experiences, to pay attention to them, and in doing so, give rise to that “momentary emergence.” Interviews allow speech to be consecrated. One can give voice to oneself, then see spoken words turned into black text. The transcriber imagines commas and full stops, moulding the chaos of speech into tidy sentences. The speech is exalted.
Perhaps what makes an interview so daunting, and so singular in its form, is its promise of structured spontaneity. More structured than a conversation, less structured than a piece of writing. Inside it, operating within a space of pure question and response, subjective experience can resound and stand alone.
I wanted to begin this project with Mikki because she is, in every way, brilliant, but also because she has had to experience Covid-19 after moving to Melbourne in February, away from family and friends. Basically, very alone (alone being almost synonymous with the experience of the virus). Now, as cases in Melbourne continue to rise again, she’s moved into a new house, and has entered week one of their six-week lockdown. We discuss existential versus tangible stresses, our displaced visual landscapes, and the limitations of empathy within collective – and yet, so individual – suffering.
C: Mikki, you found out that you tested negative for Covid today. How did you feel when you saw that text?
M: I was really sleepy because it came through before six in the morning and so I felt slightly relieved but also just felt very silly for having worried so much. But also felt very justified for having worried. Then just thought about all the possible timelines and the things that could have happened. So it was overwhelming but in a nice way.
C: When you say the possible timelines, what would have happened if you had tested positive?
M: It would have changed the way this month plays out. So I was working out how it would change my housemates’ plans for moving today, and then how it would then affect all the things that need to happen in the next few weeks. It would mean that I would need to isolate here, so I would need to do my assignment here and wouldn’t be able to leave to my new place, and just change the whole future of July 2020 for me personally.
C: I felt that way when it was March and I felt like every decision I made was contingent on every other thing that happened which was often not in my control. Do you feel like this week has been the most intense week during this period in terms of personal stresses?
M: I think so. It’s been the most actively intense week I guess. Like I felt stressed about tangible real things that maybe didn’t necessarily require the level of stress I was experiencing but still were very real and very scary in practical ways. Whereas, the stress and intensity I felt in March and April was much more existential and about my emotions, I guess, for different reasons. Whereas this felt so tied to real, terrifyingly tangible stresses.
C: When you say that it felt existential back in March, can you elaborate on that?
M: I’m never a hundred percent sure if I’m using the word properly [laughs]. But I think I just felt very aware of literally living and existing and how I was experiencing being alive and all the ways that I could feel throughout a day, or a week, or a month. I was just so aware of every tiny experience and so obviously questioned every aspect of my experiences, I guess. Partly because I had all this time to do that and was so intensely alone that I was forced to do that. This time felt really different to that because things don’t feel as abstract.
C: And with all that time alone, other than thinking, how did you pass that time?
M: I watched so many music videos. I discovered that I can just lie down and watch music videos with my headphones on and feel so much. What else did I do… I called people a lot and I went on walks and for brief periods I’d read and watch movies and feel really good about that. Obviously write my essays, but really slowly. And started drinking tea so, so frequently throughout each day. And I guess just made a lot of plans, just solidified ideas – I guess that kind of comes under thinking. But just, I guess, restructured how I think. It felt like I could just intensely feel an emotion and embrace that feeling and work out which other senses I could use to further feel that feeling and ride it out and just experience it fully. And that was like an activity, and a thing that I could be doing in a way that it never has been before.
C: It sounds very therapeutic. A mindfulness guru we have in our midst. Daphne’s volunteering for this mindfulness group at the moment where they just slowly eat raisins. I guess just having the lack of external influence to allow you this space to drink tea and watch your music videos. Do you think that’s something you’ll hold with you when you do get busier – that experience?
M: Yeah, absolutely. I feel like the only other time I’d understood that was the one week at the end of January when I smoked weed each night and just enjoyed feeling really good in all these ways. But that was so short-lived and so brief, and I feel like I’ve extended that now, but without needing any kind of substance, just fully enjoying being comfortable…
C: So this new lockdown – six weeks – having that set timeframe. How do you feel about that and is there anything you hope to achieve in the second lockdown?
M: Yeah, it definitely is quite a set time. I was talking about that just earlier today, about how that’s different psychologically to being told that something’s happening indefinitely and that would change how you think about it. I am kind of seeing it as a second chance in a way, like Lockdown: Take 2 [laughs]. Like a time to do all the things that you hoped to do the first time round, but obviously were never going to accomplish. This feels like the chance to do that. So part of me does want to end up becoming a runner by the end of it, or someone who does yoga all the time. But I also just hope that I’m someone who’s a bit more solidly in the real world by the end of it. And feel a bit more able to engage with the external world more comfortably and feel like a real person who exists in a tangible world that’s external to me and my own mind. Because I think at the start of it, so the next few weeks, I definitely will keep being very gentle with myself and move with whatever mood or feeling needs to happen and just try to ride out the next few weeks, I guess. And still try to achieve the things I have to do but without any real world pressures because it doesn’t feel like I’m back in the real world yet. I think I do hope by the end of the six weeks I am a bit more solidly in the world and able to interact with people without feeling like it’s all a bit imaginary. And be ready to be doing uni subjects a bit more seriously, and start looking for a job, and be a bit more down-to-earth, be solidly on the ground kind of vibe.
C: Do you feel like it gives you a bit more time to realise what you want before feeling fully settled? Do you feel like it’s kind of a good thing for where you’re at to have this extra time?
M: Yeah, I think it is. It feels a bit sad to have started to have these nice things, like seeing people occasionally and being able to relax a bit, not feeling that stress. It was nice just feeling like life was picking up in that way. But I think for me, still kind of feeling like I am quite alone, and I do want to take all this learning and growth, becoming different and new in all these ways out of this time I have, where I am forced to be alone. In that sense I think it does feel like a nice bit of extra room to do that comfortably.
C: You mentioned moodboards before, when I think it wasn’t recording. What images come to mind when you think of this year? Not January, of course, because that was a very different time.
M: This is super obvious and has been the case for nearly everyone I love, but the sky at dusk has been a really clear daily chance to really feel something. Something that changes all the time. I think just striking visuals in general have been something I’ve been able to appreciate more. It’s as though colours and images or videos of people in really good or interesting outfits carry so much more weight and power in a way. I feel like I can appreciate them so much more. So those are some of the images that I’ve been much more struck by than usual, I guess. I feel like the things I look at in real life are so limited, you know, like I just look out the same few windows, and walk the same couple of parks, and go to the same shops. But then at the same time, the things I’m looking at online are so much more varied and diverse and I’m giving them so much more attention and time that it feels like they’re all more powerful. Oh, and also just my big blue jumper has become such a staple and all my bed sheets and pillows are different shades of blue, but the jumper just typifies that soft, comfy, homey – soft colours, but also warm soft cosy overall sensation. I think it represents that all in itself.
C: It does. So you’ve learnt a lot about yourself of course, but do you feel like you’ve learnt a lot about other people, people in general, specific people?
M: Hmm. I don’t know if I’ve really learnt about other people. I think I’ve seen more of certain parts of different people I know, because our relationships are obviously really different, and it brings out new dynamics and certain aspects of everyone’s personalities are amplified in different ways.
C: In terms of different opinions towards the whole situation or?
M: In terms of how people think and feel. I guess because I’m in a new place, it’s kind of been a really specific way of highlighting how different people think and act. There’s just been such clear divides between people who are partying recently and out in bars and stuff, and people who are following the rules because they’re the laws but aren’t necessarily super invested in the reality of the health crisis and your responsibilities in your communities and so on. And then the people who are most disadvantaged by this and are just in such a completely different world to the people who are out dancing, happy they can do that. So it’s kind of been really stark seeing those differences play out, and mainly through my phone or laptop as well, like not in person. I guess also seeing people respond to stuff, like with the public housing hard lockdown, seeing people really quickly working out ways to donate stuff and help with various things. I think that kind of brought out people’s opinions especially starkly. In so many ways. Obviously, seeing the government’s responses has also been super informative, and feels like it all lines up with the last essay I did, which was all about incarceration in Victoria and how indigenous women are disproportionately affected. And seeing that conflict between a fairly progressive government in a lot of ways, but then a really harsh, tough crime, law-and-order focused, criminal justice agenda. And that’s come out really clearly again recently.
C: Like you can’t be both.
M: Yeah, well it just kind of feels really extreme how it somehow goes so hand-in-hand in this state.
C: I think at the beginning of everything, just speaking on a very vague global level, I thought everyone is kind of going through the same thing worldwide. You never get to experience that level of – like I could talk to anyone in the world and say, “How’s it affecting you?”, “Same.” But then I think as the months progressed and different countries went different directions. And on a local level, different types of people had different experiences and it reinforced existing hierarchies.
M: Totally. It was such a shift from we’re all in this together to realising that just couldn’t be further from the truth, basically. And how false it was.
C: Yeah, and all the blaming of people and outrage. I think in particular, in Australia and New Zealand, it’s been a big part of the conversation around outbreaks. Blaming people for not being perfect and not having the empathy to understand why someone might be more likely to pass it on due to living conditions or just personal situations.
M: It’s been so extreme seeing that play out. Especially with the recent Victorian spike, I feel like the discourse has become so much more about blaming people who are doing the wrong thing. Even where government policy failures are also a huge part of that story as well. Yeah, it’s so interesting in terms of empathy, actually. It’s kind of helped people develop empathy in some ways, in terms of unemployment for some people and what that’s like, or what poverty is like, or social isolation or being lonely or being anxious or not having access to the same food or resources. But then also seeing how limited that empathy is in other ways. That’s such a strange conflict I think.
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What's your favorite chapter you've ever written? What fic is it from? Why do you love it? Copy and post it here!
Oooh, I have a lot of favorite scenes and chapters from all my years of fic writing. But my most recent favorite chapter is Chapter 1 from “The Thorn and Her Golden Rose”. It introduces the backstory, sets up some dynamics, and has some drunken sex. What more could you want? XD Besides I just…really love the language my co-author and I wrote in that scene, especially during the sex.
Because why not, I’m posting the entire first chapter here for anyone whose interested, especially for anyone who hasn’t heard of my Fem!Phantom writing before. Feedback appreciated! ^u^
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Chapter 1: A Night of Cards and Gin
“You always let me win, Nadir.” Erika tossed her cards onto the table. “I barely know how to play poker. Either you’re letting me win, or you’re sincerely that pathetic at cards.”
“Is it such a bad wish to lighten your mood, Erika?” The Persian sighed, abandoning his own cards as well. “It is the opposite of an easy task.” Or, one could say, perhaps even impossible. Besides, he knew too well how much his friend despised to be defeated.
He was long since used to her grimness, which had only grown in the last few months – ever since she took the young new tenor under her wing. Something about him had possessed Erika, and suddenly the Mirage that stalked the opera’s halls was dedicating her days to mentoring the lad.
“I’m surprised you made time to play a few hands. You are obsessed with that boy.”
“I am not obsessed,” Erika defended herself. “He is my student, and therefore it’s my duty to take his affairs into consideration.”
Nadir shook his head. “Erika, you forbid him to engage or see any young lady. That is not something one would do if not obsessed.”
“I simply refuse to let him participate with lowlifes,” Erika shrugged, gathering up the cards. “I plan to bring him up from the status of a beggar boy to a gleaming star.”
“While that may be a kind wish, Erika, what I’m concerned about is how you plan to do that,” Nadir said. How many innocents might suffer? Besides, could he sincerely trust she saw only a student and not a perverse obsession in that boy?
“I own this building and everyone in it, dear friend,” Erika said. “The right tug on the strings, and I can make them dance however I want.” She smirked at him as she rose to put away the playing cards. “You should know that. I convinced you I was worth being spared the fate of a harem girl.”
It was certainly useless to try and explain to Erika once again the Opera Populaire did not belong to her, let alone the people in it. Once the Mirage found power, she would hold onto it with claws and teeth.
Nadir shook his head. “You were no mere harem girl, Erika. You were the most exquisite and dangerous creature I had ever met…a genius. But aside from that, I owed you for Reza’s painless demise.” The Persian felt a sting in his heart, mentioning his son.
Erika turned her back on the Persian and shut her eyes. It still hurt to remember the little boy.
________
Nadir had taken her into his home in Mazandaran, despite knowing she was a woman. And a woman not of his faith, no less. His home was the only place she could shed the disguise of a man she had adopted to procure her position as the royal family’s assassin. His son, Reza – the poor, ill child – had taken a liking to her quite quickly. Only a child desperate for a mother would cling to someone like her in that way, or so she had thought at first.
Despite her better judgement, Erika had eventually found herself bonding with Reza. Often, she found herself playing the violin at the foot of the child’s bed when he had trouble sleeping. Other times, she quietly listened as he told her personal stories, his enthusiastic interests, his hopes for a future he would never see. Once or twice, she allowed the boy to sit in her lap while she read aloud from tomes of folklore and myth.
Neither she nor Nadir had ever mentioned it, but it almost became a domestic situation between the three of them. Erika had never had a proper family unit, and Nadir’s family had been shattered with the death of his wife. It was pleasant, finding herself the honorary member of a loving family.
But nothing pleasant ever lasts.
When Reza’s health had declined into a terminal stage, Erika and Nadir both had agreed on ending his suffering. Never before had Erika killed for mercy, but it was the hardest thing she had ever done.
She had made it quick and painless, staying with the oblivious young boy until the sleeping powder took effect. The strangulation was never felt on his part, but she would be haunted by the memory of his throat under her hands forever. Nadir had walked into the room to find her how she had hoped he wouldn’t: cradling his son’s body in her arms, tears falling from under her mask.
________
Erika shook her head to regain her composure. She set the cards atop her writing desk and said: “You didn’t need to come with me. You know that. They thought me dead, and likely still do. You could’ve stayed where you weren’t an outsider.”
Slowly, Nadir closed the gap between himself and Erika, laying his hands on her slender shoulders. He always felt a little hesitant to touch her, for pushing the Mirage over her edge would not be a wise decision. Yet, he longed so deeply to comfort her.
________
Reza had become isolated after falling ill. The poor child’s world shrank into a narrow window that was never able to peek beyond their garden. Thus, he became sad. That little mind desired to laugh and learn, but it was denied that joy. The police chief’s heart had wept, helpless against his son’s cruel fate. It bled watching a pure young soul fade together with its small body, slowly slaughtered by sickness.
And when all hope had at last been lost to Nadir, and he began silently counting Reza’s final days, he’d brought Erika into their home.
He’d discovered the true gender of the Shah’s young assassin by pure accident. He had found the Angel of Death in an obscure corner of the Shah’s palace. Erika had been sewing closed a gash in her side given to her by the last target she’d been assigned to. He caught her just as she was pulling a thread of catgut through her flesh using a needle of bone. The veil that always hid her face had been pulled aside in disarray. The bloodstained tunic she wore had been pulled up enough to expose the bindings around her chest. And like that, he finally understood why the Angel never spoke in more than a whisper.
One of them would have died by her hand that night had Nadir not sworn by his blood to hold her secret. After much internal debate, the police chief decided to keep this strange creature hidden in his home until her wound healed. It was a peace offering, proof he would cause her no harm if she caused him no harm. He would be the one to help her recoup, with no need to call a physician who would not hesitate to reveal the truth to the Shah.
The first weeks in his abode she was like an injured wild animal, eager to be released from her captivity once nursed back to health. Yet, as her interactions with his son became more frequent, her disposition became more relaxed. That was when Nadir came to know Erika, and not the Angel of Death.
Deep in his heart, the Persian knew it wasn’t any medicine that granted Reza a few more months. It was her presence. She gifted him happiness once again in that innocent mind; a mother he never knew. She would entertain him and play music for him, and even speak to him for hours. Who could have ever thought Mazandaran’s most feared assassin could unveil such a gentle face?
Gradually, Nadir came to realize his soul was still capable of adoration. He was a man already turning silver at thirty-eight, and he was separated from her in age by over a decade. Yet day-by-day she began to change in his eyes. The sharpness of her tongue and her dark forbearance began to hold an otherworldly allure.
That creature who was both a monster and a woman, an assassin and an artist…he loved her. He felt it when she played her violin at the windowsill on those dry, hot evenings. He felt it when he saw her sleep on the cushions in the parlor, her mask placed aside, and her half-missing face bared to the candlelight. When he could look upon her like that and say, truly, that he found her beautiful, he knew he loved her.
And he never uttered a whisper of it.
The Angel of Death’s secret couldn’t stay hidden forever. Weeks after Reza’s funeral, Erika was brought before the Shah to confirm his suspicions. Nadir had been forced to confess what he knew, under threat of his friend being forcefully disrobed in front of the royal court. She was given two options: a torturous execution, or imprisonment as one of the Shah’s concubines. Erika selected the latter to keep herself alive until nightfall. After sunset, she and Nadir carried out the plan they’d devised in the days before her summons. Nadir was only expected to have a horse waiting in the streets for her, and to have faith she’d make it out of the palace alive. But he had supplied a second mare for himself. Together, they rode across the desert sands until well into the dawn. They fled the city, fled Persia, with no intention of looking back.
________
A sad smile crept onto his smooth, brownish pink lips. “No, Erika. I had no choice but to follow you. I was banished.” The Persian gently squeezed his old friend’s shoulders from behind. “Yet had I not been, I still would have come with you.”
Nadir was the only human being Erika allowed physical contact with her. Had it been anyone else, her – rather violent – instincts would have activated from such sudden touch. “Banished?” she asked, standing there and allowing him to keep his hands on her. “For keeping a woman in your house? Or for denying the Shah another whore?”
Nadir sighed. Always so blunt in words, was she not? “Banished for treason,” he said, as if speaking about the weather outside. “After all, I do have royal blood in me.” His words held no pride. “He may have seen me as a threat.”
Erika chuckled, slowly removing his hands from her shoulders. “Don’t be so cocky,” she said, leaving to open a bottle of gin she kept on the countertop. “You? A political threat? Unlikely.”
“Well, likely not.” A tiny smile curled Nadir’s lips. “Yet, you know the Shah…he sees threats everywhere. Even in me.”
“Yes,” Erika agreed, pouring them two small glasses of the clear alcohol. “A pity he didn’t see enough of a threat in me.”
“He was a fool not to.”
“Care to join me for a drink?”
Nadir nodded, taking up a glass. “Certainly. My gratitude, old friend.”
Erika toasted her drink to him. “My pleasure.”
The Mirage was a notorious lightweight to any who had seen her drink. She always meant to limit herself to one glass, yet…not always. But that night, with a guest in her house, she intended to remain firm with herself.
“How has Paris been treating you?” she asked, taking her first sip.
Nadir raised his glass as well before draining it quickly. He did not drink often, preferring very much to remain sharp. After all, he alone had a hope of talking the Mirage out of her madness. He felt he needed to be her neutralizer.
“Ah,” he sighed with a small smile, lowering the glass. “Like one would suspect it to treat an unknown foreigner from the East. Yet, I cannot complain.”
“Well, as I am in your debt,” Erika paused to finish off her glass, “if you experience any kind of violent prejudice, contact me. I’ll take care of it for you.” She left her glass at her side, intending on keeping it empty the rest of the night.
Nadir sighed deeply. “Erika, I hope you do remember. You gave me your word, you shall never kill again.” Perhaps it was unwise to trust the word of the Mirage…but she was his only companion in that damnable city.
“Correction, I said I would never again assassinate an innocent,” Erika said. “I do not consider a racist an innocent.” She glanced at the bottle and held it out, offering without words to refill his glass. “You seem compelled to dampen my spirits today.”
“Those people simply do not understand it, Erika. I worry not about them. I have not met any discrimination which would truly impact my life for the worse,” Nadir assured her, unwilling for anyone to die. “Please, if only you drink with me, my friend.”
With a sigh, Erika refilled her own glass and set the bottle of gin between them. She stood on one side of the counter, and he on the other. Erika sipped on her second drink while brooding.
The warmth of her first glass was already starting to bring color to her ghostly pale cheeks. Perhaps being the daughter of an alcoholic gave her a certain susceptibility, but she didn’t mind.
“So, shall I tell you of my plans to promote my student to lead tenor?”
Nadir’s jade eyes would not leave Erika’s gaze as his rough hand took hold of the bottle to refill his glass. Not a drop of the clear liquid spilled over. “I most certainly would like to hear them,” he nodded, hoping no murder was involved.
“Simple,” she said. Another quick drink. “I get Carlo fired. Nothing a little blackmail can’t do. There’s no such thing as a secret to me.” She smirked at Nadir. “No bloodshed required.”
“Very well,” Nadir said, draining another glass. “Yet, I believe you do understand he shall not give up his career without a fight.” Not many people he had met in his life were as arrogant or stubborn as the star tenor. The man rivaled the Shah in terms of entitlement.
“He can fight all he wants,” Erika said. “I’ve gathered enough to soil his reputation. And even if I’m lying right now, I could make up something believable.” She downed the rest of her drink and shook her head to dispel a cloud of intoxication. Alright, that was certainly enough. “For example, I could tell you something right now and have you guessing the rest of your life if I was being truthful.”
Well, nothing less could be expected from her of all people. He tilted his head at her words. What was she speaking about? Alcohol was slowly blurring Nadir’s mind as well, making him dizzy. “Don’t make me curious and then silence yourself, my Erika. Pray tell.”
Erika’s laugh was a hum in the back of her throat. “I could tell you I sometimes want to strangle you in your sleep.” She hoisted herself onto the counter, sitting on its edge. “You see, because we are both a little over the edge of sober, and I’m always one to blur the lines of fiction and reality…you will always wonder. Wonder if that statement was true, and always wonder why. What could you possibly do to infuriate me to the point of murder?”
Nadir sighed yet again, draining another glass of was indeed a difficult companion at times. Ha…at times?He couldn’t remember a day when she was not. The Persian drummed his fingers into the wooden countertop. “Why am I not surprised? You want me to plead, don’t you, my dear old friend? Beg you not to leave me wondering? You always desire a helpless victim to be under your thumb in one way or another, you sick woman. And yet, I could never walk away…I could never abandon you.”
“Oh, you’re so dramatic.” Erika felt more of the drink go to her head. “And you never do what I want, either,” she playfully pouted. “Maybe that’s the reason I want to kill you so much. You’re the only person who doesn’t fall for my shit.”
Nadir chuckled, alcohol slowly dissolving his usual stern, almost grim, attitude. “The pot calls the kettle black, I see.”
She laughed a little too much. “God, I hate you.”
“You may hate me, Erika, but I love you.” The smile on Nadir’s face never faltered, as if he didn’t fully realize the gravity of his words. “I have always loved you. And no vile thing you could say, no harm you could cause me, shall ever tear you away from my heart.”
Erika rolled her eyes. “You think you’re so secretive, Nadir. You know nothing about being secretive.” She moved a little closer. “I’ve known since Mazandaran. That you love me, and I hate you.” She sighed. “You would make a terrible assassin. No secrets whatsoever.”
“No one is secretive when they stand before you, Erika. No secret remains hidden from you.” Nadir murmured, taking a step closer as well. His jade eyes pierced firmly into her dark brown ones. “Then good thing remains I’m not an assassin. Neither have I ever intended to be.”
Erika grinned and reached out to touch his shoulder. “No, but you are a thief. You’ve taken far too much of my headspace than I prefer, and without my consent. It interferes with my hobbies.”
“Your thinking of me is not something I can change, Erika,” Nadir said, grasping her hand and kissing it. He sensed no danger, with the world soaked in gin around him. “Though, I must admit, I’m glad to be bothering you and pulling you away from certain things.”
“You’re wicked,” Erika smirked, gently kicking him in the leg. “How am I supposed to get anything important done with you constantly in my mind?”
“That is not a question I can answer.” Nadir raised his hand and caressed a lock of her black hair, a boldness he would never show while sober. “Perhaps it may make you less violent.”
“Or more violent, at least in other ways,” Erika said, returning the kind gesture by exploring the texture of his facial hair. His eyes had always been such a beautiful, Eastern jade. Like the sacred dragon statues of China.
Her face was rosy and her eyes – just a little bit watery. She knew she was long gone, and she was afraid to get back on her feet. If she did, the dizziness would hit her full force. For the moment, all the rest of the world melted away. It was just her and her old friend, sharing an intimate moment. As someone who envied the beauty of others, Erika never liked touching the faces of others. But with her inhibitions gone, she was fine showing this level of affection to him. At least to him.
“Can you tell me why you tolerate me, Nadir?” she asked.
Had Nadir been sober, he would have realized just how astonishing that small gesture of Erika’s was. She did nothing, only stroked his stubby beard. She never touched other people’s faces, seemingly too jealous to feel them and not tear them off. She was touching his face without tearing his skin to shreds…it was a display of gentleness in her storm-like nature. He would never have expected. One could never tell just how bitter things sometimes were between the two.
The former Daroga’s skin was also flushing red from the heat which the alcohol inspired in his blood. “I have already told you, Erika. I love you. Nothing in this world could ever possibly part me from you.”
The more she gazed at him, the more she appreciated every aspect of his natural beauty. The bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. All were a brushstroke in the artwork that was his person. It’s a common saying that alcohol turns the world aglow, but Erika saw it as more of a truth serum, making things just as bright as they would be without the darkness of the world.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” she asked him with a tipsy smile.
Nadir must have been a madman indeed, for he may have fallen for the Devil herself. Still, even knowing this, he abandoned all defenses and treasured the sensation. May it cost him his head or not, he couldn’t tell – nor could he care.
“No, you have not. All you’ve ever called me is a great booby.” The Persian man let out a dizzy, rumbling laugh. “And you may do it again now, when I say that under your mask lies beauty this world is too shallow to understand.”
She grinned wider. “Why can you only tell me these things when we’re both drunk?” she teased. “Can’t you tell me how much you love me at a time when I’ll remember it the next day?”
Nadir chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “Well, my dear Erika, I certainly would if only I didn’t have to worry over being strangled for it.”
“Well, you’ve told me now,” Erika said, her arms snaking around Nadir’s shoulders, “and no one’s died yet.” Her fingers found their way into his thick mess of black hair. With a sigh, she rested her forehead against his.
The water in her eyes wasn’t from drunkenness anymore. “Damn it all, this is just cruel of you Nadir! I’ll wake up tomorrow assuming everyone on this planet wants me dead, you included. How could you make me feel so gleeful at a time I won’t be able to remember?”
“We are both drunk,” Nadir murmured, leaning down and pressing a ghostly kiss to her temple. His thumb sliding up and down her lean spine, feeling each vertebra through the skin. “That is why you have not strangled me yet.”
Nadir’s drunken smile faded as he saw the bitter tears suddenly spring from her foggy eyes. “Ah, my sweet Erika…forgive me for this. I swear to you, one day I will tell you when we both are sober. My heart will cease beating if I remain silent. Perhaps you will accept me, perhaps you will strike me down. I do not care either way. Just do not weep, my love…” His lips brushed against her eyelids, desperate to dry her tears as he squeezed her firmly to his chest.
“How often do you think you’ve told me, and neither of us remember?” Erika asked.
“Perhaps never, perhaps countless times…” Nadir sighed, his heart soaring high and sinking low at the same time.
“Well, come what may,” she said with a tearful smile, “no matter how I react come daylight, I want to remember tonight. I want us both to remember, whether we like it or not.”
Before he could answer, she softly pressed her lips against his own. Her senses were filled with everything she had adored about Persia: the lingering spices, the golden sand, the sweet waters of an oasis. He tasted like the scenery and was warm as the desert. She kept her fingers in his hair, keeping him close to her as she pulled away.
The kiss came as both a striking surprise and something completely expected in that moment. The Persian’s breathing hitched, in response to the thing he’d secretly yearned for through all those long years. She tasted so sweet, like honey and blood.
“Yes,” he breathed, “nothing matters tonight, beloved…nothing but you and I.” Pulling her into yet another passionate kiss, he eased her off the edge of the countertop.
She ran her hands down the length of his torso and softly moaned against his lips. He held her steady as she swayed on her feet, too drunk to stand on her own. Now, of course, she had to gaze up at him – which was a change that was almost comical. At least it was while drunk. The contact between them was heavenly, if a heaven should exist to compare it to.
“Do tell me, old friend,” she muttered, “just how will tonight be about us?”
Nadir wondered: in what corner of her mind did she find such false belief that she reeked of death? To Nadir, the scent of her was elegant and intoxicating. May it be tricks of drunkenness, love and desire, or may it be truth, he did not care. His dilated eyes found the gondola that gently rocked on the mirror-like lake not far away.
“Tonight, on this misty lake under blind night,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing her neck before sweeping her up into his arms, “we will become one, my friend…my love.” With a head spun by alcohol, even he became a poet.
With surprising steadiness for someone so dizzy, he carried Erika like a bride to the dock and placed her on the cushions of the small boat. He joined her, his weight bobbing the vessel as he climbed on top of her. He pulled her into a deep kiss yet again, his large hand on the back of her neck. Every tiniest fiber of his being felt on fire, desperate to be hers and to make her his.
Erika laughed as he settled himself over her. She laughed at the ones who had hurt her all those years ago, made her afraid of trusting a man with her safety and well-being. The last time a man had been over her she had been unwilling, petrified with terror as she could only let herself be violated. Now here she was, absolutely in a state of bliss, she and her partner at play together.
Erika marveled at the poetic nature of making love in the gondola. Not even she could have thought of it sober, let alone with gin in her veins. “Honestly, Nadir,” she panted between the meeting of their lips, “if this isn’t a sign of what you and I have wanted from each other…then we must be mad.”
Nadir kissed Erika’s forehead, pulling her even closer, longing more than anything to show her what it meant to love and be loved – to soar in extasy and wallow in passion. He yearned to make her forget the soul-wrecking past and surrender to their feelings. He wanted so much for her to embrace him, touch him, trust him with her body.
The Persian brushed his lips against her slender neck, tasting her skin, nibbling under her chin. “Yes… we are mad…and we have desired this from each other,” he whispered. A calloused hand slithered under her shirt, begging for closeness. For a moment, they ceased being the Daroga and the Mirage, they were nothing but a woman and a man.
She didn’t want to talk anymore. Erika pulled the pins from her hair, allowing it to fall across her shoulders. The metal pins were carelessly tossed aside, and Erika heard them quietly plunk into the black water.
A shiver ran through her as Nadir’s hand explored the skin pulled across her ribs and spine. For such a reserved man, it was a wonder he could be so effortlessly sensual. His wife had likely been the happiest woman in Persia. Not much information was known to her about the wife Nadir had lost, but she had always assumed she had been breathtaking in every sense. The fact he was now freely giving himself to someone like her…it meant the world. The universe.
With trembling fingers, she undid the buttons of her waistcoat and fearlessly bared her chest to him. She wasn’t afraid of being rejected, he had long since accepted nearly every aspect of her.
Nadir moaned at such sweet sight suddenly unveiled for his eyes alone, watching hungrily every button slip open, that lovely pale bosom spring bare. Such a contrast with her beautiful black hair now passionately loose. He caught Erika’s gaze, jade eyes glowing from passion, before leaning down and pressing light kisses to each of her breasts. Though his lips soon slithered up, tongue tracing her collarbones. He kissed her neck ardently and gently tugged on her dark locks from time to time.
The former Daroga did not even notice how his own hands tore his shirt and jacket away. Soon his scarred, warm mahogany skin was pressed against her cold naked torso. Caressing her breasts in each of his palms, he whispered: “You are so beautiful, my Erika,” and claimed her lips deeply.
Her whole body arched into his as he nipped at her neck. Their breath was being shared in the space between them, adding more silver mist to the air. The light of one-thousand candles lit Nadir’s face. The dancing shadows played across his body and the flames burned in his eyes. God, he was purely magnificent.
“As are you,” she said, and she gently pushed him back until she was able to climb into his lap, eagerly biting his neck as if she wanted to draw droplets of blood. Her hair fell over her back like a mourning curtain. Her hands traveled down his sides, coming to rest at his hips.
Nadir sat back on the cushions, gladly allowing Erika to straddle him. One arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer. He tilted his head, allowing her to nibble on his neck. Gasping in delight, his fingers found her hair and tangled in those lush black locks only to slide down and grasp her thighs firmly.
A bit clumsily from both excitement and drink, Erika began to undo Nadir’s complicated belt buckle. His trousers were already tented out by his trapped erection. She could feel it throbbing under her palms, begging to be freed. “How…how long have you wanted to see me unclothed, Nadir?” she teased, kissing his face lovingly. “I’ve known of your affection since Mazandaran, but…how long have you wanted me?”
The tightness in Nadir’s pants was undeniable, aching and devious. He was longing to feel himself sink inside Erika’s warm moist core, to feel them two at last becoming one. “Does it matter now, my dearest? I will have you now,” the Persian purred. He returned the favor and undid her own trousers with the speed of an expert – all the while lightly biting down on her jawline.
Before long, Nadir’s pants (as well as the remainder of every scrap of their clothing) were tossed up onto the makeshift dock. Erika’s skin had gone from deathly white to rosy, making her look a bit more like a human being with a pulse. As soon as the two of them were perfectly bare, she pounced on him, nothing in her way to feeling his full coat of skin against hers. The air was crisp, but she felt the searing heat raging between his thighs.
“Or, rather, Nadir…” she whispered in his ear – as if they weren’t alone in a great cavern, “I will have you. Tonight, you’re mine.”
He could feel just how eager she was, no less than himself. “Then what are you waiting for, beloved?” Nadir whispered into her neck as he gripped her hips, bringing her entrance to the tip of his manhood. “Tonight, I am yours.”
Truth be told, she had been waiting for his permission. With it, she lowered herself onto him, finally solidifying the union they had wordlessly craved for years. She braced herself against him, reclining both of them onto the cushions as she took more of his length into her. She wasn’t afraid. She felt no shame, all she felt was the need to satisfy the two of them.
She caressed his face with the back of hand, looking boldly into his eyes as she began thrusting her hips. She opened her mouth to speak, but a small moan left it first.
“I still…hate you…you know?” She asked with a tease, her dark hair now falling over both of their faces.
Nadir allowed his back to be pressed against the cushions, a low hiss of delight leaving his throat once the grip of her womanhood sank around him. Heavens…it was such an overwhelming, blissful sensation! Their locked gazes let this burning feeling pulse with even more intimacy.
The Persian’s rough fingers brushed through her hair “And I…” he moaned faintly, replying in an equally playful tone, “still love you.” With those words, he wrapped his arm around Erika’s shoulders, pulling her close and kissing her passionately, other hand pressing on her lower back until her thrusts were forcing his entire length into her body.
Erika picked up her pace, clinging to him and panting into his neck. His fingers tugged on her hair, while hers sank into the cushions below him. Small sounds of pleasure fluttered from her throat. Friction began to build so she slowed her pace, wanting to stimulate herself a bit to make their lovemaking more comfortable. She bit down on the nape of Nadir’s neck. “Tell me how this feels for you,” it wasn’t a plea, it was a demand.
Nadir brushed his lips against her hair. With a much louder grunt, he lost control for a moment and threw his hips roughly into one of her thrusts. He groaned in pleasure when she picked up the pace afterwards. Long years had passed since he last knew such maddening bliss. He never had a woman after his wife’s death, and now he was with the one he loved like he never loved anyone before.
“You drive me insane!” he moaned. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he swiftly lifted her body and switched their positions. He laid atop her, nibbling her ear playfully before starting to thrust in a slow, torturous manner, stroking her pleasure spot with his hand while he kissed her fiercely.
She was surprised to suddenly find herself pressed against the gondola’s soft interior. Erika gave Nadir a mischievous look. He was still so full of surprises. “You bastard,” she sighed, rolling her eyes when she realized how teasingly slow he was moving inside her. He shut her complaining up with another long kiss.
She found it getting harder to breathe but wasn’t sure why. Alcohol often slowed her brain. That’s when she felt an intense shock go up her stomach and she realized Nadir’s experienced fingers had slipped between them, finding the folds between her legs and making quick work of them.
“Whatever you’re doing,” she said, biting her lower lip “…don’t stop.”
It was a stunning awareness he had. He suddenly found himself having the slightest hint of power over her for the first time since their first encounter. She always led, and he followed. This new…sensation…he beyond enjoyed it. At last, he was able to show just how much he loved and wished to spoil her.
A mischievous smile crept onto his lips, agape from groans and gasps of pleasure. Growing bolder from the approval Erika gave him, the strokes of his fingers went firmer. His thrusting became faster just for a moment. That sudden jolt in speed left her writhing in need under him when he slowed again. Licking his lips, he leaned down to kiss her neck fiercely.
She sank her fingers into the back of his neck with a desperate groan. One hand gripped his shoulder, digging into the soft flesh. She arched her hips into his thrusts, begging him to go deeper where she knew a hidden pleasure point was located.
“You…can do…better,” she panted. “I know…you can please a woman.” If she was going to submit, then she expected him to outperform her.
Nadir pressed their foreheads together, hissing when her claws dug into his back. Indeed, that was enough teasing and tormenting her. The thrusts remained slow, yet became deep and long, making sure to stab into her deep sweet spot each time. His hands had her shoulders in a vice grip, bracing himself so he could put as much force into each thrust of his hips as possible.
“Oh, God…” For a woman of no faith to call upon a deity likely meant she felt equal to one.
Erika was in a state of sublime ecstasy. For once, she wished to be no one else but herself. She wished to be nowhere else except beneath the one man she had ever longed for. His pace was perfect, his touches were perfect, his kisses were perfect, he was just…perfect. Such perfection, and he was making her whole with himself.
Erika ran her fingernails down Nadir’s scared biceps and down his back. She wanted to feel him in every crevasse of her body, even under her nails. Her jaw hung open with heavy breaths, each exhale carrying a whimper of overwhelming pleasure. She lolled her head back, shutting her eyes as she felt an orgasm mounting. “I hate…” she gasped, “I hate…that I love you.”
Nadir moaned lowly into her neck, the movements of his hips suddenly fast and firm. His length throbbed and swelled, the velvet walls of her womanhood like an addiction he couldn’t satisfy. His skin looked golden in the candlelight, glistening from sweat. It was like a dream come true. Overwhelming pleasure rippled through his nerves, boiling his blood beyond the point he could bear. The woman he loved in his arms, writhing and crying from rapture.
“I love… you…” Nadir groaned, clashing his lips on Erika’s desperately and pulling her close as he filled her burning core with his seed in another powerful movement.
The hot rush of his climax brought her to the edge of her own. She gripped his hips with her knees and rotated her hips, stimulating herself just a few more times while he was still hard. That was what she needed to at last reach her own orgasm. She broke off the kiss to take a sharp breath of air, her whole body tightening around Nadir’s member in an unbearable moment of melting bliss. When her body relaxed again, it felt weak. She hardly felt strong enough to speak.
Nadir collapsed on top of Erika, still inside her, breathing heavily, eyes closed as slowly, the Persian slipped into cloudy bliss of mind and complete limpness of body. He held his friend become lover close, lips pressed to her temple, heart beating against heart.
Erika finally released a breathless laugh, running her finger down the bridge of Nadir’s nose. “I’m hoping I won’t forget that when I’m sober.”
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Pets! Pronunciation, Saints and Souls | #12 | November 2019
I was helping the Buddhist monks understand the English alphabet one Friday, when I found they had trouble hearing me teach the sounds /ch/ and /j/. These two sounds are and have always been two I’ve struggled with since birth. Finally, I just chalked on the board, /ch/ = /ч/ and /j/ = /ж/. So, those who understood explained it in Mongolian to the others. My speech problems go way back.
I often say, I struggled with my native language too, when my Mongolian students struggle to speak English. Today, I return you to my childhood to share how personal English pronunciation problems affect my teaching today (plus stories about pets).
While a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve watched over both a kitten and a puppy, too. They made me reflect on life. And November begins with Allhallowtide. So I’ll wrap up today’s stories living my first full triduum to the dead.
The Challenging Child
Growing up, I fumed when siblings and especially Father kept telling me to, “Stop mumbling.” I never intended to sound inarticulate. My words just came out that way.
After graduating high school, while packing to move from home to university, my eye caught my kindergarten teacher’s file on me. I flipped through it. Astonishingly, the teacher’s notes described month after month her concerns that I seemed slow to make friends, seldom spoke and sounded hardly audible when I did. I never realized kindergarten-me troubled her.
While in Catholic elementary school, a friend and I maybe a few times per month attended a separate speech class from our classmates. Among our activities there, we sometimes played “Uno” and “Go Fish”—games I now adapt to teach English here in Mongolia (though “uno” is a Spanish word, hehe).
Before the first of those years of sessions began, my entire class underwent phonics testing. I’ll never forget this particular moment. The tester raised cards with a picture and asked me to name objects. I saw a small box with a screen and button grid. “Cell-a-phone,” I spoke with certainty.
I felt frustrated, then, when the card-holder asked me to repeat, insisting I was wrong. Finally, I said “cell phone” as she said, not, “cell-a-phone.” But I didn’t understand. Later, I later, that phonics person was correct. So I felt betrayed by my mother, who taught me wrong.
Mother read aloud to me, while I was in kindergarten and first grade. She sometimes pronounced words differently than I heard at school. I felt grumpy wondering, who could I trust? Elementary school or Mom?
As I later learned in high school and came to understand after Mother’s death, her career as an English professor let her to immigrate to America from China. So, teaching English surely mattered to her personally. She taught her second language to me to learn my first.
My Pronunciation Improved
From late middle school into high school, I wore braces. I realized my speaking problems associated with my teeth. After braces, sounds like /s/ and /th/ became easier. I recalled that elementary school tutor had drilled me on those sounds, plus /sh/, /ch/ and /j/.
At university, while singing four years in choir, I learned to articulate to help convey emotion in music. Similarly, I realized articulation helped convey emotion in speeches to bring clarity. These took vocal warm-ups, as we did in my senior storytelling course.
But, in China last summer, I learned my Chinese pronunciation was terrible. I started new regimens, like using only audio recordings to communicate instead of writing messages. I also learned to listen for exactly the right sounds. And despite my poor tonal pronunciation, instructors commended my listening. I could transcribe the right pīnyīn, for even unfamiliar words.
As a Chinese instructor now, though I, too, at times struggle to pronounce words from memory, I can recognize almost at once when I hear an off sound. For, I know how it should sound. My Chinese-instructing colleagues even notice I speak alright. I’ve come a long way.
Instructing English With Compassion
These memories lead to why, when I teach pronunciation, I give the benefit of the doubt that students aren’t trying to mumble, even when they seem to. I focus on asking students to speak louder and move their lips more. I focus on visual articulation, too, so I can see how they form sounds.
One of my university colleagues specializes in pronunciation and amazes me by how well she knows the phonetic alphabet. When I clarify pronunciations for her, she notes in phonetic letters. We bleat about English’s inconsistent phonetics sometimes, haha.
Yet, learning phonetics helps me plenty. When I catch multiple students speaking the same error, I write a series of words to course-correct. For examples, to drill, “brown,” I might write, “crown, round, down.” Or, to drill, “orange,” I might write, “or, door, floor.” I link troublesome vowels to familiar ones.
Curiously, the Mongolian language lacks the /ə/ sound, one I often spell as “uh.” I first noticed the missing sound while teaching Chinese, when my students struggled to pronounce the most basic question, “什么？(Shénme?).” It has /ə/ (or /uh/) in its second character. Thus, students misprounounced “么 /muh/” as /meh/, instead. This Mongolian lack of /ə/ makes authentic pronunciation of basic English words like articles “the” and “a” challenging.
Still, my fixation on pronunciation has its fun. Apparently this trickles into my Mongolian! Lately, I find my students gleefully giggle with amazement when, as we might be walking and chatting together, they hear me slip briefly into Mongolian to say passing pleasantries to employees or locals I know speak no English. My students often insist I sound authentic and beautiful. And I assume there’s hyperbole in those. But my colleagues, too, have said I’ve improved. They’ve no doubt I’ll speak wonderfully by this time next year. More on this at the end.
Pets! Kitten and Puppy
During my Peace Corps service I watched in the capital, Ерөө /Yeröö/, the kitten of one Volunteer, and in my current city, Azzy, the puppy of another. I saw myself in those pets.
I mentioned we Peace Corps Volunteers played, “The Shining,” for Halloween. As the film began, we Volunteers exchanged smirks when the mountain lodge’s owner explained concerns about fears of isolation during the harsh, trying winters. We sat through such talks about choosing to serve in Mongolia. But the film’s symbolism, about confronting our psyches in the mirror of isolation, felt fitting to me.
Many Mongolians fear dogs. Dogs are protectors not companions, for many. In the States, even my mother feared dogs. In fact, we had two pet dogs. I feared them a bit, too. When my parents went walking with my siblings and I, neighbors’ dogs would run up beside the road and yap at us. But Dad would always laugh and yap back, teasing Mom about how they just wanted to play. I remembered those walks even throughout college, when I strolled neighborhoods and heard barking. They gave me peace. And whenever I visited friends’ houses, their dogs most always loved me for reasons I never knew.
Azzy the puppy he would weave around my legs or leap up and cling to me momentarily, when I visited to feed him. He seemed so lonely without me. Then he would hop down, zoom around at my feet and scamper to a corner of the room. He freaked out over the simplest things, too, haha. But one morning, after his owner had come back, while I was walking into the city, Azzy zoomed to me and accompanied me from the area where we live, all the way downtown. I felt surprised, though I appreciative.
Ерөө the kitten had fun darting about our hotel room, zooming with wide eyes at light speed to achieve nothing particular. And she would flick her paws at the jingling toy I dangled, while she lept from table to chair. And, when I was journaling a little, Ерөө would hop on the bed, then leap to the desk and plop on my arm. I would pick the kitten up by her middle and set her on the floor, then she would zoom back to me again. I loved her energy, even if she seemed a little too hyper, hehe.
The pets were ecstatic for me to visit. I considered my own longings for companionship. But pets are relationships that take responsibility. And I’m hardly certain I could commit. Still, maybe because I accept others, they come. Maybe that’s all there is to it. They don’t just want love. They want to love. How sweet.
I’m glad our Peace Corps Mongolia director allows pets. They let my energetic soul see itself in the crazy creatures. Such joys, even for the effort!
All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days
The second and third day after Hallowe’en, in the Catholic tradition, celebrate first, “All Hallows,” the Saints and holy ones, living and had lived. Then we celebrate, “All Souls,” all who have passed away. The triduum has always been difficult for me the past three years, since they inevitably return to mind my loneliness since Mom’s death.
But this year was kind, for people asked me how I was doing when they greeted me. I also remembered to pray for my friends who’d lost close family. In my suffering, I remember my chance to heal others. At Mass on the last day, while others lit incense sticks for relatives, I lit one for Mother. I burned my finger. But I liked the sting. It reminded me I live. Hearing the readings of how we’re always surrounded by the saints and how the teachings assure that none of us can compare this life to the next, I felt consoled, these holy days. By the end, I’d attended Mass five days in a row! Woah.
Nowadays’ Love
I like the compliments from colleagues, students and friends that my Mongolian pronunciation’s rather good. And I know it can still be better. But they gives me great hope. My students can improve, as I have.
In our Toastmasters Club, I’ve been assigned weekly as Grammarian, tasked with correcting pronunciation for all speakers. They’re so grateful I come, and I’m so glad to help.
I recently spoke on the topic of how I chose this English teaching profession, while chatting with my senior students to prepare them for their TOEFL exams.
I recounted how Mother was an English professor and her parents were both secondary school Chinese language teachers. And it struck me how I teach both English and Chinese at both university and secondary school levels. I teach everything those two generations before me had done.
Whether children from Номгон, adults from our community speaking clubs, or new friends from the orphanage, I love the little messages I get from locals striving to improve their English. And, sometimes, those many Mongolians striving in their English remind me of Mom. She always strove. Even before I became an English instructor like her, I helped her. Maybe that’s why I aid anyone trying in English, always. They’re her.
Up Next: Thanksgiving and the Orphanage
I am extremely excited to share with you my next story, for it’s about the orphanage. I adore its community. Our children and teachers touch my soul.
As for the puppy, it’ll be a shame to say goodbye when he moves to the capital by Thanksgiving. But perhaps I’ll see him again when I visit the city sometimes!
Meanwhile, check my Instagram at memoryLang and Facebook for this year’s Thanksgiving novena of photos and memories bridging my summer life to today’s.
You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)
#winter#thanksgiving#Halloween#memoryLang#university#Chinese#teacher#English#student#Catholic#gratitude#story#memoir#Mongolia#Peace Corps#love#holiday#pet#cat#dog
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Lindsey (formerly known as @lindseyylu17) said: maybe fergus and roger (or any other characters of your choosing) get paired up in a pen pals program in school and friendship begins and then romance ensues. xoxo
This is the first installment of a short multi-chapter - three installments planned plus possibly a short epilogue.
Reading You - Part One: The Letters
by @wunderlichkind
Roger was more nervous than he could remember ever being; not on his first day of school, not when he had played his first concert, not when he had first kissed a girl, not even when he had realized that kissing girls wasn’t for him.
He was standing in the high school’s parking lot, waiting to get into the minibus taking them from Inverness to Aberdeen airport. And to a plane, waiting to fly them out of Scotland to Paris, Charles-de-Gaulle.
They had prepared for the exchange program by writing letters – each of them to an assigned student, the one they would be living with during the week they’d spend in Paris.
„At least one letter,“ Mrs MacCarthy had said, dumping the address cards on their desks, reminding them that it was a privilege to take part in the exchange program and that they were supposed to take it seriously, yadda, yadda...
��That’s not a very French name, huh?“ Fiona had looked over, checking out Roger’s card. “Uh, nah... sounds rather Scottish, actually,“ Roger had agreed, studying the name written out in front of him. Fergus Callau.
Fergus.
It had taken Roger ages to write that first letter – he had wanted to make a good impression, to not seem a boring small-town boy. He hadn’t wanted to seem overeager, either, and after writing and rewriting the short paragraph several times, he had given up and kept it to the basics, choosing to add in a Soundcloud link to one of his own songs instead.
After that, it had only gotten easier. Mrs McCarthy’s “one letter“ rule surpassed without effort, Fergus and Roger had been exchanging letters for the better part of two months now, and Roger sometimes felt like a character straight out of a mediocre romcom, waiting eagerly for a new letter to arrive, barely containing himself long enough to take it to his room to read. And it really had a romantic touch, he thought - these letters made out of ink and paper, palpable, almost making you feel their writer’s secrets between your fingers in a way the harsh glow of a computer screen never would.
Fergus had a minimalistic way of writing, his letters never much longer than a single page, yet he always managed to make Roger feel heard and understood, and he never let the conversation die down by way of challenging Roger with intriguing questions.
I love how you describe the feeling of loneliness in your song. Why have you chosen that topic?
What is music to you? What do you need it for?
I like your picture.
When you’re here, we should find a guitar for you to play for me. I want to hear your real voice instead of its canned version.
Is your girlfriend coming to Paris, too?
Roger had questioned every one of his answering letters to the bone – had he understood Fergus’ intention right? Had he really discerned that one, possibly flirty undertone? Was that just the way French people wrote letters? Did he obsess too much? In the end, he had chosen to stick to honesty.
Aye, I sometimes feel lonely. I don’t really feel I can be all that open with the people in my life. Especially since my parents died.
Music is my lifeline. It’s the one part of my day, where I feel I can be completely honest, with myself and with anyone who wants to listen. That, and when I write to you.
I like your picture, too.
I don’t have a girlfriend. Never had one, never wanted one.
He remembered his stomach’s nervous flutters, quite alike to the vibrations running through the airplane now, before take-off, when he’d read Fergus’ answering letter – the last one arriving before their trip.
A boyfriend then?
It had taken all his courage to bring to paper what he’d felt bubbling up under his skin at reading the simple question. He hadn’t told many people in his life – he hadn’t actively hidden it, either, but he’d never wanted to run around advertising his sexuality, and there hadn’t been a good reason to let everyone know so far.
Haven’t met the right lad yet.
He had posted the letter four days ago. It should have arrived by now. They would touch down in Paris in less than two hours and he would get to see Fergus.
Fergus, with the long, wavy brown hair. Fergus, with the obscenely pretty eyelashes. Fergus, with the delicate swing of his nose. Fergus, whose picture Roger had stared at for an entirely embarrassing amount of time.
___________________________________________________________________
“Ye look a little tense, Rog,“ Fi stated when the plane started dipping in approach of Charles-de-Gaulle, effectively jolting Roger out of his nervous pondering. “Huh?“ he asked, gaze fixed on the city growing bigger below them.
“Are ye scared of flying?“
He made a non-committal sound in his throat, choosing not to explain to her what was really on his mind, but he felt the tense muscles in his forearm relax a little when she rested her palm on it.
And there it was – Paris – lying below them in all its glory, bathed in the early evening light of the autumn day. Roger caught a glimpse at best, before they were turning towards the outskirts of the city and flying too low to get a comprehensive picture. In his mind’s eye, it was enough – a quick flash burning an everlasting hologram into his retinas, the picture that would always cross his mind at the thought of Paris, forever shining with the expectant glow of his imagination of Fergus.
Twenty steps down the stairs to disembark the plane. Two-hundred and something steps to baggage claim – Roger had lost count over the excited chatter of his schoolmates at some point. Eight and a half minutes until their baggage arrived. Two minutes until the teachers had calmed them all down enough to remind them of the procedure; going out into the arrival area, meeting the exchange students and their families, going home with them for the first night and finally reuniting with the whole group at school the next day.
Roger’s nerves were pulled taut to the point of snapping, his mind racing between thoughts of Fergus and a nagging little voice at the back of his head chastising for being so desperately over-invested in this relationship already.
Ifrinn, Wakefield, get yer shit together and don’t piss yerself. Ye’re only meeting an exchange student – albeit a verra attractive one.
He stood in the doorway to the arrival area before he could finish internally talking himself up, stopping dead in his tracks for a split second, trying to gather his wits. Only moments now.
Roger made a conscious effort to bring his feet back to moving, only lifting his head to look for Fergus when he was sure his face wasn’t a pathetic mask of trepidation.
The hall was buzzing with people, greetings in different languages filling the air. Roger was briefly reminded of the opening scene of “Love, actually...“, a movie Mrs MacCarthy had made them watch before christmas break last year. Between hearty, emotional reunion scenes, Roger got to witness the first few of his classmates finding their exchange families and making timid acquaintances. He felt a little calmer for a moment, reassured, seeing their respective nerves on display.
“Roger.“
The nearly imperceptible French accent on the small word, his name, sent his nerves rushing back immediately. His stomach was in turmoil – especially after he finally spotted Fergus in the crowd, elbowing his way towards him – and his throat felt constricted, making him panic that he wouldn’t get out a word of greeting.
Damn ye, Roger Wakefield, the functioning part of his brain screamed at him, ye’re making yerself look like a bloody fool!
When Fergus reached him, there was no need for words, however. To Roger’s surprise, he found himself in a hug, two fleeting kisses pressed to his cheeks, Fergus’ smell (of apple shampoo and sandalwood) in his nose. He had to steady his knees.
When he eventually managed to speak, his voice sounded ridiculously hoarse to his own ears, the word a secret on his lips that he finally got to share after cherishing and guarding it for many weeks.
“Fergus.“
“Bienvenue à Paris, mon ami!“
#outlander fanfiction#otheroutlandertales#mod wunder#pair: fergus x roger#ch: fergus#ch: roger#ch: fiona#modern au#category: mm#queerlander#reading you#oot#*
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TWDG Nick - pre-apocalypse headcanons (childhood and early adulthood)
A/N: I spent a long time imagining what Nick’s past would've been like during childhood and early adulthood, with a particular focus on his school days and the ways he envisioned his future. There’s also a particularly emphasis on his relationships with Luke and Pete since they were such strong influences in his life. This post is pretty long, so a lot of it will be under a cut.
CW: depression and mental illness mentions, bullying mentions, low self-esteem
► Luke was a couple of years older than Nick and two grades above him in school.
► They’d been close friends since very early childhood, though they’d always been quite different in terms of personality and interests. It wasn’t something that mattered much when they were little kids, but their differences were something that they became more and more conscious of the older they got, especially Nick.
► Luke was pretty popular in school. He was involved in sports and clubs, could comfortably fit in with a lot of different cliques and crowds, was a good student, and was loved by the teachers. He was a bit of a jokester but could talk his way out of most trouble since he was charismatic and could charm the teachers and staff.
► Nick had always been an outcast throughout all of his school years. Other kids would treat him like shit, but he had a bit of protection with Luke around since the older boy had made it clear that Nick was his friend. No one wanted trouble with Luke, so they would leave Nick alone. He was mostly alienated, but he would take that any day over having the other boys beat him up after school or giving him hell in the hallways.
► However, whenever the two boys would be in different schools (such as Luke moving up to high school while Nick was still in middle school, or Luke graduating high school a couple of years before Nick), Nick would lose that layer of protection that Luke provided and would go back to being bullied by his peers.
► Nick never performed very well in school. Because of his problems at home, struggles with his mental health, and all of the stress and anxiety he felt at being in school in general because of being bullied, he never really put much mental energy into completing his coursework.
► Which was maddening for his teachers because Nick was a pretty sharp kid and showed so much potential, like he would always score high on standardized tests, but he just wasn’t applying himself in the classroom. He would never participate in class and he skipped a lot of assignments. He would just do the bare minimum to pass with barely satisfactory grades.
► Nick was particularly interested in subjects like literature and history, though it’s not like he really did the work. He rarely participated in class, so every now and then the teachers would call on him for an answer to see whether or not he was actually paying attention. In subjects like literature or history, he would always surprise the teachers with very thoughtful and insightful answers that were much more advanced than what his teachers would expect for a kid at his age or grade level.
► But let’s be real, Nick was very depressed and never imagined being alive into adulthood, so he didn’t put much effort into preparing for his future.
► This all infuriated Uncle Pete and he didn’t know how to handle this type of situation. After every parent-teacher conference or report card, there would invariably be a fight between Pete and Nick.
► They were from a tiny rural town in the south, and most of the locals were unable to pursue high education and ended up with jobs in fields like farming, fishing, carpentry, etc. Pete couldn’t imagine Nick staying in town and doing something like that for the rest of his life. Despite Pete’s attempts to get his nephew to be more “manly,” he always recognized that the kid was sensitive and thoughtful and very much “in his head,” so Pete always imagined that Nick would go off to college and do something more academic. The fact that all of Nick’s teachers said that he had the capacity and ability to do so yet still did so poorly in class because he just didn’t do the work made no sense to Pete, so he would express this frustration through yelling and confrontations.
► Pete chalked it up to Nick being lazy, not really understanding that the kid was severely depressed and had a lot of shit he couldn’t really deal with going on in his head.
► Pete would always bring up Luke in their fights. (“Your buddy Luke is on the baseball team and in that honor society thing and does all his work - gets all A’s, even! Why don’t you take a damn page out of his book?”)
► Every time Pete made this comparison, Nick’s temper would absolutely explode. You think this kid is already pissed off? You haven’t seen him really angry until you point out how much “better” Luke is.
► Yeah, Nick loved Luke, but he was deeply jealous and resentful of his friend. Nick always wanted to be more like Luke and lived in a state of almost constantly comparing himself to the older boy. Deep down, Nick understood that Luke wasn’t perfect and that he had his own flaws and struggles, but Nick couldn’t help but to think that maybe if he had his friend’s good looks and charm and ability to keep going forward, maybe things would be easier. Maybe life wouldn’t be so damn hard.
► Pete tried real hard to turn Nick into his idea of a man, which was very much in line with the stereotypes and expectations of men in the rural south. Nick was never really a tough guy, though. He hated things like hunting and fishing, couldn’t stand sports. He was also pretty sensitive and couldn’t handle all of the physical and emotional roughhousing typical of boys his age at school. This made it difficult for Nick to hang out with Luke when the older boy was with his other buddies, especially the jocks.
► Nick was mostly a loner, especially after Luke graduated, but he got friendly with a couple of the other kids who were also outcasts. Nick really empathized with them and thought they were actually pretty cool and very interesting. Being around them would kind of encourage Nick to follow his own interests and gave him permission to just be himself instead of being the boy that Pete or his other peers expected him to be.
► Nick was a huge fan of music, but he always liked weird alternative things that weren’t popular with the other kids at school. He especially loved older alternative music from the ‘70s and ‘80s like glam rock, punk rock, goth rock, new wave, post-punk, etc. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with wearing any sort of fashion remotely reminiscent of these scenes without getting his ass kicked, though, so he just continued to wear the types of clothes that were considered more typical of boys his age.
► Much to Pete’s dismay, Nick would rather collect vinyl records and learn how to fix up vintage turntables he found in thrift stores or at garage sales instead of going hunting or playing sports.
► Nick had like a billion turntables that he fixed up and they completely took over his bedroom. Once they began to spill out into other parts of the house, Pete got pissed and made Nick sell most of them. Nick still kept the one he used to actually listen to his records but then he also kept a couple more that were his favorites, either because they looked really cool or because they were especially hard to fix up and he had a lot of pride over how much work and skill he put into them.
► The tiny town they lived in was about an hour or two away from the nearest major city. Sometimes Nick would catch a ride into the city and go to concerts or hang out at record stores. He got pretty friendly with quite a few people that way, alternative kids who could more easily get away with being different because they lived in a bigger city with more diversity, something Nick really envied.
► Sometimes Nick would bring these friends home to hang out. They looked much more alternative than people who lived around Nick’s town, so Pete was always a little shocked by having these strange young adults in the house. However, despite looking weird, they were always polite and respectful, and Pete noticed that his normally withdrawn nephew lit up around these friends and suddenly became animated and alive, so Pete kept his mouth shut and would always welcome them into his home. As much as he didn’t understand his nephew, Pete really did want to see him happy.
► Luke went to college and Nick didn’t. This was another cause of Nick’s jealousy and it made Nick feel even worse because the cruel little voice in his head told him that he’s stupid and that, yet again, Luke is better than him. Plus, Nick kicked himself for not applying himself more because it was now sinking in just how trapped he felt in his town.
► Nick had big dreams of moving to some place like New York City, London, or Berlin, largely due to the music he listens to and this idealized vision he had of them as being safe havens for people who were different or outsiders. He wanted to go somewhere where he would be exposed to new things and new people and new ideas.
► He mentioned this to Pete at one point, and Pete absolutely ripped his nephew a new one about how it wasn’t a realistic dream. Pete pointed out that Nick would need a lot of money to make a big move like that and how Nick’s job prospects in a big city weren't that good and how he had nothing lined up to support himself even if he did manage to make it out there. Nick decided to prove Pete wrong, even if it took him a while to do it.
► Pete forced Nick into a farmhand job and made him pay rent money to teach him responsibility now that he was out of high school. Nick didn’t make much money, but tried to set aside a little bit every month whenever he could afford it in an attempt to one day fund his moving out to a big city.
► He worked long days of hard physical labor. He stopped going into the big nearby city as often because he was exhausted at the end of the day, so he stopped seeing his city friends as much. He was lonely and isolated.
► Nick would see Luke in the summers when he was on break from college or during holidays. Nick resented all of the fun and new experiences that Luke was having and all of the new friends he was making. It was nice seeing Luke during these breaks, but it felt like they were growing even further apart. At least before Luke had gone off to college, even though the two boys were very different, they at least had their shared experiences of life in the same town. Now that Luke was experiencing so much life beyond town limits, it felt like they were worlds apart.
► When Luke finally graduated from college with a business degree, he came back to town to live with his family for a bit while he planned his next move.
► One evening, Luke and Nick were drinking on Luke’s family’s porch as the sun was setting, shooting the shit about life and their futures. Luke proposed a business idea to Nick, claiming they could make a lot of money with his scheme. Nick was reluctant since that would mean giving up all of his savings that he had intended to use on moving to invest into this business... but Luke has always had that type of personality where he could convince anyone of anything, plus Nick was drunk, so he was sold on the idea of making more money and a chance to maybe leave town.
► Within six months, they were absolutely broke.
► Luke didn’t really care that they went flat broke and that his plan failed. He could bounce back from pretty much anything. Let’s be real, Luke is charismatic and a smooth talker. He’s the type of person would could walk into an office and walk out ten minutes later with an offer for a manager position in a career field where he had absolutely no experience, just because he could talk his way into it.
► Nick? Not so much. He was devastated by this. He was flat broke, no savings, now even further away from his goals of skipping town. He couldn’t bounce back from things as well as Luke. It was back to his shitty farm job. Nick resented that Luke would be just fine and move on to his next big scheme relatively unscathed while Nick wouldn’t.
► Pete, of course, was condescending and have a very “I told you so” attitude, which just rubbed salt in Nick’s wounds.
► At this point, the last shreds of Nick’s hopes and dreams were basically crushed. He began to accept that maybe a guy like him wasn’t meant for greater things and maybe he should stop dreaming for a better life since getting his hopes up would just leave him disappointed and hurting.
► Only after the apocalypse would Nick cynically think to himself about how at the end of the day, none of that shit really ended up mattering since he and Luke both ended up in hell on earth together and both were equally fucked.
#TWDG Nick#Nick TWDG#The Walking Dead Game#TWDG#Telltale#Telltale Games#Telltale The Walking Dead#TWDG Nick headcanons#TWDG Nick headcanon#Nick TWDG headcanons#Nick TWDG headcanon#TWDG Luke#Luke TWDG
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Without You
Description: You and Harry argue over your job.
Pairing: Reader (Y/N) x Harry
Word Count: 3,010
You woke to the smell of French toast, your favorite breakfast meal. The area next to you on the bed was cold, and you knew Harry was in the kitchen, probably making a mess. You smiled as you stretched and flicked the blankets off of your body. Making your way down the stairs, you caught sight of Harry flipping over pieces of toast, carefully making sure there was enough room between each piece. You smiled and strolled over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and kissing his shoulder.
“Good morning, love,” he said, looking over his shoulder. You hummed in response as you stepped beside him, admiring his cooking skills.
“That smells amazing,” you said.
Harry smiled and kissed your forehead. You had just gotten home two days before from your most recent assignment. As a journalist covering politics, you traveled quite a bit, and often when Harry was on tour, so it worked out. Both you and Harry loved your jobs and made it work. Because you covered politics, you often stirred up opinions and discussed topics that most people were deeply polarized on, so Harry checked up on you often, making sure your security that he hired for you was always on alert.
You didn’t mind the security, but as a female journalist, you’ve learned to keep your ground and let people know who’s boss. You’ve learned to push and to continue pushing people for answers. Once in a great while, you find yourself telling security what to do. Harry sometimes has to tell you to bring it back because you almost never leave the ‘zone’ of being a journalist.
But, you’re enjoying your time with Harry while you’re here. You try to constantly keep up with the news, so instead of movie nights while you’re at home, both you and Harry are watching the news and eating supper at the couch. However, Harry requires at least three nights to be just you and him at the table. Even if supper consists of takeout, talking about your days is a must with Harry, which you didn’t mind at all.
“What are your plans for today?” Harry asks, placing some toast onto a plate.
“Whatever you’re doing,” you smiled. “Unless you have something to do that you don’t want me there for, then that’s fine.”
Harry shook his head, giving a small chuckle. “No, I was hoping you’d stay in with me today. Just watch a few movies and eat a bunch of junk food.”
“I would love that a lot.”
After serving and eating breakfast, you both made a nest on the couch with blankets, pillows, and snacks. Pizza was already on the menu for supper when that time comes. You were excited yet dreaded for the day ahead. A movie day with Harry, while rare, meant you couldn’t take notes on articles, read stories already published, or have a four-hour phone call with your publicist. Your mind was moving with the world, never stopping.
Throughout the first movie, you could feel your phone vibrate on the couch next to you. It pained you to look over and see a notification about something that’s happening. So many things could be happening, but you had no idea what. The world could be ending, but here you were watching a movie that you couldn’t focus on.
After what felt like five hours, the movie ended, and you checked your phone, immediately reading notifications and messages from coworkers and your publicist. You heard a cough and looked up, seeing Harry with his eyebrows up.
“What’s the rule?” He asked, taking out the disc of the movie.
“Sorry,” you sighed, closing your phone and tossing it next to you. “I feel like I’m addicted to my phone but I can’t help it.”
“You’re not addicted to your phone, you’re addicted to your job which happens to be on your phone,” Harry responded with his back to you. “You’d be addicted to reading newspapers if they were still the most popular and convenient.”
“Yeah, I know. I really am sorry about that, though. Today is supposed to be about us and-“ your phone started vibrating, meaning a phone call was coming in. You glanced at it, seeing your publicist’s name across the screen.
“I have to take this,” you said. Harry nodded. While he wasn’t fully happy about it, he understood. He understood not only needing to answer the phone, but being addicted to a job that you love. He was currently on hiatus, and part of him was happy and relaxed, but another part needed to be at work, anything to keep him from wandering off for too long.
You were grateful that Harry did understand. Your parents didn’t, and neither did some of your friends. Harry knew that if your publicist was calling, you needed to answer it. Just like you understand that if his manager or anyone important was calling, he needed to answer it.
“I’m going to change into shorts anyway, so I’ll be back,” you said before answering your phone and walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom with Harry.
“Y/N, I’m happy you picked up right away,” Ivy, your publicist said. “The president is doing a conference next week with limited access and I want you on the list.”
You widened your eyes. “Are you serious? At D.C.?” you asked, dropping your sweatpants onto the floor.
“Yes, and he’s going to be discussing topics that you’ve been covering lately, so I know you’re interested. So, what do you say? Think you can make it to the White House next week?” Ivy asked. You could hear her smile through her words.
“Yes, of course!” You nearly jumped for joy, forgetting that you had no pants on. You reached for a drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts, holding them in your hand.
“Great! I’ll talk to you in a few more days to work out the details,” Ivy said. “Have a nice night, Y/N.”
“You, too, Ivy,” you responded.
After hanging up, you gave the smallest of squeals and yanked on your shorts, hurrying downstairs to give Harry the good news. You had always dreamed of getting into the president’s conference. It was only for the ‘elite’ journalists, those who had a reputation and knew what they were doing.
Harry sensed your excitement and grinned. “I knew you would be excited about Finding Nemo.”
“What? No, I just got another assignment. I’m going to the president’s conference in D.C. next week!” You said, clapping your hands. Harry’s face, however, immediately lost its grin and dropped.
“You are?” He asked. You nodded. “Oh.”
You quickly picked up on his disappointment. “What’s wrong?” you asked.
Harry shrugged, picking up a blanket and rearranging it on the couch, refusing to make eye contact with you. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly something.”
After a pause, Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You just got home, and it feels like you’re leaving again. I feel like I hardly see you anymore.”
Your face softened. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just,” you paused, “my job. It’s my job, and I need to do it, or I have no money.”
“You don’t do it for the money. You and I both know that. I admire that, but sometimes you’re just so focused on your job that I feel less important. You’re constantly doing notes or traveling around.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself, already feeling yourself becoming defensive of your work. “It’s my job, Harry. I do it because I love it. I wouldn’t continuously do notes or travel if I didn’t love it.”
Harry sighed. “I miss you, Y/N. You were gone for five days. Before that, ten days. Before that, four days. I hate seeing you in increments. My tour starts in a few months, and I was hoping to spend the rest of my time with you.”
“I can’t stop my job because you’re not doing yours, Harry. I became a journalist so I could educate others and bring up awareness on certain topics. The world is constantly moving and I feel as if it’s my duty to alert others on what’s going on.”
“The world has other journalists!” Harry waved his hand and raised his voice for the first time of the night. “I know the world has other singers, so I don’t feel compelled to write music for other people right this minute.”
You scoffed. “We have very different jobs, Harry.”
“Does that matter? I was hoping to spend more quality time with you, but I guess that isn’t the case. You’ll just go from here to there in a matter of days anyway,” Harry shook his head.
“That is not fair. You can’t say that to me, Harry. Don’t even play that card,” your voice was stern before, but the change in tone let Harry knew he hit too close to home. “I spent months without you, Harry. While you were in Tokyo singing to your crowd, I was here! Without you. I understood that that was a part of your job. I didn’t question it once,” you could feel your eyes filling up, something they didn’t do often when you were in an argument.
“I knew that you loved your job, and you were going to travel and meet people and have fun without me. I wished you were here everyday. I supported you and your dream! I knew that you needed alone time in Jamaica to write your album. You were always gone, and I just got used to you not being here. Obviously when you were here, I cherished it, but I also understood you had your job to do,” you sobbed the last part, finally letting a tear roll down your cheek. “I was hoping to spend quality time with you, too. But that didn’t happen.”
Harry’s eyes were filled with tears as well. “I didn’t know. I wish you would have told me.”
“Tell you that I was selfish and didn’t want you to continue your dream? That wouldn’t have been fair of me.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, ridding of the tears that threatened to fall. “I still don’t want you to go to D.C.”
You rolled your eyes. “I have to, Harry. It’s my job.”
“I’m starting to think you like your job more than me.”
“Don’t make me choose between my job and you, because that is not fair. I spent thousands of dollars and years of my time to be taken seriously. I am not about to throw that away because you want to spend more time with me.”
You both stood there, silent. The only sound was the furnace running.
“Harry, I love you. But I also love my job, and I’m going to D.C.”
“Maybe we aren’t right for each other, then,” Harry said, surprising you.
“E-excuse me?” You asked, feeling your eyes fill up once again. “You’re going to end three years together because I’m doing my job?”
Harry sniffed and grabbed a blanket. “I’ll take the guest bedroom tonight.”
“No, you can’t say we’re over and then go to bed. We need to discuss this!” you placed your hand on his chest as he tried to walk past you.
“I think we just need a night to sleep on it. We can discuss tomorrow,” Harry said, walking upstairs and into your bedroom to grab more pillows and a change of clothes.
You sat on the couch, shocked. You couldn’t believe Harry was this upset. No sound was coming from your mouth, but tears were falling fast. After you heard the door to the guest bedroom shut, you let go of your breath and sobbed into a blanket.
------------------
“You look tired. Rough night?” Vince, a coworker, asked.
You simply stared at him, holding your coffee in your hand. It was burning you, but you didn’t care.
“Okay,” Vince said awkwardly, taking a sip of his own coffee before slipping away.
You sighed and went to go take a seat at your desk. Opening your laptop felt foreign. You never worked at the office. You were allowed to work at home because of how reliable you were. You claimed you worked better at home. In the beginning of your career, it was actually because you were able to stay home with Harry. However, you found that you really did work better at home.
Despite saying you would work things out in the morning, your home was silent. You made your coffee and Harry made his breakfast. You didn’t want to bring up last night in fear. You had gotten to the point in your life where you only pictured yourself with Harry. You had talked of marriage and even kids, but now it seemed to be crashing around you.
“You could always come to D.C. with me,” you tried, hoping Harry would agree.
Harry sighed. “I don’t think so, Y/N.”
Now, as you sat staring at your laptop screen, you started wondering if you did take it too far. Did you throw away your relationship because of your job? Did you lose the love of your life over this assignment?
You shook your head, typing in the password to your laptop. Of course not. This was your dream. To become a respectable journalist and actually get into the conference that the president held. Your relationship with Harry was obviously something you didn’t want to lose, but so was your job. But a job is a job. You may never meet someone like Harry again.
You placed your head in your hands, trying to come up with a solution. You wanted to save your relationship with Harry, but your own dream was to continue your job, maybe even progress further. If Harry wasn’t willing to support you with that, was your relationship going to ever work?
You felt horrible. You hardly slept at all last night, and your stomach was running purely on coffee. You hadn’t felt this much stress in a long time, and you worked in politics.
After a full day of staring at your laptop and getting less than half of an article written, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You jumped, looking up at Vince. He told you that it was time to head home. You noticed that nearly all of the office was gone. You thanked Vince, giving him a sorry glance.
You were dreading going home, if you were being honest with yourself. Keeping your composure was difficult as you sat in your car, driving home. However, before too long, you could feel tears falling down your face. You thought of pulling over to have a full breakdown, but you knew you were almost home.
After pulling into your driveway, you checked yourself in your car mirror, making sure no tear streaks were on your face. You walked up to your door and, for the first time in your life, you paused at the door to your own home. You were starting to feel your hands shake. Quickly sucking in a breath, you twisted the doorknob, opening the door wide enough for you to sneak in. Immediately, you smelled smoke and something burning. You rushed inside, dropping your purse to the floor, looking for any sign of a fire.
As you ran into the kitchen, you saw Harry waving smoke around with a towel. You quickly opened the kitchen window and any windows close by. Before too long, the smoke was nearly cleared out.
“Um, hello?” Harry said, out of breath. He gave the smallest of smiles, both embarrassed and shocked.
“What happened?” You asked, trying to catch your breath as well.
“Well, I had a long chat with mum and I tried making dinner. Which,” he paused, “will be takeout tonight.”
You gave a small laugh and sat at the kitchen table. Harry leaned against the counter.
“How are you?” Harry finally asked, breaking the small silence.
“Could be better,” you said, deciding not to lie. “My three-year relationship is ending and the person ending it almost set the house on fire.”
Harry nodded, coming to sit across from you at the table. “Um, about that. I made a big mistake, Y/N. I was so worked up and worried about my self and you being with me that I was almost jealous that you were going away again. It just seemed like your publicist sees you more than I do.”
You grabbed Harry’s hands. “Harry, I love you so much. I always will, no matter what happens to us. I also said some things I’m not proud of either. I could never think of you as being inferior to my job. You were right: there are other journalists out there.”
Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, love. Do you forgive me?”
You gave a chuckle, “of course, Harry. I just think we need to do a better job of communicating. Is this what you talked about with your mum?”
Harry nodded. “I did, yes. She knocked some sense into me.”
You playfully rolled your eyes. “Somebody has to.”
Another round of silence filled the room, but this time it wasn’t harsh. You were comfortable with Harry.
“So you’re fine with me going to D.C.?” you asked.
Harry smiled and gave a nod. “It’s your job, and I would hate to keep you from advancing. My only request is that I join you.”
You laughed and stood from your chair, walking over to Harry and straddling his lap. “I think I could make that work,” you hummed, kissing Harry. He kissed you back lovingly.
After a few more kisses and seconds of staring into your eyes, Harry smiled from ear to ear. “Without you, I would be lost.”
You scoffed playfully and rested your head on his shoulder, blissfully hugging him. Before too long, Harry patted your bum, signaling for you to stand so he could clean his mess up.
“So, how does pizza sound?”
#truly a journey#kris writing#harry#styles#harry styles angst#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#one direction#one direction imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles#reader x harry#harry x reader#harry blurb#harry blurbs#drabble#imagine#one direction preferences#harry styles fanfic
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Aquarium. Diana x Fem!Reader Imagine
Ok, what started as a simple drabble in my memo pad ended as a whole world document. I really have this fantasy to visit the local aquarium at night with my significant other so that was the spark to this fic. *coff*And-I’really-wish-to-find-my-own-Diana-IRL-*coff*.
Hope you enjoy it. *insert a heart blowing*
And I apologize in advance if my English does not make sense, I am still learning. Love ya.
"Meet D.PRINCE at Aquarium center Restaurant. 8.00pm. Reserve table. Casual business attire. Do not forget to bring Folder"
That was all the quick reminder on your phone. You were the new entry in the marketing department of this event planning company. "Event planning" for your surprise was more than just weddings. At the moment, the company was organizing a gallery exhibition for charity purposes and your boss assigned you to explain the terms of a borrowing to this antique dealer “D. PRINCE”.
Your company and the museum where the dealer worked were in good terms and borrowings like that were no unusual but still, you didn't want to mess it up.
You arrived earlier to the aquarium with plenty of time. You were not sure what level of business casual to wear so you played it safe: White dress with simple jewelry. Low heels - Very low heels. You were feeling not so confident to pull a 12 cm show on your feet. A big but elegant purse borrowed from your roommate with all the paperwork was the only thing you were carrying that night.
The restaurant was on the top level of the building. The place at night was something different. Bright white areas did a beautiful contrast with low light ones, where the only illumination came from the LED lights in the tank, the fishes and the water projecting dancing shadows in the floor.
The restaurant was quite empty. One of its walls was facing to the tropical fish exhibition with some rays and sharks swirling around and the few patrons were deep into looking at them.
You told the man in charge of the bookings your last name and he walked you to your table. You sat and waited.
You were 15 minutes ahead. The warnings of your professors at college were deep craved on your skin. "25min ahead in the parking lot is better than 1 min. late in the conference room"
You looked at your watch nervously. 5 min for the appointed time. You reviewed once more the key points to present: For how long the borrowing would be. The conditions of the transport to bring it to the gallery and to return it to the museum. The prices and the conditions of the payment. You were aware that the fresco needed some special attentions so you were also in charge to assure the dealer that those conditions were met.
10 minutes after the hour and nobody came to your table just the waiter to offer you some fresh water. You were anxious. Maybe you typed down the wrong address. Maybe you confused the dates. You took your agenda out and reviewed once more. This person, D Prince. Daniel? David? Deborah? You forgot to ask. You even texted your colleague in panic. She never replied.
While your mind was in a train on panic your eyes turned to the rays, swirling around next to you. An unexpected whale shark passed by. Even if you were about to lose it, the scenery brought you a feeling of calm. You let out a deep sight.
You heard suddenly hum on your side.
A beautiful woman was standing next to you, dressed in a dark blue plump dress, with a clutch on her hand, smiling politely. Dark waves framed her face, sapphire blue eyes looking at yours. You stood up by reflex, mesmerized
"Miss Prince?"
"I am so sorry to be this late, are you Y/N?"
"Yes, pleased to meet you" as you extended your hand. Her grip was strong but not to the point to hurt. She let go with what seemed a caress.
Both of you sat one in front of the other. The waiter came by swiftly offering the chart of wine. Unsure if it would be ok to start drinking with a client you preferred to stick to the water until the deal was done. She, on the other hand, asked for some white wine, a name you did not recognize.
As soon as the waiter was gone she laid her blue eyes on you once more. Your nerves were so evident and you felt your cheeks rising in color. Even so, you managed your best to appear calm and delivered the information you were sent to do. You took the folder and you both started the apparently casual meeting. Her easygoing manner to engage with you helped you to relax a bit and keep a steady confidence. The waiter interrupted you both with the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
You were a bit startled.
"Oh, I am sorry Y/N I forgot to ask...Do you drink?"
"Yes... not very often but I do..." you answered becoming nervous again.
Your knowledge of wine was zero and you were not a good drinker when nervous.
You saw the fine cup with sparkling liquid inside, it was very cold but smelled very nice.
The lady in front of you smiled again. She explained what wine it was and offered a small toast to celebrate the loan. Your eyes shone brighter. That was it? You did it?
You took a sip, happy for the outcome and deep inside, even grateful for being so lucky to be there, with such company.
"This is very good Miss Prince" you added examining the bottle timidly
"Please, call me Diana. Can I call you by your first name?”
"Sure, Miss Diana"
"Discard the miss" she stated never taking her eyes from you. Oh, God. Your heart took a twist, blood rising to your cheeks again.
After a moment, you started to put away your paperwork and wonder how to pay for such bottle. It would be rude to split the bill with a client. Maybe if you get the ticket the company would pay you back. Maybe your credit card would hold.
"Are you leaving already?"
You were taken by surprise when she took your hand.
"Oh.. ehm.. I.." you were muttering. You did not know. Were you leaving?
"Let me invite you to dinner. As apologize for being late" she asked stroking with her thumb your hand.
Your blush deepened. How could you say no to such a beautiful woman? You could simply not. Smiling back you agreed to stay. Screw the price of all this, you would deal with that later. A stunning gorgeous woman was inviting you to stay for dinner in a wonderful place and she still was holding your hand. No many times in your life you would be able to share such a moment with this kind of beauty. You were not going to waste it because of a momentary shyness attack. You composed yourself and decided to stay and enjoy the rest of the evening.
The waiter came by again at the request of Diana. She asked for the menu and letting go your hand only because she preferred to use both of them to examine it.
You were not that seafood educated and half of the names there were unfamiliar to you. This was an aquarium and this place was visited by every kind of people: Where were the burgers and the fries? Thinking it twice though, it would be the top of the embarrassment to eat a fancy burger in such company.
You were still deciding when you found that they were serving fried calamari. You were trained good enough to not make a mess of yourself while eating those.
Diana spotted those too so she proposed to share a couple of more dishes. She ordered some other plates, like octopus and some grilled fish. You just nodded and smiled. You were getting hungry after all and she seemed to be more accustomed to seafood than you initially thought.
While you were waiting for the food, Diana and you stepped outside the small talk and started having more deeps conversation about different topics and you were honestly enjoying it. From the last book you were reading the chat went to places you would like to visit and at the end, you got to know a few more things about the woman in front of you.
Your gayness already had a terrible crush on her looks and now you were about to fall for her personality as well.
When the food arrived you understood that this lady knew seafood better than anyone. Everything was delicious and you took mental note about the name of the dishes so you could order them in the future (if you ever step a restaurant like this again)
When it was time to pay, she took the whole bill. You felt terrible because she was your guest (or sort of) so you manage to persuade her to let you pay for the dessert at least. She accepted happily while ordering ice cream. You were surprised to see her eyes sparkling when the sweet arrived. Could you have been able to fall harder? I don’t believe so.
After dinner, you decided to stay in the aquarium a bit longer. There were bands playing live jazz music in some of the areas and one was just outside the restaurant. You both started walking across the empty hallway letting the notes flow as background music. Few people were enjoying the show while you and Diana stood, a bit under the darkness admiring the sharks pass by. The blue light from the pool made her eyes look more mystical.
Then you noticed how close you both were standing. You blush intensified as you dropped your gaze elsewhere trying your best to hide it.
She strokes your hair softly, making you turn into her direction. The other hand was looking for yours to hold.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” she whispered, looking straight at your eyes. Your heartbeat rose and you felt your cheeks burn. The best you could do was to nod. Her lips curved into a smile, pearly whites peeking.
You smiled back, lowering your gaze to land in her chest. Fully blossom and tempting under the modest dress. You bite your lip unconsciously. She leaned a bit closer and whisper to your ear smoothly caressing one of your sides.
“May I kiss you?”
Your eyes widened, while new shades of red plumped your cheeks. She was so close you could smell her scent and you breathe it like it was your only mean of survival.
You leaned closer where her mouth was, touching it lightly with your lips, to show your approval. She then took you in, kissing you, in full. She took her pace, before licking your bottom lip asking for permission once more. You gladly consented, throwing your free hand behind her neck.She tasted sweet and her mouth was hot. You melted into her embrace.
The rays swirled around, dropping dancing shadows while you both kissed under the cold blue.
You broke the kiss to breathe. You were intoxicated and you wanted more. With both arms across her neck, you dived into another round, feeling her embracing you harder. Following her lead, you both moved somewhere until you felt a wall on your back and her chest against you. She was way taller than you and even with your small hills you were a bit struggling to reach for her but you did not care. Her kisses were a reward worth to suffer for.
You did not know and you did not care how long you were kissing. She was so good to you, changing the rhythm, biting, teasing. But you were in a public space and it was getting late.
A bit of reason came to you when she broke the kiss, forehead to forehead, asking you officially another date. In a more private place. You accepted regaining some power on yourself and letting some air flow between your bodies. She kissed you on the cheek before taking your side and walking you out to drive you home. You hid your face in her occasionally but were more than happy to walk hugging her.
This meeting ended way better than you expected.
#diana prince#diana x reader#diana imagine#wonder woman#wonder woman imagine#wonder woman x reader#wlw#dc imagine
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Teamwork Makes the Dream Work:
A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Case 1 Part C
Featuring: Female Reader as she joins the Team
Setting: Early Season 12
Parts A B
A/N: This is a piece about how someone with some quirks fits into the BAU. I realized I haven’t tagged anyone in this fic yet, so you might want to go back if you want the really awkward stuff. xoxo Stu
Your name: submit What is this?
“Garcia, please tell me these people don’t think I am psychotic!” You had broken down after you had gotten into your hotel room. There was spotty wifi and scratchy comforters, but you got your own room, thank Turing.
Penelope was still cranking away with all the work the team constantly sent her. Reid should put his brain to use and find a way to clone the woman already. “Y/L/N, no one thinks you’re psychotic. Though I did hear something about high anxiety and possibly PTSD?” Her voice lifted as she was trying to rush through the gossip, but also needed to be honest with you.
“Ugh, I just don’t like being touched. I almost elbowed Alvez in the face and now I have some tragic backstory, aces.” You mumbled.
“Don’t worry, as long as you don’t actually hit anyone? I am thinking they will forget it after the case. First day jitters and what have you. But, well, JJ thinks you’re good though.” You were pacing the room, wearing your extra large Galifrey Academy tee shirt and some socks. Your hair was wet and you were debating between Hearthstone or Peggle before lights out.
“Jareau likes me?” You were surprised. “Huh, guess I don’t give myself enough credit. Alright, thanks for listening to me Garcia, feel free to ignore me at any point.”
“My newest comrade-ette, no. I am here for the whole team. Well, minus the other newbie.”
“Nighters Garcia!”
The small town cop had pulled over a pick up going 62 in a 45 mile per hour zone. He was pissed that these people couldn’t get it through their heads that the law was the law. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, where did they need to be in such a hurry? He sauntered up to the driver’s side eyeing the man in the side view mirror. When the officer was level with the window, he saw the girl’s face pinned in fear. The driver had a knife to her throat and a rag tied around her mouth.
The officer instinctively pulled his gun. “You drop your weapon!”
The man in the driver’s seat laughed and popped the door on the cop. Knocking him back in to the traffic on the two lane highway. The young woman screamed into her gag. The driver couldn’t react fast enough, the policeman was roadkill. As she slammed onto her breaks, the pickup did a U turn and left the traffic stop like nothing had happened.
You were waiting for the team at the SUVs when Hotch called you. “Why didn’t you answer your wake up call?”
“Sir? I am no longer in my room. I have been up for an hour.”
“Right. I guess I will see you at the cars.”
“Yep.” Anxious bird may not be getting the worms, but at least you hadn’t overslept. Rossi was surprisingly the first one outside. He nodded at you, you waved sheepishly back. Once Hotch was outside, it was all business.
“We have a call from a sheriff in Shawano County. Apparently an officer was pushed into traffic during a speeding ticket. The driver that struck the officer says he had his gun drawn and was pointing it at the driver and passenger. The dash cam footage is silent, but there was clearly a female restrained by the assailant.”
“Any indicators it was Abigail Brown?” Lewis asked.
“Nothing certain.”
“I am assuming Garcia is already tracking the plate?” You followed up.
“He probably already changed vehicles.” Alvez pointed out.
“The unsub would have to search for another vehicle out here. Especially with a victim to control. Chances are someone spotted them or the ditched truck.” JJ added.
“Reid I want you and Alvez to head south, talk to the driver and see what you can get from the footage they have.”
“Y/L/N, Lewis and Rossi I want you back at the precinct in case Garcia finds something.”
“JJ and I will head up to the campus and meet with the roommate.”
The car ride was much more reserved than the one with Jareau and Reid. Rossi drove, playing generic elevator music in the background. Lewis asked about his car. Rossi asked about hers. The drive was only about forty minutes of you listening and not speaking.
The evidence boards were intense and necessary. After examining the autopsy photographs you noticed weird marking on each of the bodies. One of the women had a tattoo so it hid the reoccurring image. It appeared to be a brand of some sort.
“Jareau?” You had dialed without sharing with Lewis and Rossi, but they were listening anyway. “I think these are rituals. There is the same symbol on each of the bodies.”
“Alright, I will tell Hotch. Nice catch.” She answered and hung up.
Rossi was on his phone once he understood your discovery. “Garcia, I am sending an image, see if it belongs to a cult or religious sect.”
Lewis pursed her lips while glancing at the photographs. “If this is ritualistic, then we have to be prepared for anything.”
“Suicide by cop?”
“Worse, martyrdom.”
Hotch put the whole team on the line for an update. “Abigail Brown’s roommate confirmed she had been involved in some new activities. But she didn’t know anything about it being a cult.”
“Sir?” Garcia interjected. “It was definitely a cult. The symbol is ancient, but surprise surprise it has been “re-branded” for the internet age. The screen name loops back over many servers, but the credit card for the chat service used for the “Night Owls” site lands us right back to Langlade County. And not many people have internet service there, it is too expensive to install the fiber-optics.”
“Garcia tell me you have an address.”
“Sending it to your phones.” Garcia confirmed. “Please be safe!”
“Alright, everyone head back to the hotel. We are all going in together. I will have JJ coordinate with the locals as we drive back.”
The drive down the dirt road was a horror movie in action. You had been assigned to Reid and Alvez’s SUV. The Sheriff that had called the team onto the case was driving Rossi and JJ because he knew the area. Hotch and Lewis were in the last vehicle, trailing three squad cars.
Reid was going over building records that Garcia had sent. “It appears to be a large house with a garage and two other out buildings.”
“Plenty of room for an ambush, great.” You muttered.
“We’ll be fine, just focus on getting the victims out and we will handle the rest.” Alvez explained.
“I hope you’re talking to Reid, because I am not on damsel duty here, Alvez.”
Alvez and Dr. Reid exchanged a look. The taller man shrugged, his lips doing that motion from the first trip. Was it annoyance or was it amusement?
“Noted!” Alvez chuckled. “Hotch will give the actual assignments once we park anyway.”
The large green space was surrounded by miles of forest and marshland. If one of the captives had managed to escape you doubted they would have survived without some help. The space around the buildings was hilly and strewn with pine trees. You thanked Babbage that it was still daylight, you strapped on your standard issued vest and felt like a jock for the first time, ever.
“Do we huddle and get a pep talk, too?” You mused to yourself, but Rossi heard you.
“Not usually, but I think it’s because Morgan was the one with the whistle.” He hinted. Your head tilted with interest, but Jareau shook her head meaning ‘wrong time and place, children.’
You followed Alvez to the main house. Reid and Lewis took one of the out buildings. Jareau and Rossi took the garage. Hotch and the Sheriff took the building on the farthest end of the clearing. The infiltration began simultaneously. Doors flying open and calls of “FBI!” or “Federal Agents”.
The house was a bungalow style with a ‘Silence of the Lambs’ style stone basement, luckily it did not come with the signature hole dug below. The rooms were well kept, but abandoned. After clearing all the rooms, you followed onto the garage. Alvez kicked the fender of a pick up truck, “This is the truck from the dash cam footage.”
You nodded, “You see Jareau or Rossi?”.
“Here!” Jareau’s voice called from the back of the unlit room. There were tables of Bunsen beakers, torches, and distilling equipment. “No sign of the unsubs, but I think we can say that it was Abigail Brown in the truck this morning.”
Rossi mused, “I am guessing the chemistry set is how these guys are funding their little ‘family’.”
The four of you dispersed to the remaining buildings when shots broke out. You readied your weapon, moving to secure an entrance. The buildings were identical from the outside. Carmel brick work with obscured glass block windows. Entrances on the northern and southern walls only. Suddenly you heard someone scream, “Go!”
Recalling your training: you kicked in your door, “FBI!” The room was arranged like a classroom, with desks in rows and some computers lining the far wall. Alvez came in the other side, sweeping the area for the unsubs or victims or any movement at all. The server they had set up was pretty sick, but you held yourself back from drooling. “We’re clear, Alvez.”
“Alright, we need to keep moving. Catch up with the team.”
You closed your door behind you and followed the muscular man out the door he entered. When you stepped outside it was chaos. Reid was limping outside with a young woman under his arm. JJ was holding the door screaming, “Out! Everybody out!”
There was smoke wafting out the door and Hotch and Lewis carried the Sheriff out between their strong shoulders. There was a moment of panic when Rossi wasn’t accounted for, but finally he staggered outside with the rest of the team. In his arms was a three year old girl, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Daddy! Daddy! No!”
Your heart tore, this little thing was the unsub’s daughter. Once the door swung shut a group of thuds rolled through the brick building. Was that an explosion? It must have been a poorly executed one. Hotch was on the comms with the locals, calling medics. You regrouped, checking on each team member and confirming the victims had been secured.
You took a minute to calm down from your first big case against the house. You were watching Reid, JJ and Alvez smile and play with the toddler. Rossi and Hotch were having serious conversations for serious grown ups. Lewis was taking notes while talking with Abigail Brown. Suddenly a hand came up and clamped down on your mouth. Instinctively you dodged and spun out from the attack. You kicked the unsub’s knee in and pulled your firearm. “Hands! Hands in the Air, Asshole!”
The BAU was there in a fraction of a minute, six guns trained on the second unsub. “Dey found you Un-Craig, dey found you!” The little girl sing-songed from behind the row of agents. She giggled at the apparent game. You holstered your weapon and made the arrest. After loading the unsub into the back of the squad car, you turned and looked at the crime scene.
It was a good day: your team saved some people and neutralized some big bads. “Hey Jareau, you think that little girl will be all right?”
Her big blue eyes searched you and nodded. “Yeah, they will find her a good family. Little one like that is already so tough.” You accepted the answer, though more questions flitted through your mind.
“Hey, Y/L/N?” Jareau asked. “It’s J.J. My friends call me J.J.”
@dontshootmespence @penelope-garxia @reiding-and-writing @milkandcookies528 @criminal-minds-fanfiction @rachficrecs @reidbyers @holagubler @speedreiding
#Garcia ftw#Criminal Minds#TwMtDW#criminal minds fanfiction#reader x bau#criminal minds fanfictions#season 12#bau#tara lewis#fbi bau#penelope garcia#luke alvez#spencer reid#jennifer jareau#aaron hotchner#david rossi#garcia saves the day#teammates#what do you mean there are no ships in this fic
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cheeky lil sprace soulmate au for yall!
The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.
The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.
“Antonio?” someone was calling, although Race didn’t notice. “Antonio? Race!”
“Huh?” he asked, looking up at the teacher at the front of the room.
His teacher pointed at the complex equation on the board. “Do you have an answer for us?”
“Uh…” Race stared down at the half-finished problem on his paper. “Not yet. But I’m working on it, Ms. Smits.”
“Mhm,” Ms. Smits said. “ Try to pay attention, Antonio. Jackson, do you have an answer?”
Race drifted back away from the class in his mind, still lost in staring at his arm. No more marks had appeared, but the shape didn’t fade.
He barely paid attention for the rest of the class, when they were finally released for lunch. Race just wanted to get to his friends to show them his arm. He was the only person in their friend group in advanced physics- most of the others had English during that time.
The bell finally rang and Race was up in a flash, shouldering his backpack as he shoved past the rest of the class on the way out the door. The elevator dinged on his way down the hall and Race stopped, waiting for Crutchie, who rolled out in his wheelchair as soon as the doors opened. “Hey, what’s up?” Crutchie said.
“I’ll tell you when we get to lunch.” They made their way through the crowds to the cafeteria, where Jack, Davey, and Specs were already taking their seats.
Davey handed Jack a sandwich, and Race spotted a glimpse of the painting on his hand, which matched the one on Jack’s hand perfectly. Jack had started painting on his hand as soon as Davey’s homework assignment showed up on his arm one day. He wanted to impress his soulmate. Of course, Davey instantly figured out who his soulmate was, since Jack’s paintings were hung all over school. They hadn’t even known that the other person existed before that, and now they were absolutely inseparable.
“What did you want to tell us?” Crutchie asked after they all had food.
Without a word, Race put his arm dramatically on the table. Everyone stared for a moment. “What the fuck is that?” Jack finally asked.
“I thought it looked kind of like a dog,” Race replied. “Point is, I didn’t draw it. Except the face.”
“Your soulmate?” David asked excitedly. They had been waiting for Race to find his soulmate. He and Crutchie were the only ones left. Specs, for instance, was always constantly covered in notes from his soulmate, Romeo, who lived two states away.
“Guess so,” Race said.
“Your soulmate can’t draw,” Jack commented with his mouth full of food.
Crutchie, Race noticed, had gone quiet. His soulmate rarely wrote on himself. When he did, it was all in Korean. They had all been incredibly lucky, finding people relatively nearby, who at least spoke English. Not everyone had such good fortune.
Spot had started seeing his soulmate’s writing when he was fifteen. He looked at the palm of his hand one day, where a list of Spanish verb conjugations were hastily scribbled. “Cheater”, Spot wrote back, but no one ever responded. Soulmates generally didn’t start seeing each other's writings at the same time. He figured that his soulmate just hadn’t gotten there just yet. But still, knowing that his soulmate was out there, cheating on Spanish tests, writing numbers to Chinese restaurants, and every now and then, working out math problems on his arm was comforting. Every time another bit of writing showed up, Spot felt like he knew his soulmate a little bit better, whoever they were.
He was in history class one day, absently drawing on his arm, when the face showed up. A goofy smiley face, making the abstract shape on his arm turn into a dog. Spot almost fell out of his chair. He raised his pen to write something, but the words wouldn’t come. He had been waiting for this for so long that now that the moment had arrived, Spot had gone tongue-tied. Or, pen-tied.
After school, Spot tracked down his friends, Albert and JoJo. “Look!” he said, showing them his arm.
“It’s an ugly dog,” Albert said, eyebrows raised.
“No,” Spot replied. “The face. I didn’t draw the face.”
“Your soulmate can finally see it?” JoJo asked. “So what are you going to do?”
“Have you written back?” Albert added.
Spot shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Ask them to meet up!” Albert suggested.
“They might not even be nearby,” JoJo pointed out. “For all he knows, his soulmate could be in Nebraska or something.”
Spot went home that night and kept meaning to write back, but the words just wouldn’t come. Finally, he settled for drawing a tic tac toe board on his leg, putting an X in the middle spot.
Five minutes later, an blue O filled itself in and Spot grinned, uncapping his pen and adding another X. They played seven games, with Spot losing five. Finally, as he yawned, a note appeared on his hand. “Wash this off. I have a job interview tomorrow. You suck at tic tac toe.”
Race grinned at his hand, watching as half of the ink on his body slowly disappeared as whoever was on the other end washed it off. He went to the bathroom and followed suit, scrubbing at the stubborn ink on his skin. Most people understood soulmate writing- after all, everyone got it at some point, but Race had an interview at a movie theater the next day, and he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
When his alarm went off in the morning, there was a note written on Race’s upper thigh, where it could easily be covered. “Good luck today.”
The interview was typical, filled with “what are your greatest strengths” and “tell me about a time you failed” and “why do you want to work here” questions, which Race bullshitted as much as he could. A deep understanding of physics, especially for his age, and gambling. Two English classes and a history exam. Money to make up what he lost playing cards and to buy gas with. For all the interviewer knew, Race had always dreamed of serving popcorn to preteens going to see the newest Dystopian romance.
At the end, though, he got a handshake and a smile. By the time he got home, there was a voicemail offering him a part time minimum wage job, complete with maroon polo shirt and non-slip shoes.
Race told his dad the news on the way to his room, where he dug through his closet for a washable marker. There was an underused art set that he had gotten for his birthday one year. He could only remember using it once. After selecting a blue marker, Race carefully drew out a hangman board with ten blanks underneath. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _! Nothing happened for a solid ten minutes until the faintest scratchings of a letter showed up, completely illegible. There was a pause before random scribbling appeared on the back of his hand, along with a note. “My pen was dying.” The letter A materialized under the hangman board and Race drew a circle for the hangman’s head.
Their game continued for a while until most of the letters were filled in. The person on the other end filled in the rest. “You got the job?”
Later that night, Davey and Jack watched over Race’s shoulder as another abstract shape slowly materialized on his forearm, dipping in and out seemingly at random. “God, this person really has no respect for your skin,” Jack commented.
“What are you going to do?” Davey asked.
Race shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.”
“He’s a guy?” Jack asked.
“His handwriting looks like a guy’s.”
Davey shook his head. “That doesn’t mean anything. Just ask them their name!”
“No way,” Race said. “I’m not asking till he does.” He studied his arm. “Huh. It looks kind of like a dolphin.”
Jack grabbed Race’s arm and stared at it for a minute. “It looks nothing like a dolphin.”
Unbeknownst to them, three blocks away, a boy laid on his bed, listening to music and absent-mindedly doodling on his arm.
The week passed uneventfully. Race continued to write to his soulmate, with hangman games becoming their conversation form of choice. He started work, which was mostly boring, but the concept of money coming in regularly was a nice thought. And Jack worked at the theater, too, which certainly helped pass the time.
One Thursday after finishing his training, Race was manning the concessions counter alone during a lull. A group of guys about his age came into the theater, joking loudly with each other. “Spot!” one of them barked. “Play me in air hockey!”
The shortest one shrugged. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Spot looked around the theater for ideas. “Loser buys popcorn,” he concluded. They shook on it and the taller boy fished out two quarters for the game. Race didn’t even realize that he was openly staring at the game until the shorter guy looked up and they made eye contact. Race looked away sharply and busied himself with wiping down the counter.
After a brief but furious game of air hockey, the third boy, who was serving as referee, declared the short boy the loser. He grumbled and stalked over to the concession counter, where Race was waiting. “Large popcorn,” he said.
“Butter?” Race asked.
“Is butter extra?” The guy had a heavy New York accent.
“No.”
“Then yes.”
Race started pumping butter onto the bucket of popcorn when something on the boy’s arm distracted him. There, on his forearm, was an abstract shape, drawn in ballpoint pen, which perfectly matched the one on Race’s arm, which was covered by his long-sleeved uniform. He stared openly, not even realizing that the popcorn was now drenched. “That’s good,” the boy said, jerking Race out of his reverie.
“Oh. Yeah,” he said absently. “Here you go.”
“How much do I owe you?” the short guy asked, holding his wallet open, where Race could see a wad of crumpled one dollar bills poking out.
“Uh… don’t worry about it. I put too much butter on. It’s on the house.” He allowed himself to look at the boy while he was putting his wallet away. He was short, probably not more than five foot four or so, with dark hair and tanned skin, but a large smattering of freckles still peeked through. His face seemed to be set into a permanent grimace, but it somehow seemed confident.
“Thanks,” the guy said. “If my friends ask, I paid.”
“You got it,” Race replied. “Enjoy the movie.”
“You, too- I mean…”
Spot took his popcorn and went back to the guys, where they were waiting to go into the theater. The boy at the counter- Antonio, according to his name tag- had been cute. Sort of dangerously cute. And it seemed like he was either incurably awkward or into Spot.
Dating was tricky with the soulmate system. A lot of people didn’t even bother trying to date before finding their soulmate. If things worked out, someone was bound to get heartbroken. Either someone in the relationship would find their soulmate and leave, or their soulmate would be out there somewhere, miserable and alone.
They took their seats and JoJo grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Damn, Spot,” he said, shoving the popcorn into his mouth. “Got enough butter?”
Race watched until the guys were inside their theater before half-running to the box office. He knocked sharply on the door until Jack poked his head out. “Take a break,” Race said urgently. “We need to talk.”
Jack made sure that the other guy in the box office was okay on his own and followed Race back to the concessions counter. “What’s up?”
“I just saw my soulmate,” Race said, eyes wide.
“What?” Jack yelped. “Who?”
“One of those guys that was just in here.”
“Which one?” Jack asked warily.
“The short one.”
Jack nodded slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. “And? What did you say?”
Race shrugged. “Nothing, really. I gave him a free popcorn because I got distracted and fucked his up.”
“You’re sure it was the short one?” Jack asked. “Little guy? Danny DeVito?” Race nodded. “You’re in luck. I know him.”
Race grabbed Jack’s arm. “You what ?”
Jack grinned. “We were in the same foster home for a while. Not long, only like a month. His name’s Spot. Actually, I think that’s a nickname. I don’t actually know what his real name is.”
“ When ?”
“I think in middle school?” Jack replied uncertainly. “We haven’t talked since then until today, which was still pretty quick. So, does he know-”
“No,” Race replied. “I only figured it out because he’s wearing a tank top and I could see those doodles he does.”
“You need to go tell him!”
Race shook his head. “Just because you and Davey worked out immediately doesn’t mean everyone does!”
“You’re like, the least shy person I know,” Jack said. “Why is this any different?”
Race stared at Jack in utter disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t like asking the waitress to bring me a new fork or saying hi to some old lady at the laundromat, Jack. This is my soulmate .”
Race went home that night and went straight to his computer, where he typed the name “Spot” into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google, and even LinkedIn. Nothing relevant came up. He texted Jack for a last name, but Jack couldn’t remember. “Maybe something with a K?” he said. “Just write to him!”
Race picked up a marker and tapped it, cap still on, against his arm for a while while he thought. Finally, slowly, he wrote out a note on his arm. “Enjoy the movie?” he wrote, hand shaking. “How was the popcorn?”
It took a long time before a message showed up. Race had almost given up home, and was getting ready to text Jack that he had scared Spot off, when a single word appeared on his hand. “Antonio?”
Race’s face split into a grin and he felt his heart leap up into his throat. Finally, he wrote ten digits out under his name. His phone vibrated within thirty seconds. “This is Antonio, right?” the text said.
“Just call me Race. Spot?”
“You know my name?”
“Jack Kelly is my best friend.”
A few minutes passed while Race waited for another text. Finally, Spot responded with an address. “I’m guessing you live in the city,” he said. “Can you meet me? Now?” Race took a closer look at the address and realized that it was a diner two blocks away. He had walked past it a million times without going in.
“I’ll be right there.”
Spot was already there when Race arrived, drinking a cup of black coffee. He looked up when the door opened, and he and Race locked eyes. It was like time slowed down. Nothing else existed in that moment except the two of them- not the waitress, or the taxi honking its horn outside, or the fry cook yelling orders across the counter.
Race dragged his feet, which each felt like they suddenly weighed about forty pounds, across the floor and took a seat across from Spot. “So, uh…” he started awkwardly. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Spot said with a smirk. “You got here fast.”
“I live nearby.”
“So do I.” They sat in total silence until a waitress came and asked for Race’s drink order.
“A Coke,” he said, dazed.
Spot watched as she left to get Race’s drink. “You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asked, eyes focused on the waitress’ back. “I mean, you’re actually him, right?”
Race pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, where their notes were still visible, as well as the random shapes that Spot was always drawing. “Does this look fake to you?” He pointed to the doodle. “What is this? You’re always drawing stuff like this.”
Spot finally looked back to Race, as the waitress came back with a Coke. “Are you boys ready to order?” she asked.
“Uh…” Race started.
Spot shook his head. “Not quite.” He waited until she was out of earshot before holding his own arm out. He suddenly looked self-conscious. “It’s just something I do when I’m thinking,” he said. “I trace my freckles.”
Race looked down and sure enough, what he thought were random lines were actually connecting the freckles on his arm. “That’s really…” he started. Spot looked at him expectantly. “Cute,” Race finally finished.
Spot bit his lip and took a sip of his coffee. “Tell me something about yourself,” he said. “Something I don’t already know.”
“Well, what do you already know?”
Spot counted off on his fingers. “I know you like games like tic tac toe and hangman. I know you’re really good at math. I know you like Chinese food. I know you write to-do lists on your wrist. I know you cheat on your Spanish tests- by the way, I’m actually good at Spanish, so if you ever need help with that…”
“How do you know all that?” Race asked. He had no idea that he was such an open book.
“You write on yourself a lot . And because I’ve been able to see it for two years now.”
Race almost choked on his soda. “ What ? How?”
Spot shrugged. “You know it doesn’t always happen at the same time. I was just hoping you weren’t just ignoring me. Now stop avoiding the question. Tell me something.”
“Well…” Race tried to think of something. What do you tell your soulmate the first time you officially meet? “I’m allergic to bananas.”
“Bananas?”
“Yeah. I break out in hives.”
“That’s hot.”
“Shut up.” They grinned at each other across the table, already feeling the awkwardness beginning to subside. “It’s your turn. Tell me something.”
Spot thought for a moment. “You make really shitty popcorn,” he said.
“It was my first day on my own after training. Try again.”
“Okay, fine. I’ve seen you around before,” he said.
“When?” Race asked.
“I told you,” Spot continued. “I live nearby. I didn’t really put it together until I just saw you but yeah.” He gestured to the menu. “Want to order something? Split some banana pancakes?”
“Oh yeah,” Race said. “And then you can take me back to your place to pump me full of Benadryl and ointment.”
“My kind of date.”
The waitress came by then. Spot ordered a large serving of eggs and some toast, and Race got a stack of bacon and a (non-banana) pancake. “Are you kind of freaking out?” Race asked finally. “I’m freaking out right now.”
“Why would I freak out?” Spot asked in his thick accent. “This is a normal day. Nothing special has happened today.” He took a long drink of coffee. “I’ve been losing my mind all week.”
Their waitress brought out their food soon. “Want any of my bacon?” Race asked.
Spot waved a hand. “I’m a vegetarian,” he responded.
Race eyed Spot’s arms, clearly on display because of his tank top. “Aren’t you a little… jacked to be a vegetarian?”
Spot rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Protein doesn’t only come from bacon, Antonio.”
“What’s your name?”
“Spot?” he said, staring pointedly at Race.
“No, your real name.”
“Oh. Sean. Sean Conlon.”
“Antonio Higgins. Nice to meet you.” Race held out a hand, which Spot shook from across the table.
They stayed there talking for what thirty minutes, but Spot happened to see the time on his phone, showing that they had been sitting there for almost three hours. “We should probably go,” he said reluctantly. The waitress had brought their check long ago, and they both reached for it. “I got it,” Spot said. “You bought my shitty popcorn.” He counted out a stack of crumpled one dollar bills.
“Are you a stripper or something?” Race asked.
“Yeah,” Spot replied seriously. Race blanched. “I’m a waiter. Relax.”
They slowly walked out of the diner, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to walk away. “Want to take a lap around the block?” Race asked.
“Yeah,” Spot said in relief. They started walking. It had gotten late so not many people were out anymore. As they reached the corner, Spot glanced over at Race. “You’re tall,” he commented.
“You’re short,” Race countered. They turned the corner and their hands bumped together by accident. “So…” Race started. “Are we going to address the whole soulmates thing at any point?”
Spot sighed. “I’m gay, Race. I don’t know if you are. And I’ve been watching everything you write for two years. I don’t know if you even like guys, but… I’m in if you are.”
Their hands brushed together again, and Race closed the gap by weaving his fingers into Spot’s as they walked. “I’m pansexual,” he said. “And I’m in.” There was something like an electric current running between their hands. Race didn’t know if it had anything to do with the whole soulmate thing or if it was just the natural chemistry that they seemed to have.
Spot squeezed his hand and they kept walking. Finally, Race stopped at the stairs of his building. “This is where I live,” he said.
“Wow,” Spot responded. “I’m three blocks over.”
“That’s convenient,” Race replied with a crooked grin.
Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, and they stood quietly at the bottom of the steps. Finally, Spot tugged on Race’s hand. “Just fucking kiss me already.” He pulled Race in close, and Race tilted his head down, until their lips met and the world exploded.
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