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reidecorating · 3 years

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Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift.

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :)

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding.

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do.

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it.

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request.

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door.

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well.

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake.

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :)

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-”

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far.

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way.

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist.

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?”

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him.

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,”

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders.

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,”

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing, trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud.

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.

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chaeryybomb · 3 years

Text

soulmates

pairing: na jaemin x reader

featuring: nct dream, implied markhyuck

genre: angst, fluff, best friends to lovers (kinda),

warnings: cursing, character death, mentions of insomnia

word count: 2.7k

summary: jeno asked if they believed in soulmates. jaemin never thought that a simple question would take him down memory lane.

a/n: this is actually a draft from one of my original stories and it's lowkey my favourite so i thought i turned it into a jaemin imagine. it ended being longer than the original one hjdfhj

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

Jaemin blinked, caught off guard by Jeno's sudden question. He turned to look at Jeno, who was sitting next to Renjun as the other boy was sketching away on his iPad. Jaemin's hand stopped in mid-equitation of his homework as he tilted his head in confusion at Jeno's question.

"Soulmates?" Mark echoed from the other side of the room. They were all scattered in different parts of Jeno's and his living room. When an hour ago they decided to crash at their place for an impromptu sleepover. Donghyuck was laying on Mark's lap, playing some game on his phone. Jaemin doesn't know, all he knows is that Hyuck's lets out a curse word every 5 seconds.

"Yeah," Jeno nodded, "soulmates," he said again, this time more firmly. "Do you believe in them?"

Mark leaned back into the couch and rest his head on top. "Hmmm," he hummed to show that he was in thought.

Chenle, walking out of the kitchen and plopped himself down next to Jisung on the floor, looked up at Jeno and asked, "What was your question again?"

Jeno let out a frustrated sigh and repeated, "Do you believe in soulmates?"

"Oh, nah," Chenle immediately replied. Jeno gave him a look, disappointed at his answer. The younger shrugged in return and went back to watch Jisung's game.

"What about you?" Jeno nudged Renjun at his side.

"Soulmates are fake," Renjun replied.

"He's just saying that because he's single," Donghyuck chimed in from the other side.

Renjun glared at the other boy and threw a pillow at him. The pillow landed square on Donghyuck's face and Renjun laughed at the result. Donghyuck yelped and sat up, almost bumping Mark on the chin. While Jisung let out a victorious "Yes!" and high fived Chenle.

"Asshole! I lost my game because of you!" Donghyuck cursed at Renjun. Whereas Jisung and Chenle snickered at Donghyuck's lost.

The room erupted in laughter, with Donghyuck huffing with his arms crossed after flipping Renjun off. Donghyuck leans back into Mark's chest instead of returning to his previous position. Mark, out of habit, wrapped an arm around his waist, slowly tugging him closer.

Renjun's face twisted in disgust at the couple. "Ew, okay we get it, you're in love. Don't have to rub it in," he faked gagged at them. Jeno laughed while Jaemin shook his head at them with a smile. He was seated furthur away from the group at the dinning table, lab reports scattered in front of him. His pencil sat idle in between his fingers, he should really get back to his homework because it was due tomorrow morning. But his mind still lingered on Jeno's question.

As if he read his mind, Jeno repeated his question once again. "So, do you guys think soulmates are real?" He asked again, Jeno seemed determined to get an answer out of all of them.

"Yeah, I believe them," Mark said, deciding to humor the poor boy. Jeno beamed at his answer while Donghyuck gave him a weirded look at the side.

"You do?" Donghyuck tilted his head.

"Yeah," Mark shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, choosing to throw caution into the wind with his next words, "I mean, I met you, didn't I?"

The room immediately reacted with a mixed of ews and gagging noises. Even Donghyuck looked disgusted. Mark raised his hands in defense and laughed awkwardly, although the look on his faced said that he regretted nothing.

"Soulmates can be platonic too! It doesn't always have to be romantic," Mark continued. "Personally, I think a soulmate is someone who instantly clicks with you. Like, even if the both of you seem different, there's some kind of mutual understanding between each other, like, even if they don't talk for years, their relationship will remain same."

"It's kinda like having a home in someone. I think a soulmate is someone who feels like home to you," Jeno added. Mark nodded in agreement with him. "It doesn't have to be your significant other, your soulmate can be your sibling or your best friend."

"Oh, so like me and Jisung?"

"I thought you said you don't believe in soulmates," Jisung eyed Chenle suspiciously.

"Well, they're explanations are kinda convincing. Do you believe in soulmates, then?" Chenle fired back at the younger boy.

Jisung nodded. "It's nice to believe in these things, okay." Chenle snorted at his answer but decided to not make fun of him, maybe he'll make fun about Mark's statement later.

"A soulmate should be someone who understands you completely. They know how exactly you feel even if you try to fake it. They're someone who'll love who you are and appreciate you," Jaemin heard Mark said.

As the group continues to discuss about their views on soulmates, Jaemin shook his head and tried to return to his homework. Keyword, tried. His mind was still stubbornly thinking about the question instead of focusing on finishing the equation on hand. Yet the word "soulmates" continued to run laps around his head. Mark and Jeno's words echoed in his head and soon he found himself drifting away to a long forgotten memory.

Jaemin was seven years old when a moving truck stopped in front of the vacant house beside his for the first time in 3 years. He stood in his yard as he watched adults emerged from the vehicle. Curiously, he walked nearer and stood behind his fence. One of the adults open the big doors behind the truck to reveal a bunch of boxes stacked together. As the boxes started to be removed by other adults, an orange ball falls from one of the open boxes and rolled to his feet.

Jaemin bent down to pick up the ball when a pair of feet appeared in his line of vision. Looking up, like an angel being casted down to him, it was the first time he saw you. The sunlight made it looked like you were glowing. And in his seven year old mind, you were the princess he read about in books.

You peered down at him with a growing smile. You reached a hand out and introduced yourself. "Hi! I'm Y/N!"

Jaemin stood up and dusted himself, staring at your hand. He was nervous, he didn't know why but he was. The smile on your face dimmed, a bit hurt that he didn't shake your hand nor tell you his name. You looked at the orange ball in his hand and coughed.

"Um," you pointed at the toy, "that's mine."

As if Jaemin was snapped out of a trance, he blinked at you and then at the ball before realization dawned on him. "Oh!" he said, cheeks flushing in

embarrassment.

"Um, sorry, here you go," and he thrusted the ball towards you. You took the ball from him and turn around to walk away when he stopped you with an awkward cough. "My name's Jaemin, Na Jaemin..."

Blinking a few times, you gave him a toothy grin and said, "Nice to meet you, Jaemin! I'm L/N Y/N!"

Soulmates can be platonic, it doesn't always have to be romantic. Your soulmate can be your sibling or your best friend. Was what they said. Well, you were definitely his best friend.

"Whatcha doing, Nana?" You asked.

Jaemin yelped from your sudden appearance, the book he was holding fell from his hands and onto his left foot. Jaemin hissed in pain and grabbed his foot, hopping on one foot before falling onto his butt.

You winced at the incident. "Sorry!" You squeaked. Jaemin gave you and unimpressed look and rolled his eyes at you. You offered him a hand to get up but instead he pulled you down with him. You fell down with a thud beside Jaemin as you let out an "oof".

Jaemin's laugh rang through your ears as you pushed yourself up. You glared at him and he stuck his tongue out at you. You shifted so you were sitting cross-legged beside him while he moved to retrieve his fallen book. You looked over to him and playfully shove him.

"What are you reading, nerd?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't understand anyways."

You gasped dramatically at his reply and feigned hurt, placing your hand above your heart. "Hey, I know I don't have the braincells but you don't have to remind me," you defended.

Jaemin rolled his eyes at you and ignored you, opting to return to his book. Noticing the lack of reaction, you sighed loudly and fell back into the grass. As you cross your arms above your head, you took a peek at Jaemin. He was still immersed in whatever book he was reading.

"Nerd," you mumbled under your breath.

After a few moments of silence, you stood up and brushed yourself off. Jaemin looked up at you as you offered your hand again. "C'mon, I heard there's a new boba place near school," you told him.

Jaemin stared at your hand for awhile before sighing and taking it in. "Fine but I want to stop by at 7-Eleven too," he negotiated.

Giving him your signature toothy grin, you shook your intertwined hands and said, "Deal."

A soulmate is someone who instantly clicks with you, no matter the difference. Even if the both of you seem different, there's some kind of mutual understanding between each other. Even if they don't talk for years, their relationship will remain same.

You and Jaemin had your differences. Jaemin liked to stay inside and read on the hundreds of scientific books he had in his room. You wanted to go out and see the world, you hated being cooped in. You felt trapped while Jaemin felt at peace. So sometimes Jaemin really wonders how the two of you could've gotten so close.

You practically had to drag him out while he head to beg you to let him stay ta home. Most people would've drifted away by now. Something kept the both of you together and Jaemin thought he knew why. You were like the sun while he was like the moon.

Your presence was refreshing. You were always there to brighten up his days and your smile was a boost of serotonin for him. Whenever he was with you, there will always be a smile on his face. He was happy, and he never knew why. The reason was because of you.

And he was the moon to your sun. His calming presence was able to match your hype energy. The both of you were balanced because he kept you at bay. He was the yin to your yang. The both of you just understood each other and everything else fell in place by itself.

By the time middle school was over, you and Jaemin had parted ways to different high schools. Despite being neighbours, the both of you had trouble finding spare time to hang out. You were busy with the student council and he was busy with the photography club that you had forced him to join.

"Oh what about this one?" You slid the flyer over to him.

Jaemin picked it up and quirked an eyebrow at you. "The photography club?"

"Yeah, you like taking pictures don't you? Plus you can use the camera I got for you from your birthday!"

You looked so excited, he swore your eyes were glittering when you looked at him with anticipation. How could he ever refuse? And he was glad he didn't. Because he met Lee Jeno and Huang Renjun from the photography club and the two boys introduced him to the rest. He never told you this but he was forever thankful to you for convincing him.

But despite all of that, the two of you would somehow managed to find time. Be it him randomly face-timing you at 4am because he couldn't sleep, or you climbing into his bedroom window because you hated being alone. Distance was never a problem for the both of you, nothing will ever changed. And somewhere along the way, Jaemin realized his heart was with you.

It's not uncommon for Jaemin to be staring at his ceiling at... 3am? He turned his head and squinted at his alarm clock. Ah, no, it was 4am. These were one of those nights where insomnia had taken over. Sighing, he turned to his side and hugged his body-pillow closer. You nagged him that sleeping late during the holidays will bite him in the ass one day. Maybe he should've listened to you.

Thinking of you, he turned to his other side where he was facing his window. Your lights were switched off. Of course it was, you were sleeping. Who would be awake at this ungodly hour? Right, him...

He stared at your window, debating whether if he should call you or not. For some reason, he felt nervous. Why would he be nervous? He has called you multiple times before when he was bored. But would he be a bother? He moved to lay on his back and dropped his arm on his eyes.

"Fuck it," he whispered to himself and reached over to grabbed his phone. He tapped into his contacts and went straight to your number. He pressed the video call option and waited. From his window, he could see a small light appearing before your room was covered in pink lights.

"Hello?" Your disoriented voice caught his attention. You looked tired, your blankets were pulled up to your nose and your eyes were struggling to open. But he couldn't help but thought that you were beautiful. "Jaemin?" you called out.

"Hi," he said, muffled by his pillow. "Sorry for calling, I'll just hang up-"

"No, it's f-" you cut yourself off with a yawn, "it's fine," you said sleepily.

He frowned at your sleepy state, feeling guilty for waking you up at 4am. "Sorry," he apologized again.

"It's fine," you said again, your voice being more stable now as the sleep started to fade. "So, what's up?"

"I don't know, just can't sleep," he told you. Jaemin moved so he was laying on his side, using on hand to hold the phone while the other was tucked under his head.

"That's alright, we can just stay here until sunrise," you said. You had moved your sleeping position and was now mimicking his position.

It was right then, in the moment when Jaemin realized, he loves you. Like a bomb being dropped on him, he realized he's in love with his best friend. In the dead of night, hours before the sun rises, you could've ignored his call and go back to sleep. But you chose to accept his call and stay up with him, knowing that the both of you have school in a few hours. Yet here you were, with him. And he loves you.

"Y/N," he whispers, it was barely audible but you had somehow managed to heard him.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Silence. Did...did he just said that? He internally started to panic. What if you don't feel the same? What if you take it the wrong way? He blamed the drowsiness in him. He's scared to look at your reaction, but he does. And the fondness in your eyes tells him that he was wrong. You looked at him like he was your world. And he knew, that the both of you were in love.

"I love you too-"

"-Jaemin?"

Jaemin's eyes snapped up at the sound of his name. The room was now silent with all eyes on him. His pencil was still in his hand, the equation still unfinished. "What's up?" He asked them.

"Jeno asked if you believe in soulmates," Jisung said.

The boy tigthened his grip on his pencil as he thought. Does he believe in soulmates? Maybe. He used to believe that they were real. Because Jaemin believed that he had already met his soulmates. But if soulmates were truly real, the universe wouldn't have taken you away from him, right?

Because he still remembered the crack in your mother's voice when she broke the news to him. You were gone. He still remembered the way his heart shattered to pieces when they said you never made it. Because you're not here anymore.

So, once upon a time, Jaemin did believed in soulmates. But you were cruelly taken away from him. He looked up to meet the gaze of his friends.

"No," he finally said, "I don't believe in soulmates."

#nct #nct dream #jaemin #jaemin imagines #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #jaemin angst #jaamin x reader #na jaemin x reader #nct imagines #kpop imagines #nct x reader

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

Text

My Bride (Part 1)

Hello everyone~

So... this is going to be very different than anything I’ve written before. For starters this connects to nothing that I’ve previously written.

Two, it doesn’t really take place at Hogwarts per say. I’m including a lot of the characters from the game but that’s the closest I can say it relates to the game.

Three, it’s gonna be in parts because I’m too lazy to write a long post.

I got the idea from @makichaotic where in her headcanon there was a rumor that Talbott was a vampire.

Except Talbott is actually a vampire.

I have no clue what I’m possibly doing to be completely honest. This idea has been floating around in my mind for awhile so I have to get it out somehow.

Let me know what you think!

I also threw in David ( @that-scouse-wizard / @jd-the-anime-fan ) and Vixen ( @cleverglitteryfoxtrot ), two MC friends 😊🥰

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

“Baby girl?”

Judith turned away from the full body mirror in the direction of her father’s voice. An elegant strapless and backless white silk dress hugged her short, curvy figure. Her long locs were pulled up into a high ponytail, a few hanging around her face. A dark shadow dusted over her eyelids while dark red lipstick covered her full lips.

“Yes, Papa?” came the soft reply. The older man frowned.

His daughter was beautiful.

Gorgeous even.

Though he wished she wasn’t getting dressed up for this.

Judith just recently turned 21.

As required by law, every young adult that turned 21 were to attend a ball that is hosted every year by the royal family.

Though, there was a catch.

It was for a way for vampires to find a desirable mate among the human population. If they was able to return home by sunrise, then they were free to live their life as they pleased. If not, they becomes that vampire’s wife or husband.

Most were forbidden from seeing their families and friends ever again.

Kendrick would know. He never personally saw his best friend Ava again after her ball. Who then later became their queen when the former king and queen died.

Ava’s parents passed away few years after her coronation. They never saw their precious daughter again.

Now that same fate seem to be staring the seasoned Healer in the face.

And Kendrick isn’t ready to say goodbye to his little girl.

“Papa, you’re crying,” Judith whispered, a frown forming on her painted lips. She quickly walked up to the older man to wipe away his tears. Misty gold eyes locked with concerned ones.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl,” Kendrick whispered. Judith hugged her father tight as he said this, waiting to prolong her trip to the castle. The older man didn’t hesitate to return it, breathing in the scent he grew accustomed to from when she was a baby.

“I’ll do my best to come back home,” Judith said softly, squeezing the man who sired her. Kendrick shook his head at this.

He didn’t want her to promise him anything.

Judith was the spitting image of him. His little girl grew up into a beautiful young woman. It would take a miracle for a vampire not to take notice of her.

“Please don’t promise me anything. I don’t think my old heart can take it...” Judith pursed her lips.

“You’re not old, Papa. You don’t look a day over 25,” she said in hopes of lifting the man’s spirits. And she got what she wanted. An inaudible chuckle rumbled in the his chest.

It’s just like his daughter to try to make him smile or laugh.

If he could never see her again, he can only pray that she’s mated to a good man.

“Thank you, Judith. I... I love you, baby girl...” Judith forced herself not to cry in front of her dad.

She didn’t like how this felt like a goodbye. She didn’t want to leave her father forever...

“I love you too, Papa...” The two stayed there for a bit longer until Kendrick pulled away with a soft sigh.

“Time to go baby girl...”

-------

Judith hugged her dad’s waist tighter as they approached the looming castle.

They weren’t rich. Her father spent a good amount of his savings to buy her dress and shoes.

When he wanted to buy her a carriage to escort her to the ball, she declined. She claimed that she was more than happy to be escorted by her father on horseback. Kendrick agreed, unwilling to deny his little girl anything.

They approached the entrance slowly before stopping a foot away.

Kendrick dismounted first before helping his daughter off their horse, Nerco Di Angelo. Judith hugged her father one last time before going to pet the dark horse, who let out huff and nuzzled her face.

“I love you, Nerco. Take good care of Papa,” she whispered before kissing the star on the horse’s forehead.

The sound of someone clearing their throat sounded off behind her.

Taking a deep breath, the young woman turned to find a guard staring passively at her.

Time to go.

Without a word, the guard gestured her to come inside. Judith turned to her father.

“I love you, Papa...” It took everything within the usually stoic man not to cry again.

“I love you too, Judith. Never forget that...” Nodding sadly, Judith walked into the castle with the guard in tow.

She sent a silent prayer in hopes of seeing her dear father again.

---------

Talbott was bored.

Extraordinarily so.

He felt the eyes of his parents burning holes into him on occasion and it annoyed him to no end.

The ball started some time ago and he’s already wishing it to be morning. He himself just recently turned 21 and his parents, along with the council, are looking at him to find a bride.

If not this year, then he will continue to socialize with potential mates every year until he does. After all, his father was 25 when he finally found his mother, who recently turned 21 at that time.

Ava and Trent glanced at their disinterested son with slight worry. They knew how much the young man hated social events. He did his best to be polite to his guests but not much more. They would be lucky if he found someone on the first try.

Ava sighed. Although she was happy and grateful with the life that she has, she sometimes missed the old life she once had. Under the old king and queen, they forbade her from seeing her friends and parents.

She missed them terribly. She hoped whoever her son chose that she could help them adjust to life as a part of the royal family. She and her husband even discussed about letting their family to come to the castle. After all, they clearly saw what it did to their relationship.

Despite Trent’s evident infatuation with her, Ava hated him for choosing her. If he never laid eyes on her, she would’ve still be with her parents and dear friends. It took a few years to even consummate their marriage because Ava refused to share a bed with him. She didn’t let him drink from her.

It took Trent years to win the young woman’s heart. With a decent amount of suffering on his part. To be deprived of the one that suppose to complete him drove him to points of madness and bloodlust.

They didn’t want the same thing to happen to their son...

Glancing at her son again, she noticed that he was sitting up a little straighter. Her brows shot up to her hairline.

He found someone...

Oh dear Gods above, please allow whoever it was to love her son. She’ll do anything to make sure that they’re happy, just as long they were able to love Talbott...

-----------

‘She’s so beautiful...’

Talbott’s red eyes were trained on a young dark skin woman in a white silk dress. The dress highlighted her slim, but curvy, figure. Her hair was up in a ponytail, ending around mid-back with a few locs framing her face. Her facial features were delicate and sharp.

Her eyes.

A brilliant shade of gold that would put the coins in the treasury to shame.

Talbott felt his body flush with heat and his gums throb a bit.

He had to get to know her.

The young woman was conversing with a familiar pair. David Willows, husband to Merula Synde, and Vixen Mcmachen, wife to Barnaby Lee.

Interesting...

With no warning to his parents, Talbott got up and walked towards the trio.

David saw the prince coming and bowed.

“Your Highness,” the young man greeted. Vixen smiled and curtsied to him, giving him a cheeky wink all the meanwhile.

It was at that point Judith felt a presence behind her. Turning around, she came face to face with the Crown Prince himself.

Swiftly, Judith curtsied.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady. She straighten and was minorly surprised to find the prince staring at her.

“Good evening, David. Rosalina. Miss,” Talbott said, taking Judith’s hand and kissing the back of it.

‘Her scent...’ Talbott’s eyes grew a little heavy, his pupils dilated. It was so inviting...

Vanilla and along with something else he couldn’t name. He also detected a faint accent in her voice, something completely unfamiliar, but far from unpleasant.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he started slowly, curious to know the name to this enchanting woman.

David cleared his throat.

“Prince Talbott, may I introduce to you, Judith Harris. A childhood friend to Vixen and I,” he said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Judith...” The young woman did her best to suppress a shiver. The way the prince said her name...

It was like he was tasting it.

“Please, Your Highness. The pleasure is all mine,” she said, trying her best not to read too deep into how the way Talbott was staring at her. It didn’t help that he had yet to let go of her hand...

David and Vixen did their best not to smirk. Their partners so owe them a few gold coins. They were both happy to find their old friend. Especially since it’s been 3 years since David married to the love of his life and Vixen just a year after him.

What they didn’t expect was for Prince Talbott to fancy her.

They was just talked to her about their lives at the castle and their relationships. Judith was just telling them how she was doing, her archery, combat lessons and art. Just as she was telling them that she was hoping that no vampire took an interest in her, the Gods placed Prince Talbott before her.

Seems like she hasn’t quite learned her lesson about speaking certain things aloud. The Gods loved a challenge.

“May I have a dance with you, darling?” Judith sharply inhaled, willing her heart not to race.

‘It’s just a dance. Nothing more...’

“It would be an honor, Your Highness.” Talbott wanted to pout. He wished that Judith would say his name. He wants to know how it sounded like with her faint accent.

Offering his arm, Judith interloped hers in his. Saying goodbye to her old friends, they walked to the center of the dance floor. A slow song started to play.

The two took the initial position. One hand on Judith’s lower back. One hand on Talbott’s broad shoulder. Their remaining hand intertwined with each other’s. The pair moved along with the music.

‘Warm. She’s really warm and soft...’ Talbott was biting the inside of his cheek, willing his hand to stay in that one spot. His heart was beating rapidly now and he was fighting his instincts.

To pull her closer.

To inhale more of the sweet scent that clung to her skin.

To taste her full lips.

To sink his fangs into that elegant long neck, marking her as his.

He bet she tasted divine...

“Are you enjoying the ball?” Her lovely voice brought him back to the present. He cleared his throat.

“I admit, I was rather bored at first,” he admitted. Gold eyes glimmered with curiosity.

“Oh?” she inquired. He nodded before pulling her closer to satisfy his needs a little.

“But with you here, I can finally enjoy the night.” Those pretty eyes widen and pearly whites bit the plump flesh of her lower lip.

Talbott fought back a groan.

He wanted to be the one doing that...

“Oh! What a... lovely thing to say,” Judith whispered, uneasy.

She wasn’t going to deny that she felt something towards the tall handsome vampire, but she wanted to go home.

Go back home to her Papa.

And that idea seems bleaker and bleaker with the way Talbott was looking at her. She swears she can see a hint of his fangs every time he spoke.

“Is something wrong, darling,” Talbott asked.

“Oh, no! Just a little thirsty.” Judith knew she was lying through the skin of her teeth but she knew better than to openly reject the Crown Prince.

She liked her head exactly where it was, thank you very much.

“Come. Let’s get you something to drink then,” the young man smiled. Judith tried not to grimace.

‘Yup, those were definitely his fangs I saw...’ she thought to herself as Talbott led her to the refreshment table. Judith wasn’t a fan of wine and stuck with water. Talbott even hand feeding her some samplers as they converse with one another.

“Hello son.” The pair turned to the masculine voice that spoke. Judith felt her blood run cold.

The king and queen.

She really may not go home after all.

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

Ava and Trent have been watching their son curiously as he acquainted himself with a young dark skin woman.

Not once has he left her side. The two look at each other and decided to meet the woman who seem to unknowingly captivated their son. They approached the two by the refreshment table.

“Hello son.” The couple turned to them. Talbott nodded at them as the young woman curtsied.

“Mum. Dad.”

“Good evening, Your Majesties.” Ava studied the young woman closely.

She looked very familiar.

“Good evening, my love. And who might this be,” Ava asked. Talbott wrapped an arm around the short woman’s waist, causing her to flush a soft shade of red.

“Mother, Father. This is Judith Harris.” Ava inhaled sharply.

“Did... did you say Harris,” she asked softly. Could it be-

Judith shyly glanced at the royal couple, gold eyes shining.

“You’re Kendrick’s daughter, aren’t you?” Judith blinked in surprise. She knew that her father and the queen were childhood friends, but she didn’t expect her to remember him.

“Yes I am, Your Majesty...” The likeness was uncanny. She looked like the female version of her father. The queen smiled and hugged her.

Judith stiffen at the sudden hug and hesitantly hugged the queen back.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t expect a piece of my past to catch up with me...” The queen was eager to learn more about Kendrick’s little girl.

And her future daughter-in-law...

If she was Kendrick’s daughter, she shouldn’t have to worry about Talbott’s mating to her. Kendrick, although cold and aloof, was a very sweet and caring man. She’ll bet her crown that his daughter was the same exact way.

Though she didn’t like how Judith kept glancing at the entrance every once and awhile.

She understood the girl’s desire to leave but she didn’t want her son to suffer. Especially when he was already showing signs of infatuation towards her.

‘Please, all I ask is for you to give him a chance’ she silently pleaded.

-------

Talbott was growing restless.

He was happy to see that the young woman he chose was to the approval of his parents. Especially since she seem to be the daughter to a childhood friend of his mum.

But he wanted to be alone with her.

So when Judith said she wanted to get some air, he jumped at the opportunity to show her the gardens.

The walk there was silent. They reached the heart of the garden, sitting on the lip of the fountain.

“This place is breathtaking,” she whispered. Talbott bit his lip as he stared at her.

She was breathtaking.

The moonlight bathed her in its ancient glow.

Her molten gold eyes lit up like embers of a flame.

Her cheekbones, collarbones and shoulders were kissed by the moonlight itself, reflecting the slivery rays.

Her dress took on a silver light, making her take on the form of a goddess.

‘Mine...’

“Yes, it is...” Judith stiffen when she heard the response whispered against her cheek. A cool pair of lips pressed against her cheek for a chaste kiss.

“I’ll be frank with you, darling. I never would’ve thought I would find my mate tonight, but I’m glad I was wrong,” Talbott said softly before placing another kiss to her cheek.

Just as he was about to wrap his arms around her waist, Judith pulled away. She was standing, taking cautious steps backwards.

Talbott felt his heart stall, fighting back a snarl.

“I-I’m sorry, Your Highness... b-but I-I can’t be your mate...” A frown found its way on Talbott’s handsome face, as he was quick to stand with her.

“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer, darling. I can’t live without you now that I found you,” Talbott said slowly as he approached her, trying to keep his instincts in check. He’s seen vampires being rejected by their mate, and it was never a pretty sight.

A lot of them were driven to bouts of madness and eventually had to be taken out of their misery.

He didn’t want to end up like them.

He’ll give her anything she wants, all he asks in return was her unconditional love.

Judith, feeling like cornered prey, did the only thing she could think of.

Run.

A snarl sounded out behind her, sending a cold wave of fear down her spine but she didn’t dare stop or look back. She found a garden maze and quickly ran inside, in hopes of losing the prince.

Thanks to her training, she rather light on her feet, even in heels surprisingly. Low growls and snarls filled the air all around her so she could barely tell where Talbott was.

She wanted to cry.

She didn’t ask for this.

She didn’t want to become the wife to a vampire, even if he was a prince.

All she wanted was to go home to her Papa.

She let out a scream when a hand grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around to find glowing red eyes staring down at her.

A pair of lips descended on her soft, vulnerable ones. A sob escaped the back of her throat as she tried pushing against Talbott’s chest.

Though her efforts were futile.

Talbott pulled away to look at his mate’s teary face. Though his eyes spoke volumes of his anger, Judith never noticed the fear there as well.

The heir to the throne said nothing as he laid kisses along the length of her neck.

“Talbott, no! Please,” she cried, squirming to get away when she felt cold fangs brush against her skin.

“I’m sorry, my beloved...” was the last thing Judith heard before the pain of his fangs sinking into her neck took root in her system.

Her cry of pain was broke the peace of the night before everything fell quiet once again.

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

Kendrick watched as the morning rays peaked over the horizon, waiting.

His daughter was no where in sight.

A lone tear escaped his eye as sun made it’s way up in the sky. Accepting the fate he was given.

#hphm #hphm mc #au #alternate universe #vampire fanfiction #hphm talbott #jacob's sibling #jacob's sister #hogwarts mystery talbott #talbott winger #talbott x mc #talbott x jacob's sibling #judith harris #oc

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iamrealbuilder · 4 years

Text

Bill Buchalter interview

Bill Buchalter was a level designer for Sunstorm Interactive. He’s worked on 3 official add-on of Build Engine games: Cryptic Passage for Blood, Suckin’ Grits On Route 66 for Redneck Rampage, Caribbean Life for Duke Nukem 3D. Interview, November 2020: Corentin: Can you introduce yourself?

Bill Buchalter: My name is Bill Buchalter. I’m an avid gamer of all kinds – video games, board games, and especially tabletop RPGs. I’m currently a freelance writer for AAW Games (Adventure A Week Games) writing mini adventures for Dungeons & Dragons 5E. I live outside Indianapolis, IN with my wife Jane, our three kids, and our dog Roxi. When I’m not gaming, I also enjoy music, playing guitar, hiking, and camping.

C: With Sunstorm Interactive, you're credited for level design on Cryptic Passage, Caribbean Life and Route 66. How did you start working with Sunstorm and what do you remember from that time?

BB: In the mid 90’s, maybe around 1995 or 96, I was very into playing Duke Nukem 3D. Like most PC gamers at the time, I had played Castle Wolfenstein and Doom, and Duke Nukem just blew me away. Back in those days, when we played online, we would use a 3rd party program called KALI. You dialed up on your modem, logged onto the internet, and then used KALI as a portal to chat with other gamers and find someone to play with. The KALI software would then allow you to network together over the internet and play PVP matches. It was crude, and the lag could be horrible, but we didn’t know any better at the time and we loved it!

I remember I was in a B. Dalton bookstore in the mall one day (another relic of the 90’s that is long gone!) when I found a book called the “Duke Nukem 3D Level Design Handbook”. I was intrigued, and as I flipped through the pages it talked about a program on the Duke Nukem CD called Build, which allowed you to create your own levels. I had no idea Build existed, let alone how to use it. I bought the book and spent the next couple weeks diving into learning how to use Build. I was hooked!

Making my own maps quickly became an obsession. I would share them with my friends on KALI and I quickly earned a reputation for making user maps. I remember there was a map building competition, but I don’t recall who sponsored it. A guy named Robert Travis won the competition. When I saw his maps, I was blown away! His designs were so much more advanced than mine. He was using tricks I had never thought of to get lighting effects and set moods. I had to reach out to him to pick his brain.

Robert responded and we began talking and quickly figured out that we both lived in Indianapolis. He was working for Sunstorm at the time and invited me to come to their office to discuss level design. I met him there one evening, and he showed me some of the stuff he was working on. We ended up playing Duke all night on Sunstorm’s network with some of the other guys in the office. I was in heaven!

Robert introduced me to Anthony Campiti, the lead producer on Sunstorm’s next project – Cryptic Passage, an add-on for a Build engine game called Blood. They invited me to design some levels for the game and I jumped at the chance. Robert assigned me to design an opera house level and immediately I got pictures in my head of the theater scenes from Interview with a Vampire. I went home and worked furiously on designing the level. I was still rough, but with Robert’s help I tweaked things here and there and slowly learned his techniques. In the end I was really pleased with the level I’d designed. Robert and Anthony were happy too and asked me to design a second map specifically for deathmatch.

The next project Sunstorm was working on was Suckin’ Grits on Route 66, an add-on for another Build engine game called Redneck Rampage. Robert again asked if I’d like to be a part of that team and assigned me to build a truck stop level. Using a lot of the things I’d learned on Cryptic Passage, and the campy feel of the Redneck Rampage game, I had a lot of fun designing that level.

The last project I worked on for Sunstorm was Duke Nukem Caribbean Vacation. By this time Duke’s popularity was beginning to wane, and Quake was taking over. Robert was already starting to experiment and learn how to use the Quake engine. I was a new dad at the time (my first daughter had just been born) so unfortunately, I didn’t have the spare time to devote to learning a new engine. I barely had the time to design my level for Duke Caribbean, but I did manage to finish the casino level for that project. I do recall that Robert ended up going through in the end and changing a lot of the aspects of my level to fit the theme they had in mind. I remember being a bit disappointed and not really feeling like the level was “mine” because of so many of the changes. It was the last project I worked on for Sunstorm.

I kept in touch with Robert and Anthony for a while after that. They were branching out, working on other projects, and even trying to develop their own FPS game that I don’t think ever really got off the ground. Sunstorm was having the most success with their Deer Hunter line of games that at the time were selling well in Wal-Mart. Sadly, I eventually just lost touch with those guys.

I’m sure this is WAY more information than you were wanting (I’m a writer… I can’t help but go off the deep end!) but you dusted off some fond, old memories for me, so I apologize for walking so far down memory lane!

C: I see that you're still making maps, different kind of maps! This makes me wonder if maybe you were involved with W!Zone (a pack of maps for Warcraft 2 released by Sunstorm). Can you tell us a bit about that if possible?

BB: I didn’t have any hand in the W!Zone project for Sunstorm, but I loved the Warcraft series. As was common for many video gamers like me, who had roots in fantasy games like D&D, I played a lot of Warcraft and eventually got sucked into the world of MMOs with Ultima Online, Everquest, and World of Warcraft! If only I had back the time I sunk into those games!

These days I’m exclusively writing and designing for Dungeons and Dragons. I started about ten years ago writing for D&D Organized Play in a campaign called Living Forgotten Realms. I co-authored two adventures for that with my good friend, Michael Pearman, and authored a third adventure on my own. As you know from tracking me down via AAW Games, I’ve now authored six adventures for them, five of which are already published and one that is still in the works but should be released soon.

When I do manage to find time for video games, Diablo III is my game of choice these days. I’m looking forward to Season 22 starting here shortly, and like many others, I’m really hoping for something great with Diablo IV. I’ve been a huge fan of the series since the beginning, and even wrote an entire campaign for D&D 5E that translated the story of Diablo III into Dungeons and Dragons for the players in my home game! Thanks again for the opportunity to share some of this history. It was fun putting it all down and reliving those days!

C: There are two signatures in the Truck Stop level for Route 66. Do you remember anything about that ? There also several levels with no known credit : Fun Park, House of ill Repute, Mystery Dino Cave, Bigfoot Convention.

The signature on the truck stop is Route 66 was a joke! I was the only designer on that one. I just signed it "Billy Joe Jim Bob Buchalter" as a joke for bad redneck name. I wasn't the kind of guy that had to sign my maps the EXACT same way every time. :)

Other than the truck stop, I don't recall designing any other maps for Route 66. I pretty sure none of those you listed below were mine, but I don't recall whose they were.

Finally, here are some final comments Bill made after reading through some forum posts:

Wow, I am really quite humbled that you guys looked so deeply into my work! The fact that you could recognize my build style is pretty cool - I didn't even know I had a style! LOL. The truth be told, the reason you probably had so much trouble telling my levels from Robert's is because he was a big influence on me. I learned a lot from him and incorporated a lot of that into the stuff I built.

Its funny how reading through that thread you linked brought back memories... I remember now that my biggest disappointment from Duke Caribbean was that my only level in the game ended up being a secret level - that some people wouldn't even find it or ever play it. I was actually pretty excited about that level. I was the one that suggested a casino because my folks had retired to Vegas, so I'd been in a lot of the casinos there and had some great ideas for the map. I'd forgotten all about the restaurant I worked into it, and the big fish tanks.

There seems to be some debate about Robert. From what I remember, he was a really good guy. Maybe a bit tough to work for, but only because he really strived for our designs to be the best they could be, and he demanded that of both himself and the other designers. As I said before, I learned early on to accept criticism and critique and not take it personally. It was just Robert doing his job. I'll be the first to admit that I designed better levels thanks to the stuff I learned from Robert.

Someone on the message board made a very astute comment, basically to the effect that "Bill had to have other work out there. Sunstorm wouldn't hire an unproven guy off the street." But truth be told, that's exactly what they did! I hadn't done a single thing before working there. But I think a few things played in my favor. First, I lived in Indy, just 15 minutes from their office, so it was easy for me to go in and work directly with Robert. Second, while I didn't have anything officially published, I did have a disk full of the maps I'd designed on my own, and Robert thought I showed promise. I would design at home a lot, then go into the office a couple times a week and sit with Robert while he critiqued my work and offered advice on how to improve it.

I'll be honest - I'm blown away at the number of people STILL playing these old maps we made so many years ago. I watched a couple YouTube videos of a guy playing and reviewing Duke Caribbean and Blood Cryptic Passage. His high praise of both Full House and the Opera House really made my day. It's nice to know that people enjoyed my work.

_____________________________

Thanks a lot to Bill Buchalter for taking the time to answer these questions! Thanks also for sharing... “Big City” !

A Duke Nukem 3D map he created back in the day before joining with Sunstorm Interactive which was never released before! Screenshot:

Map download:

https://msdn.duke4.net/bigcity.zip

______

External link: Duke4 forum blog megathread: https://forums.duke4.net/topic/11471-blog-interviews-of-build-engine-video-games-developers/page__pid__353013#entry353013 The forum posts Bill read, mentionned above, can be found here: https://forums.duke4.net/topic/9418-duke-caribbean-multiplayer-levels/

#build #build-engine #blood #duke nukem #redneck-rampage #duke #nukem #duke nukem 3D #video games #route 66 #caribbean life #cryptic passage

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country-club · 4 years

Text

Games #3

#1 / #2

*gif not mine* Warnings: mentions of puke and embarassment Wordcount: 1.959

> Remember Rafe owing you a tour?

Yesterday you hung out with Sarah and her friends. It was fun, though you were left with a headache. Thanks to JJ. The day went by rather quickly and around 8pm you called your friends to play a game of skribbl, an online drawing game. They updated you on what’s going on at home and your ‘ex’. Were you technically dating? You can’t say for sure. But it felt like you did. He quit talking to you a week before you left. In return, you told your friends about your newly made friends and Rafe. Do you like him? It’s too early to say. Is he cute? Yes. Picture? Haven’t got one. How old is he? He looks 18/19. Does he have any cute friends? Well, there’s Topper.

“Oooh, I can be his bottom!” One of your friends cheered.

“I’ll let him know, hon.” You replied.

“Yall I’m beating your asses. Do you want to play or talk about y/n’s boyhunt?” One of the guys asks. You finished the game and continued talking. One of your friends sent you a link over chat.

“Is this him, y/n?” She asks. You clicked it and found Rafe’s Instagram page. It only had a few pictures, the latest being one of him, Topper and another boy, tagged as Kelce.

“Yep, that’s him.” You scrolled through his pictures. Sarah had commented on one of his pictures. You tapped her name and looked through her feed as well. Not much here either. What about the other Pogues? Kiara was the only one you could find. The boys probably didn’t care much about social media. Kiara had some photos of baby turtles on the beach, a few of her looking stunning in every outfit she wore and 2 pictures with the boys. You sent the pictures to your friends.

“Ok, so Kiara is the girl, the boy on her left is John B, the one behind her is Pope and the blonde one is JJ.”

“Y/n, you have been blessed, you know that?”

“Are all the boys in Outer Banks this attractive?” Your friends asked. You nodded.

“Most of them are.”

“So, will you leave any for us?”

“I think John B and Sarah are dating, and Pope looked like he has a thing for Kiara. But I’ll introduce you for sure.”

“What’s JJ short for?”

“Yeah, and why is it John B? How many John’s can there be on an island?” You weren’t sure. You discussed possible names and theories. It was about 11pm when you said goodbye and hung up.

You walked downstairs to stretch your legs, debating whether or not you should go for a walk. Hmm, yes. You grabbed a hoodie, put on some sneakers and out you went. Putting on some music and shuffling through your playlist. The sky was clear, and you could see the moon and stars above you. Your guilty pleasure started playing and you almost bumped into a lamppost, trying not to make dance moves whilst walking. You walked past Sarah’s house and got caught in the headlights of a car on their driveway. You almost had a heart attack. Taking out the earpiece your shyly waved at whoever was inside. They turned the lights off. You saw a tall figure getting out of the car. Rafe.

“Hey, y/n. What are you doing out?”

“Hey, Rafe. What are you doing alone inside your car, on the driveway, at 11:30 at night?”

“I asked you first.” He said playfully.

“Just taking a walk.”

“I was about to head over to Kelce.” Kelce was the guy from his Instagram picture.

“Was?” Rafe laughed. You walked closer to him, so you could actually see his face and stop talking loudly outside.

“Didn’t think I would run into you.” What did he mean by that? Is he not going to go to Kelce because of you or does he-. Your thoughts were interrupted by Rafe’s voice. He must have noticed your confusion. “I believe I promised you a tour.” It took you a second to realize what he was talking about. You had asked him to show you around Outer Banks yesterday.

“Right, you owed me one.” Rafe nodded to his car and opened the door for you. You got in and pulled the door close. Rafe got in behind the wheel. He looked extremely good tonight. His hair wasn’t as slicked back as usual. It made him look softer. It wasn’t hot at all outside, yet he was still wearing shorts. What is it with boys and shorts even though it’s cold?

The two of you drove around Figure 8 for a while and continued on The Cut. Rafe didn’t talk much, so it was up to you. “Do you want to play 20 questions?” Rafe looked over to you.

“Only if we can take turns.” He said. Alright now you just had to think of a question. You still wanted to know what happened two nights ago. Who he had fought and why. It’s too forward.

“What was your favorite dinosaur as a child?” Rafe didn’t have to think about it.

“Triceratops.” He said.

“Still is, am I right?” You didn’t really ask. They are simply the best. Rafe took his time to come up with a question.

“Alright, if you could find out how you were going to die, would you want to know?” Well goodbye dinosaur talk.

“I don’t think I would. No matter how much I hate surprises, I’d rather not be scared of cars or bathrooms for the rest of my life, you know?”

“Why would you be scared of bathrooms?”

“I don’t know I once read that a ton of people have died in bathrooms. It’s where a lot of accidents happen you know.” He looked at you, a bit confused, amused and impressed.

“If you could go back in time to change something, what would it be?” Rafe sighed.

“Not using my dad’s money to buy a bike.” You wanted to ask more questions, but he wouldn’t let you. “I don’t want to talk about that.” Rafe added. He stopped the car. “Can I show the around the boneyard?” This is starting to sound like The Lion King. Elephant graveyard? You opened the car door and got outside, as did Rafe. Rafe locked the car and led you to the beach. There were tree trucks and branches around the beach. It does kind of look like a boneyard.

“What do you think is the ugliest animal in the world?” Rafe asked. Right 20 questions. Truth or dare, without the dare part. You had to think for a minute. What is the ugliest animal?

“Those birds from the Jungle Book. They scream so loud.”

“Vultures?” Yep those, you nodded. You were walking on the boneyard and couldn’t see much. You tried to be careful enough to not trip and make yourself look like a fool. The stars were still very pretty. You could see the Little Bear, it kind of looks like a saucepan. And there you go. Your foot got stuck on a tree branch. However, before you could hit the ground you could feel two arms holding you up. You stood up straight again.

“You alright?” He asked. To which you nodded.

“Yeah, just got distracted for a second. Can we sit down for a minute?” You asked. Rafe dusted away some sand off a trunk and sat down. You sat down next to him. “What is something you wish you were better at?”

Rafe looked up at the night sky. “Making my dad proud.” Why wouldn’t Ward be proud of him? “I just feel like sometimes I can’t do anything right, you know?” You nodded. Was this his soft spot, his dad? You didn’t ask any further questions, seeing as you barely knew him and the subject sounds personal. You looked up again as well. Seeing his face turning your way in the corner of your eye. You could feel his eyes on you. The moonlight was bright enough for him to see your features.

“Is there any memory you would like to erase from your mind?” You couldn’t help but laugh nervously and feel embarrassed already. “What’s so funny?” You looked at him and your eyes met. His blonde hair was getting slightly pushed around by the wind.

“What I’m about to tell you. Promise to keep it between us?” He promised. “Okay, so before moving to Outer Banks I had a boyfriend situation going on. And we were at my place after a party, where he had maybe a drink or two too many.” You sighed, feeling the redness on your face appear. “And we were about to..you know. But he couldn’t, because of the alcohol and then he threw up in my bed.” Rafe tried his best not to burst out in laughter, instead he put an arm around you. “He left after that. So, there I was, cleaning my barf-covered bed and desperately spraying deodorant through my room. We haven’t talked since and I’m not counting on it anymore either.” Rafe started rubbing your back.

“That really sucks man, I’m sorry that happened.” Did he just call you ‘man’? “It wasn’t supposed to be your first time, right?” You must look like a tomato right now.

“I believe it is my turn.” You switched the conversation. “What was your first crush like?” When the word left your mouth you felt like a 12 year old again. Rafe blew out some air.

“I think it was the babysitter we had as kids. She was really sweet and artsy, and stuff. Also really pretty, like you.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I invited her into my pillow fort to eat Cheez-its with me.”

“And?”

“She friendly declined my offer.” You burst out in laughing. “Hey, I didn’t laugh at your story.” He angrily joked, punching your arm.

“Mine was worse.”

“True.”

You softly punched him back. “Hey!” Rafe fake moaned, pretending you had hurt him.

“Aw, I’m sorry. Kiss to make it better?” Rafe pouted and nodded to you. As you were debating whether or not to kiss his arm, your phone started vibrating. It was your stepdad. “Shit.” It was already 12:30. He must’ve realized you weren’t home and you didn’t leave a note.

“What’s up?”

“It’s my stepdad, I really have to go home like right now.” You mumbled as you got up and started heading to the car.

“You gonna get into trouble?” He sounded the tiniest bit worried. Maybe you would. You had been staying out late the past three days and didn’t pick up the phone when your stepdad called. As Rafe pulled up a couple of houses before yours, you thanked him and got out. “I should walk with you, so your dad knows you weren’t out alone.” That somehow makes sense. He got out of the car as well and you speed walked to the front door. You unlocked it and walked inside. As if shot for a horror movie, your stepdad put on the living room lights.

“Y/n? Where have you been and why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Steve, I’m sorry if I made you worry. I was taking a walk and bumped into Rafe, Ward Cameron’s son-“

“I remember who Rafe is. So, he just left you to walk home on your own? Do you know what time-”

This time it was Rafe who cut your stepfather short. He had waited outside and stepped in. “I would never let y/n walk alone, sir.” Your stepdad nodded.

“Bedtime, y/n. Goodnight Rafe.”

“Goodnight.” You gave Rafe a hug, to which he wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

You walked up the stairs and called it a day.

~Taglist~

@emmalvei-blog

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx #outerbanks #imagine

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sumeshi-t · 4 years

Text

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

a/n: a three-part fic because i didn’t want it to get too long in one post. this is my first time working on an au and hinata so i hope i did him justice. beta-ed by @taeiliee iloveyou mom always <3

i. 》 ii. 》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ "Tangled with another's eyes–nevermind, you were never mine," ✧･ﾟ: *

Your fingers drummed against the table, eyes intent on the ginger sat before you. “So, what do you say?”

He looks away, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his seat. Hinata Shoyou wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous under your gaze, especially when you were the one basically asking him for a favor, “B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

When you don't respond, Hinata decides to raise his eyes to look at you—your face looks solemn, and somehow… something about it, something about you just draws him in. This time, you were the one staring outside the glass wall of the antique cafe. His heartbeat quickened, breath getting caught in his throat—

‘...beautiful,’ was the only word he could find to describe that moment, even if your eyes had a faraway look in them. Hinata knew your true wish was that this never had happened, and that you were talking to Kenma instead.

If only he never went back to the restroom.

You tried not to heave a sigh at your impulsive and brash decision, and at his innocent question. But what can you do when your life's on the line? Ten years left in your life may seem like a long time but, “It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

You had the sudden urge to cough, and, upon doing so, Hinata could only watch as your pale hands covered your mouth, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor entered his ears. There was a bit of blood that ran down your nose, and he immediately reached for a table napkin. More than guilt, it was worry that bubbled from his chest.

Even if you had explained it—this sickness—that you had, he still found it ridiculous.

You saw nothing but the disbelief in his eyes, desperate to get a grasp at this uncanny reality.

You saw yourself in them, in his constricted pupils and lids widened—reminded of the first time you discovered that you were sick with a rare disease you thought only exists in fiction.

The Hanahaki Disease, a disease acquired from garnering an unrequited love, was something that no medical doctor could cure nor control—anthosectomy, the surgical removal of flowers, was nothing but a temporary solution.

One must be loved in return to be free from it.

Apparently in your case, the disease has “mutated”. That instead of flowers or petals blooming from your lungs, money would begin to collect in them, beginning from coins and eventually into large bills as it grew worse over time.

You only discovered this fact just two, about three weeks ago, during breakfast, after a lone coin dropped into your cup of coffee, mocking you as it floated; the aftertaste of iron and aluminum on your tongue.

“Our family inheritance… came from their chest—even your mother’s.” your father muttered regrettably, with a hint of disgust, back turned to you in the study.

“I didn’t expect for you to catch the disease this early, and you’re doing so well with your current business projects,” he heaves a sigh, fingers grazing through the spines of the books, before pulling a velvet-covered hardcover, worn out from time.

“How long… has this been going on, dad? Is this some sick family tradition?! So… does this mean…?” you couldn’t even say the words—you haven’t even confessed and yet, having this disease only meant that Kozume Kenma didn’t feel the same way you did.

Finally, your father sits before you, sliding the title-less book towards you. He explains further that you read its contents—the ancestral diary—about the history and the findings made by your predecessors.

He calls for your name softly when your wide eyes never left the book in your hands. He looks over you sympathetically, “I thought that by hiding this from you, I was protecting you from harm.” Your father’s eyes squinted, wanting to reach out to you but his conscience telling him he failed you as a parent was stronger.

“But y/n, don’t give up… don’t be like them, like me,” your father says this with blood dripping from the corner of his lips, before clutching his chest, spitting bills of varying amounts out his mouth.

“I never thought ten years would pass by so quickly,”

You look at him, mortified at his pallid face, standing up in worry, going to his side. “Who…?”

With a weak smile on his lips, your father utters your mother’s name, voice just above a whisper, tender and soft at hearing her name come from his own lips.

“And I don’t regret it. Loving her is the best decision I’ve made, even if she didn’t want it.”

You spent the next week with him, until he breathed his last, inevitably leaving you to face this battle of love and pain on your own.

As if everybody’s expectations from you weren’t high enough already, now that you were alone, it skyrocketed through the roof. Even as you knelt before the portrait of your father, refusing to talk to anyone on the first day of his wake.

You heard their whispers, you knew their motives—nobody really cared about the life of a rich man, they only cared about the man’s riches. You shut down any and all talks about businesses to potential or lifelong business partners; the least they could do was respect you and let you mourn.

On the third and last night of the wake, someone unexpected came to pay his respects.

“Kenma…?”

“Hello, y/n. I…” he looks away shyly, a few strands of hair falling to cover a portion of his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to squeak out. His hand reached out to you, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, all over a black-white envelope.

Seeing Kozume Kenma in a formal suit, bun loosely tied by his nape, awkwardly scratching his cheek; you could feel the ice in your heart being slowly thawed by the scene before you. You would’ve finally smiled; you would’ve pulled him in just so you could cry out into his chest.

But you felt suffocated, and the slap of this impossible reality you couldn’t dodge stung against your bare and open heart, pulling you back and keeping you rooted in your place.

You knew his apologies were meant for condolences—but your father wasn’t the only one who died. You mourned for your own demise, wishing you could bury these hidden feelings along with his ashes and leave everything behind to start anew.

But secrets turn into regrets, and buried feelings would only grow.

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you took the plastic bag in your hands, the sensation sending sparks to your nerves. You didn’t hear yourself mutter your gratitude, only the sound of Kenma’s soft gasp. The back of his hand wiped the tear stains off your cheek, “How long have you been holding back, y/n?”

‘A long time, Kenma,’ you wished to answer, but you knew you or your words didn’t matter to him as much as you’d have liked to. Even through the tears that blurred your vision, the love in your eyes for him was clear.

Kenma awkwardly pulled you close, a hand behind your head to press your face against his chest, while his other arm remained by his side. His actions strongly reflected how he felt nothing more for you than just a friend and a board director—he didn’t even choose to hug you.

But the unheard truth didn’t stop you.

Behind the lids of your eyes, you saw little moments of joy you had shared with Kenma—maybe it all began with an inevitable meeting in your office, unlike the usual video conferences he would attend. Working with someone your age with the same prospects and visions was rare for you in the world of business—you mused, this feeling was mutual.

Then the meetings became less about business, and more for just the heck of it.

You daydreamed about him, seeing his smile from the corner of your eyes when you were alone. His intelligence was a given, so maybe it was his soft-spoken, honest nature; or the way he was athletic even if he stayed in his house majority of the time.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Because really, it was more of feeling so at peace when you were with him. You couldn’t hold back being yourself when you were with Kozume Kenma because despite hiding behind several secret doors you’ve put up all your life, the scrutiny of his sharp, cat-like eyes opened each of them, finding you over and over.

You didn’t want to lose that sense of familiarity. So, you chose to ignore the signs that you were indeed falling for him. And by doing so, your life was now reduced to a mere ten more years, caught at crossroads, burdened with making the decision between continuing your family’s horrible legacy or carving out your own place in his heart and have him learn to love you.

The words of your father echoed in your head.

And it bounced off your lips, “Kenma… please stay, just a bit longer,”

“Kenma, are you he—oh?”

Hinata Shoyou peeks from behind the corner, checking if he didn’t get lost in your family’s large home. His presence made you shy away from Kenma, clearing your throat before the ginger-haired man was introduced to you.

He offered you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, fitting for the shade of his hair and contrasting the dark hues of his clothes. “Kenma and I go way back, he actually sponsors me!” his cheeks were dusted pink, both embarrassed and excited. “Now I play for a team in Division 1,”

‘Ah, he’s that kind of person,’ was your initial thought. Hinata Shoyou seemed so easy to read, pure and unadulterated intentions out in the open for everyone to see. What’s fascinating was that he makes it seem so easy to not let that be a vulnerability.

Spending a few hours with someone whose energy was bigger than him—cliché as it sounds, but it was akin to standing beneath the rays of the sun. Hinata Shoyou radiates warmth upon your frozen heart, even if for just a moment.

It was a different kind of peace. And you looked forward to seeing more of his large smiles.

Just… not this soon.

Maybe it was fate playing tricks on you. The timing was quite impeccable.

Kenma went ahead first, Hinata had to go to the restroom. Soon as you stood up to see him out, you cough, coins falling to the floor. One of them finds its way towards Hinata, rolling and stopping when it hits his foot.

“Oh? Lucky!” he picks it up, hears more coins hitting the floor that he has to look for the source. Hinata sees your back hunched over, money around your feet. As he was approaching you, he said sheepishly, “y/n-san, is this yours? I was about to take it—!”

“y-y/n…y/n-san… are you… okay?”

Hinata flinched as you glared at him, voice seething, words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell Kenma.”

Hinata nods once, pocketing the coin he had in his hand on instinct, before scurrying away.

You let the incident pass, as you had the cremation and burial to worry about in the meantime. But a few days after, all it takes you is a phone call to Kenma and a few texts to Hinata—which leads you to the present wherein you and the athlete agree to meet at a café.

“Now that you know, here’s the deal I’m offering you, Hinata-san. I’ll sponsor you in exchange for your silence. And…” you take a sip from your coffee, watching him from over the rim of the cup. Hinata was uneasy, confused, and shocked at the illness you had. It was as if he were in a volleyball game, forced to take in so many things at once.

“Hinata-san, go out with me. Let’s date. What do you say?”

“E-Eh…?! B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

“It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

Hinata stood quickly, contemplating just how he was going to help. He has to bite the cheeks of his mouth, looking over you with worry as hundred and five hundred yen coins spilled from you. You felt his hands slightly shaking when he gave you the table napkin, and in return you motion for him to take a drink so he could calm down.

“Sorry about that—so, do you agree to be my boyfriend? If you need time to think of a response, I can give you two days, because I have to go in a few minutes,” you say this, looking at your wristwatch while slowly gathering your things.

“y/n-san,” Hinata began, still standing by your side, looking down to meet your gaze. “I… I agree. Because I want to help you in any way I can, just to give back, with how generous you are and… because you don’t deserve this. But why does it have to be me?”

His words struck something within you, but then your own sorrows blocked him out. “Your timing was just perfectly terrible. I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems, Hinata-san.”

Hinata felt his pulse quicken at how you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. His unease somehow was replaced by something. But your next words broke his trance, “There is only one condition that you have to follow,”

With a smile that never reached your eyes, Hinata feels his own heart break at how you were like a broken porcelain doll, red lips moving so easily to convey words, convey the one law you’ve forced him to follow and would eventually break—

“Never fall in love with me.”

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @kawanisshi @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses

gen. taglist: @yams046

#cheese cult fic event #hanahacheese #cheese cult #hinata shoyou #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata x reader #hinata hanahaki au #hinata shoyou fluff #hinata shoyou crack #hinata shoyou angst #hinata shoyou x you #kozume kenma #kozume kenma x you #kozume kenma x reader #hanahaki au #haikyuu hanahaki au #haikyuu hanahaki

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ravenforce · 4 years

Text

Ithaca Pt. 2

Word Count: 2031

Warning/s: None

A/N: Hey loves, a deal is a deal. You got part one to over a hundred notes, so here’s part two. Natasha’s playing a huge part on this arc. So, I thought it’ll be good for you to get to know her in this alternate universe. Let me know what you think of it in my inbox or the comment section. Xx

PS. If there are any grammatical mistakes I’ve still overlooked, I apologize.

Parts: 1 | 3 | 4 | 5

***

5:30 AM

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table reads. She blinked twice at it before sighing. She woke up earlier than her alarm again, not that she’s actually excited to go to school. Today, she’s actually supposed to tour the new transfer student, which is, by the way, is not her job as the Student Council President but Clint is out of commission for the week for some Intercollegiate archery competition in Washington DC. So, as President, she had to step in and do it.

‘At least, this is gonna be different from yesterday’, she thought to herself as she rolls out of bed.

Living in Ithaca since she’s a child meant Natasha knew the city like the back of her hand, knew almost every single family in town and went to school with the same kids since the beginning of her existence. It also meant being friends with founding family kids like the Odinsons, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, and Steve Rogers since forever ago. She was the only girl in their group until Carol Danvers moved in when they were eight. Maria transferred to their school and was easily adapted to their crew when they were thirteen. The last addition to their gang was Valkyrie and Wanda, who migrated somewhere from Europe when they’re fifteen.

Six years after, a new person arrives in Ithaca. The school didn’t give her a lot of information regarding the new student, only that it is a woman and Stark level intelligent. She tried to dig up info on her own, and thankfully she didn’t have to go far for a source since apparently the new girl is close friends with Tony and best friends with Maria. Maria is one busy nerd to track down though, and they don’t share a lot of classes together. So, Natasha wasn’t able to get too many details from her aside from a departing comment.

“Relax, Nat. She’s amazing; smart but not obnoxious like Tony,” Maria said before practically running towards her next class. She considers herself pretty intrigued.

‘How can someone be as smart as Tony and not be obnoxious? That sounds like an oxymoron,’ Natasha thought to herself.

***

6:00 AM

Natasha is the only founding family kid who liked being awake at the wee hours of the morning. She likes getting ahead of everybody, and she thinks better when the world is still asleep. So, being in school at the crack of dawn isn’t new too for anyone. Even the groundskeepers let her nowadays.

“Good Morning, Miss Romanoff,” the old security lady at the studio greeted her.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Miller,” Natasha smiled before logging in her credentials.

“Early start today?” Mrs. Miller asked politely and jovially.

“Yes, Clint is away for a tournament. So I have to give the grounds tour to the transfer student later,” Nat explained with a smile. Mrs. Miller didn’t respond and just waved Natasha inside.

Natasha’s been doing ballet ever since she can remember. At first, she was doing it because her family wanted her to and all of the founding family children are doing one extracurricular activity every after school. Thor has been sailing since he learned how to walk, Loki, on the other hand, preferred fencing. Clint tried equestrian for awhile but his heart and talents were really in archery. Steve got so good in lacrosse that he ended up with a sports scholarship playing one. Tony chose chess because he deemed contact sports barbaric; he believes the battle of the wits is better than a physical brawl, which Steve always take as an offense.

Being the only girl in their group, Natasha decided that ballet is her yoga. The boys know not to come within a hundred yards of the studio whenever Natasha’s practicing. Ballet has become Natasha’s sanctuary away from the noise and the usual ruckus of the boys. She shed everything inside the studio but today, Natasha finds it nearly impossible to focus on the movements and the music. Her thoughts keep drifting to the conversation she had with Tony the day prior about the new student.

“Nat, what are you fuzzing about? It’s just a school tour,” Tony complained. He was tinkering around his home lab when Natasha arrived and being a regular visitor, she was allowed to roam and look for Tony herself.

“I just wanna know what she looks like. So I know who to look for in the morning crowd,” she whined.

Tony put his stuff down, pull the safety goggles off his face and looked at his friend. If Nat has been any other girl, she would have melted in the way Tony was looking at her.

“Oh, trust me, you won’t miss her,” Tony said simply before smiling and walking out of his lab. “She’s breathtaking, in more ways than just physical.”

Natasha groaned and scrambled to follow her friend and bug him for more information.

***

7:00 AM

Natasha cut her practice short since she couldn’t focus. She showered and got ready in record time. She was leaning against the handrail of the front steps of the school, scrolling through her Instagram feed when she looked up and saw a face she didn’t know. Her fingers hovered over her phone mid-swipe, thankfully she had enough grace at that moment not to have her mouth hanging open as she gaped at the transfer student. She’s wearing a very preppy outfit, which wasn’t really Natasha’s style or the style girls she usually goes after but something about this girl that makes her stomach flutter with nervous butterflies.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, all trace of her nervousness gone when the girl came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Who’s asking?” the girl asked.

Natasha watched the girl take her in. She reined in the urge to squirm under the Y/N’s eyes. For God’s sake, she’s Natasha Romanoff. Various girls all over town wants her, she’s by no means gonna squirm under a stranger’s beautiful eyes.

“Natasha Romanoff. Student Council President,” she introduced herself confidently to take back control. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Natasha smirked as the new girl blushed profusely before smiling up at her. “Pleasure is all mine,” she said.

‘Breathtaking is an understatement’ she thought to herself when she saw Y/N’ smile. Natasha’s not a sap, she doesn’t plan on being one but at that moment, she thought she’d do anything to make you smile at her every day.

“I’m here to give you the grounds tour,” Natasha explained before pulling the door open and prompting you to walk with her.

Usually, when she had to cover grounds tour for Clint, Natasha almost always wraps it up under forty-five minutes. She just points which buildings houses which classes, where the important areas are such as the library and the mess hall. Today, with you by her side, Natasha found herself giving her first, in-depth school tour. Literally giving out facts and even stupid trivia when she remembers it.

Natasha walked as leisurely as possible to prolong her time with you but she knew you have a 9 AM class. And she might not be as nerdy as Tony but she’s not gonna skip class, let alone make you on your first day of school.

***

8:30 AM

Natasha’s one of the quiet ones in her crew that’s why she get along spectacularly with Maria. Both of you filled the walk towards the art building with polite small talk about which classes you two take, how you finished a degree at eighteen and in one of the toughest schools in the country at that, and how you’re friends with Maria and Tony. God, Natasha didn’t want the tour to end. She didn’t want you to stop talking, which is new because Natasha finds it annoying when people don’t know when to shut up. She wants to get to know you more.

Her heart sunk a little when she caught you discreetly glancing at your watch but by the number of kids watching the two of you in the hallway, she knew that class is fast approaching. She decided to be a little playful.

“Oh,” Natasha gasped and frowned. “Am I boring you?” she asked quietly.

“What?!” you exclaimed, earning a few curious looks from students in the hallway.

Natasha watched the emotions play out across your face, and she thought you’re even more fascinating. She’s been friends all her life with Tony, another Mensa student, another genius. She thought you’d be obnoxiously cool and a little indifferent like him but in the past hour and a half, Natasha found you brilliant but not condescending, warm, and empathetic.

“No, no, you’re not boring. I was just wondering if I’m allowed to skip the first period on my first day of school because this is by far the coolest school tour I’ve ever done,” you rambled on.

Natasha couldn’t help but grin. If she paid attention to anyone else other than you, she would have noticed several students openly gawking at the toothy smile on her face. Natasha’s reputation was not built on being chummy with just anyone, especially new kids. But she wasn’t looking, she could only look at you. She will be caught dead before she admits to having a school girl crush at first meet but at that moment, in that crowded hallway, she decided she definitely likes you. She just has to find out if she has a fighting chance.

“You’re cute when you ramble,” she said matter-of-factly. “And no, you’re not allowed to skip the first period because you’re here.”

“Oh,” you said before glancing at the classroom door.

Natasha took a step towards you and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “See you later, Y/L/N,” she said slowly, watching the blush crept up from your neck before dusting your cheeks.

‘Beautiful, so beautiful,’ she thought before turning on her heels and gracefully walking away.

“Blushing doesn’t mean she’s gay. Maybe she’s just the shy type, I can work with that,” she murmured to herself while walking to her classroom. She looked up when she heard soft muttering in front of her.

“Danvers!” she growled. Carol’s pressing a girl between her toned body and the wall.

Carol didn’t even have to look to know who it is that interrupted her. She knows that voice anywhere. “Tasha,” she said sweetly.

Natasha didn’t smile, she only continued to glare until the girl pushed Carol away and scrambled to get to her classroom. Carol swipe a hand through her hair before turning towards her friend. Natasha glanced at her watch.

“You’re ten minutes late already,” Nat started. “And your class is on the other side of the campus.”

Carol ignored the fact that Natasha still knows her schedule. She walked towards the redhead until she’s toe to toe with Natasha. Natasha didn’t step back, she’s used to Carol always invading her personal space.

“I got that class in the bag, Tasha. Relax,” Carol whispered before leaning in, kissing Natasha close to her mouth, and running away.

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samtheflamingomain · 3 years

Text

kits these days

So the people who make the Sims 4 must've been listening when I went on a rant to my friend about how they should make separate packs for CAS, building and gameplay like a month ago, because today they did it.

For context: for the entirety of the Sims 4, we've had 3 kinds of packs: Expansion ($40, huge gameplay and catalogue additions), Game ($30ish, moderate additions) and Stuff (stuff). It's always sucked for me (exclusively a builder, never play) because if I want those nice living room pieces from an Expansion Pack, baby that's $40 for a nice rug and sofa.

But now... introducing... KITS! $5 apiece, they come in CAS, gameplay and building, and I'm over the damn moon.

Let me first say that I do understand why people may not be pleased with this announcement. If you are a game player or a Sim maker, you may very well want all 3 of the kits released today (90s fitness outfits, vacuums, and a kitchen set). But I really think this is a positive move forward.

Even if you want all 3 kits, that's $15. Slightly more than a stuff pack. But think of it from both the casual simmers' point of view (who buys packs very selectively, has less than 10) and the builders' point of view (who've been paying out the ASS for items because they come bundled with stupid gameplay additions they don't care about). Why anybody on planet Earth would want MORE chores for their Sims to do (*cough*Laundry Day*cough*) is beyond me, thus cutting out vacuuming. And even if I did make Sims, to me the clothing kit is butt-ugly as shit. I would PAY five dollars for EA to remove these items (and the vacuums) from my game.

But to each their own. And to mine? That. Fuckin. Kitchen.

Beautiful. Perfect. Everything I've ever wanted in a kitchen set. I would've paid $40 for an expansion I didn't want if it came with even just one of those GORGEOUS counters.

But now, I don't have to add 5gigs of gameplay that collects dust on my harddrive. I can mainline those countertops right into my veins for 5 fuckin dollars. And that's what I call effective marketing.

EA has tried. They've tried so hard to make packs to satisfy everyone. But no pack is without its passionate, hate-filled critics. I am that hate-filled critic on MOST occasions, because, and I believe this to my core, they fucked up the Pack system from Day One.

Seriously. Camping Stuff or whatever it was called was our first DLC. It took us nearly 6 years to get University. EA was not listening from the beginning. Then they started to listen, and gave us what, apparently, everyone just had to have: Laundry and Knitting. I'm sorry but y'all are fuckin BORING.

I know it's going to be an unpopular opinion, but for a lot of us, Kits are a lifesaver. No longer will I be forced to shell out $40 for that which should cost $5. I understand why they didn't do this for the big packs, but if you think about it and extracted items/CAS/gameplay from each pack, it would probably have been much cheaper over the years to buy what you want if they'd done it like this from the beginning.

One more thing. Downloadability. This is a huge problem for Simmers as it is. The Lilsimsies and Deligracies of the world get all the packs for free, and often use many, many packs in their builds. Add in kits? That could be a nightmare. Download a house and they used the entire kitchen kit you don't have? Here's a shitty EA kitchen instead.

So while I do understand its detractors, I must say that I personally will benefit from Kits, but I think a lot of others will as well. We'll see how it goes.

Stay Greater, Flamingos

#sims 4 #the sims #sims #sims 4 kits #sam #simblr

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barisifictionarchive · 4 years

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Author: Juniperhoot

Preferred Name: Jenny

Have any events in your personal life ever influenced the things that you've written? Absolutely. STRAP IN.

Sometimes I rework something that happened to me, or to someone I know, and use it as a template for filling in personal details. See also: Carisi’s tale of molten aluminum burning holes in his ma’s kitchen flooring. That’s something that actually happened to me (well, it happened to my second husband, who got distracted while playing CounterStrike and let the pan boil dry). In one of my Stony stories, Steve tells Tony about a comforting gesture he learned from his mother - three squeezes of the hand, to silently say “I love you.” That’s something I learned from my Mema.

Beyond those bits of color, there are things that have made their way into my writing that come directly from my experiences. My interest in Sonny as a queer Catholic who once considered the religious life is something deeply personal to me, because that was my life, too. Even though I’m an atheist now, the church still holds some fascination for me, and I’m keenly interested in people who find a way to walk that line, and retain some belief while also retaining their autonomy and sense of self. The way I write Sonny is, in many ways, the way I think I would be, if I still believed. Okay, if I still believed AND were also a tall, noodly, bisexual man.

The way I write Rafael’s overthinking interior life is partly me, partly the things I’ve observed in people I’ve loved. The carefully chosen words, the moments of retreating from revealing too much of himself, the guardedness and tendency toward self-preservation that comes from growing up in an abusive home… all very relatable and possibly part of why I mostly write from his perspective, even though I generally consider myself more like Sonny. The shadows in Rafael’s heart are in my heart, too. My empathy is built on those shadows.

I wrote a Stony breakup fic years ago during a difficult time in my life. I’d reached a point where I had to remove some people from my life, because my priorities and theirs were so radically divergent. It felt like a big breakup. It reopened some feelings from my second divorce, and compounded what I was going through with another more recent breakup. Somehow, I used the pain and disillusionment of all that to write about two dudes in love, who found themselves in a crisis of trust and faith in one another. Of course, I also wrote them coming back together, and the work it takes to do that, because in my heart, I want to see good people work things out, if possible. And at least in my story, and in the way I view both of those characters, they ARE good people. In real life, some people really do need to be cut loose, when their values are wholly incompatible with your own. Some relationships can’t be mended. Some friendships turn out to be mostly one-sided. But hey, if they can be mined for material, they were worth it, right?

I’m in a less volatile emotional space these days, so my fics tend to reflect that. I’m the queen of domesticity and cute banter, and love that I’m getting to explore the quieter side of drama. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth saying again. It’s not all slamming doors and WE’RE THROUGH!, you know? There’s a marvelous sense of drama in the ways we try to negotiate cohabitation, or meeting the families of our romantic partners. There’s drama in supporting one another’s goals and ideals. At least, I think there is? And I hope my stories achieve that.

Do you have a favorite movie? I have a few, and they’re very different movies, because they reflect different aspects of my heart.

Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985) is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen, and it still makes me laugh, 35 years after its release. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen it. The stupid characters, the kitschy aesthetic, the score… it’s so very silly. I love it.

Singin’ in the Rain (1952) is, in my opinion, the most perfect Hollywood movie musical of all time. Everything about it works. The entire cast is outrageously talented, and attractive, and the songs are all memorable. The title song and dance routine never fails to elicit chills and a thrill of giddy joy in my heart. When Gene Kelly does that spin in the street, with the umbrella held out before him like a dance partner? Aaaaaiiiieeee. This is the movie that makes me wish I could dance.

A Room With A View (1985) is the sort of quiet, clever, understated romantic (in every sense of the word) movie I turn to again and again. It’s a gorgeous adaptation of a really smart, surprising book that left a mark on me when I first encountered it in high school. The score is lush and inviting, the cast is beautiful (and oh, those costumes!), the script is just fucking delicious, and of course, the scenery, from Florence to Kent, is exquisite. Plus, we get interplay between sincere humanism (the Emersons), religious belief (the Reverends Beebe and Eager), and the religious-by-default stances of so many of the other characters, whose participation in the religious life of the community seems to be more for societal expectations than anything else. It’s just beautiful, and one of the only movies I urge everyone to sit through to the very end, not because there’s a post-credits scene, but because the closing track that plays over the credits is fantastic.

Who is your favorite author? E.M. Forster, partly because of what I said above about A Room With A View. The novel is short, but crammed with interesting ideas and engaging dialogue. He has a unique voice that spoke to me as a teenager, and my appreciation for his writing has only increased over the many years since. Read Howards End. Read Maurice. Read Where Angels Fear to Tread. Read A Passage to India. But start with A Room With A View.

I know a lot of people would say Howards End is his masterpiece, and they’re probably right about that, but I’m telling you, the book that has meant the most to me over the years is A Room With A View. I’ve kept a copy of it with me since I first read it in 1985, and it’s traveled with me from Minnesota to Seattle and back again. Lucy Honeychurch’s ongoing muddle is something I’ve lived, and survived, and it means more to me every time I read the book. More than anything, it’s a book about authenticity vs hypocrisy, and that just fucking speaks to me, you know?

How did you start getting involved in fanfiction? Several years ago, I read a Sherlock fic called “The Road Less Traveled.” It was during the long, painful, post-Reichenbach Fall hiatus between series 2 and 3, and I found myself looking for something to read that would fill the gap. I’d never had much interest in fanfic before, but this thing did something to me.

I didn’t start writing fanfic until I saw an episode of Supernatural that I found upsetting. (Don’t get me started…) I started writing a little thing to try to fix the stupidity. I wrote a couple of things, but the show did everything in its power to kill my interest in it, so I drifted away. (That said, I am very proud of my short Destiel Christmas fic, which I still think is very cute and makes me wish things had played out differently.)

From there, I started writing Stony (Steve/Tony, mostly based on the MCU, but with some elements of various Marvel comics I’ve read over the years). I wrote several things in that fandom, and most of it was extremely stupid, but there are bits and pieces that I’m still rather fond of. I still want to finish my long fic that’s been gathering dust for a couple of years now. Oops.

How did you get involved with Barisi? Barisi is probably the first fandom that I’ve written for that really seemed to embrace me and encourage me to keep doing this. A friend of mine has been watching SVU forever, and would reference things occasionally on chat while she was watching it. (See also: SEX PARTY MEASLES BABY, an intriguing statement that I didn’t actually understand for YEARS.) I started watching SVU off and on, a few episodes here or there, sometime in 2018. I started at the beginning, and worked my way through the whole thing. When I started it, I was mostly in it for Olivia Benson. But I knew Raúl Esparza had been on the show at some point, and at the time, I was in the “oh, I think I remember seeing him in something, he’s good” camp.

It wasn’t until I got to season 14 that I lost my mind over the show. Rafael Barba is one of the greatest characters ever written for tv, and I’m so thrilled he came along and blew my frickin’ mind. My appreciation for Raúl Esparza went through the roof, and it made me go look for him in other things, which fed into my spiraling appreciation.

Fast forward to season 16. Sonny Carisi walks in, and is… a beautiful, mustachioed mess. I love him from the moment I see him, and I say, “Oh shit, this is the love of Rafael Barba’s life, isn’t it?” This is even before they’ve shared a scene. This is before they’ve blatantly checked each other out. This is just me recognizing the potential, and craving it. Then he shaves that stache and starts dressing better, and he’s shadowing Barba and they’re working cases together and Barba’s being KIND TO HIM? COME ON.

Naturally, I started thinking about writing them. And it wasn’t coming from a place of “I need to fix this episode” or “I need to work out a recent trauma” driving me. It was just “ugh, they have an amazing dynamic and I want to explore it and I want to see what their home life would look like.” That’s how I ended up writing Carisi’s Goddamn Legs. Suddenly I was being bombarded with thoughtful comments from readers. In one such comment, Maxi (mforpaul) asked me where I could be reached on other platforms, and messaged me privately about the story, and made a big deal out of tracking me down on Twitter, introducing me to the rest of the fandom. And that fandom turned out to be filled with really amazing people, who think about big issues like justice and queerness and representation. Those same people are also wonderfully silly and down to earth. The power of this fandom!

What inspires you to write? Lots of things. Life, because it is weird and messy and wonderful. My closest friend, who is a springboard for a lot of my nonsense, is always eager for me to write something new. My love of a ridiculous turn of phrase. The quest for dialogue that sounds in-character and natural. Sometimes, it’s just the seed of an idea, a thought that won’t leave me alone, like, “I bet a short king would be obsessed with those long, noodly legs.” Because I, a short queen, am similarly obsessed.

Sometimes, when the writing fever is upon me, it’s hard to sleep, hard to think of anything other than the story I’m working on. I just want to get it all out and done. If I’m writing something that I really enjoy, or feel very closely connected to, I physically tremble as I write. When that happens, I know I’m on the right track, and I don’t want to stop writing. I just want to inhabit that space, and wallow in that feeling.

What is your favorite fic that you have written? Carisi's Goddamn Legs is really something. The pining, the uncertainty, the slowly dawning realization, but most of all, that scene at Lorenzo’s, where it all comes to a head and the way it creeps to the edge of intimacy and then is interrupted by Lorenzo and a retreat to the casual, only to be sent right back to the edge… I’ve re-read the damn thing several times since I wrote it, and that scene gets to me every time. I really like it a lot. I like the dynamic between them so very much, and the way the truth tumbles out of Carisi literally makes me shake.

What is your favorite quote from a fic of yours? Ooh, yikes, this is hard. I have a couple of lines I really like. One is short, one is longer. Just like Barisi.

One of them (from Carisi's Goddamn Legs ) was something I gave to Olivia, as she tries to counsel Rafael on his worries that his emotional armor isn’t protecting him the way it used to.

“Wear and tear, I guess. Armor was never meant to be worn all the time.”

It’s a line that means something to me, personally, because I spent a substantial chunk of my life in armor, hiding who I was and trying to settle for “the best you can expect” rather than my actual heart’s desire. When I dismantled that wall, things got chaotic for a while, but I also realized I was capable of emotional depths and soaring heights I didn’t think possible for me. It’s something that the Jenny of today wants to whisper (or shout) at the Jenny of 25-30 years ago, and it’s that part of me that relates to Rafael’s journey from a lifetime of SHIELDS UP! to embracing vulnerability and intimacy. (I actually really like that whole scene between them, because I love their friendship and think it’s beautiful, and crave more of that dynamic. Platonic intimacy is gorgeous, and woefully underappreciated in most entertainment. I could go on for hours about that, but I won’t. Not right now, anyway.)

And from Staten Island Serenade, this passage of Rafael gazing at a sleeping Sonny really gets to me.

“As hard as it was some days, Rafael knew without question he wanted to be right here with him, because Sonny was worth the effort. He was a bewildering mess of contradictions and weirdness, too smart for his own good but capable of saying the most ridiculous shit Rafael had ever heard. Somehow everything about him was beautiful, and inspired something in Rafael that felt pure, and almost holy, or would be if he believed in holiness. Like Cymon of old, transformed in every way by the exquisite sight of sleeping Iphigenia, Rafael found himself similarly transformed; ennobled by the nearness of Sonny Carisi, someone so decent, so kind, so truly beautiful inside and out that it would have been a sacrilege not to strive to be a better man.”

What is your personal favorite fanfic?

Again with the hard questions. I don’t even know where to begin. I honestly can’t point to ONE and say, “This is it! THE FAVE.” I’m so sorry I’m not able to narrow down my faves on anything. I’m terrible at this.

There are several Sherlock fics that I’ve read and re-read over the years, which I think really nailed their voices and their characters, and gave me things to think about. The Road Less Traveled will always be a favorite of mine, because it was the first, and because it is beautiful.

Pass Here And Go On by abogadobarba hits all the right notes for me. It rocketed to the top of my list the moment I read it. I’ve read it about ten times so far. I am ridiculous.

So Far in a Few Blocks by PhillyStrega is one of the only AUs I’ve ever read and loved. I’m not really an AU person, but shut UP, I love this story.

You Made Them Feel Like They Had the Devil Inside Them by cypress_tree really got to me. It’s about one of those issues that hits very close to home, and I think it’s a beautifully-written story about something that matters.

Anything else you would like to add?

I just want to say how much I love this fandom. I love my fellow inhabitants of Barisi Nation. I love that I get to obsess over things like the intersections of faith and queerness and humanism and sex and domesticity and justice and goodness. Even if nobody else wanted to read my stories, I think I’d still be over here, writing like mad, because I love these characters and it’s a genuine joy for me to spend time in their heads. But gosh, it’s gratifying to know the hours I spend on this silliness actually pay off for other people, too. I love hearing from people who’ve read my stories and found something meaningful in them, or giggled at something ridiculous Sonny said, or thought a sex scene was… well, anyway. You know.

I’m so grateful to get to do this. And I appreciate the hell out of all you lovely humans. You make me happy.

#barisi #Author of the month #Author recommendation #Juniperhoot

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fallen-imagine-angel · 5 years

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Arranged Marriages & Forbidden Love - Prologue

Notes: Here it is, my beloved prologue of AM&FL! I’m so excited for you guys to read it. I really hope you like it because I had a ton of fun writing it. Let me know what you think!

Series Summary: You are a Stark. You are to be married to Harley, who will take over the company if you ever die a tragic and untimely death. So what happens when you find the love of your life along the way?

Arranged Marriages & Forbidden Love - Prologue

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 2,450

Warnings: Brief description of a mugging, there’s not much Peter in this.

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

You look up at your dad, Tony Stark, with wide eyes. He’s talking to a woman around his age, maybe a little younger, you can’t tell. Whatever they’re talking about, though, seems important.

A little boy peeks out from behind his mother’s legs, the woman your father is talking to. He walks up to you.

“Hi...I’m Harley.” He grins.

“I’m (Y/n)!” You giggle.

“Do you want to be my friend?” He asks, suddenly nervous. You nod.

“Yeah! Do you want to come and see my toys?” You grab his arm and run with him to your room. You show him your room with all of your tech gadgets your father has given you to play with throughout the years. Truth is, you’re a genius already, thanks to your dad.

“(Y/n)?” Tony walks into the room.

“Daddy!” You launch yourself into his arms. He picks you up and twirls you around in the air.

“Hey, munchkin. Can you and I have a chat real quick?” He asks, setting you on his hip. You nod innocently.

“Only if it’s a rousing discussion about truth, honor, and patriotism.” You giggle. He laughs.

“I see you’ve been hanging out with your uncle Loki a bit too much. Did he show you his impression of uncle Steve?” He taps your nose jokingly. You giggle and nod.

“Yup! And his impression of you, too!” You laugh. He smiles and sets you down once you’re alone.

“That’s all fun, (Y/n/n), but...there is something serious I need to talk to you about.” His face falls from the smile it once held.

“Oh...okay.” You frown, waiting for the worst.

“Well, uh, I know you’re only eight, but...that boy you just met is going to be your husband one day.” He explains slowly. You make a face.

“Husband? That’s ridiculous! I’m never getting married!” You giggle, sticking your tongue out. He chuckles lightly.

“Well, that’s funny, darling. You’ll want to eventually, I think. It’ll be Harley when you do. I’ll explain it more as you get older but for now, that’s all you need to know.” He pats your head. You scrunch your nose up and giggle, running out of the room. Tony sighs and watches you go, knowing you’ll be more defiant in the matter as you grow up.

You run back to your room and see Harley sitting on the floor, one of the tech pieces in his hands.

“Harley!” You grin and grab your own piece of technology. He looks up at you curiously.

“My mommy said that you’re gonna be my wife.” Harley tilts his head to the side, blinking his wide eyes as he stares at you.

“That’s what my dad said, too. That means we’ll be best friends forever!” You yell, dissolving into a giggling fit with him.

“Yeah, I guess so! It won’t be bad!” He nods joyously.

“Are you gonna stay here? With me and my dad in the tower?” You gasp, a smile lighting up your young face.

“Mhm. Mommy said she’ll come to visit me a lot but I’ll live here.” He nods. You tackle him in a hug.

“Yay! Best friends forever!” You hug his neck. He laughs and hugs you back.

You think back on that day a lot.

That was a long time ago, you’re surprised you even remember it. You hear the TV in the background, a clip of your father at a press conference showing up on the news.

“Mr. Stark, is your daughter a superhero?”

“What? No! Are you crazy? I would never involve her in such a dangerous business.”

“You heard it here first, folks. Obsidian cannot be (Y/n) Stark--”

“(Y/n/n), you there?” Your dad snaps in front of your face.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I got...lost in thought.” You shake yourself out of it, getting back in the zone.

“I told you that since you’re fifteen now, I’m going to start letting you go on patrol with the other fifteen-year-old I recruited recently. I feel like you two are strong enough to fight crime together. And if not, call me. Understand?” He asks, giving you a pointed look. You nod.

“Yes, sir.” You mockingly salute him.

“Good. I’ll see you later tonight after your patrol. And remember, nothing more than muggings and the occasional small robbery, got it? If you see anything bigger than that happening, call me.” He instructs. You nod again.

“Got it, dad. Who is this boy anyway?” You keep from yawning. You’re just ready to go on your first patrol without your dad.

“Spider-Man is his name. I’ll let you guys decide whether or not you want to know each other’s true identities.” He waves his hand flippantly. You grin.

“Great! I’ll see you later, dad!” You kiss his cheek pull your mask on, jumping out the window.

“Hey, are you Obsidian?” A boy climbs on the side of the tower, close to the window you just jumped out of. You have small jets of fire coming out of the hands and feet of your black spandex-like suit, similar to the suit style of the boy in front of you.

“Yeah, you Spider-Man?” You ask. He nods.

“Yup, that’s me. It’s good to finally meet you. Mr. Stark was going on and on about the teen superhero I’d be working with.” The eyes on his mask go wide.

“Yeah, he kept talking about you, too. Question is, do we want to know each other’s identity?” You ask.

“No, let’s keep it a secret. It’s more ominous that way.” He jokes.

“I agree, but for a different reason. I think it keeps our superhero personas different from our normal lives. More separated, you know?” You offer. He thinks about it for a second then nods.

“Yeah, you’re right. The vote is unanimous, we stay anonymous!” You can tell he’s smiling under his mask.

“Are you just trying to show off with big words?” You laugh.

“Me? Showing off? Never.” He puts a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended.

“Right. Never.” You nod and wink, falling into a fit of laughter. You can tell that you’re going to work well with this guy.

“I know you two are still out there on the side. Get to patrolling!” Your dad calls from inside, through the window you just jumped out of.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark!” Spider-Man apologizes and the two of you are off into the night.

~+~

After an entire night of patrolling and fighting small crimes, you and Spider-Man are both heading back to the tower for the night.

You hear a cry for help on the way.

“Help me!” A teenage girl’s voice is heard in a back alley. You and Spider-Man jump into action, flying (or swinging in his case) into the alley.

You land and see a girl around your age getting mugged. You and Spider-Man quickly go to stop the attackers. There’s two of them, you each get one.

You charge at the one you choose and kick him to the ground. Spider-Man takes the other.

The man you chose gets back up and grabs your arm, yanking you closer to him. He grabs your mask and rips it off your head. In a dash, you’ve grabbed it back and put it on again. The man didn’t see who you were.

But, according to the girl’s expression, she saw exactly who you were.

You end the fight soon after, your anger getting to you. You shove the guy to the ground and shoot a tranquilizer dart at him from your wrist.

He’s out cold.

“Done.” Spider-Man rubs his hands together as if he were getting rid of dust.

“Perfect, we’re through then.” You hand the girl back her purse.

“Are we going to ignore the fact that I just saw that you’re (Y/n) St--”

“Spider-Man, can you give us a second?” You interrupt her, knowing that she’s already ruined your identity to Spider-Man.

“Holy crap, Obsidian, you’re Tony’s daughter?” Spider-Man gasps. You groan.

“Don’t say a word about it to anyone, Spidey. Got it?” You growl.

“I won’t, I swear. Do you want to know who I am?” He asks, almost like he’s returning a favor.

“No. This girl already knows my identity, why add yours?” You deadpan.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” His eyes on the mask narrow.

“I’m Michelle Jones, by the way. My friends call me MJ.” She introduces herself.

“Nice to meet you, MJ. Are you headed home?” You ask. She nods.

“Uh, yeah, I was but...I’m not feeling very safe anymore.” She jokes, but you can tell she’s slightly serious about what she’s saying.

“We can walk you home if you want.” Spider-Man offers. She shakes her head, insisting she’ll be fine.

“You can stay with me at the Avengers Compound tonight. It’s less than a two-minute flight from here, I can take you. I’ll take you to your apartment tomorrow morning.” You suggest.

“Are you...serious?” MJ raises her eyebrows, thinking that no one like you would associate with a girl like her.

“Completely. Plus, you seem cool. And you already know my identity so there’s nothing to hide.” You shrug. She nods.

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” She plays it cool. Inside, she’s a bit more excited than she lets on.

“Great. See you tomorrow night for patrol, Spider-Man.” You say your goodbyes and before you know it, you’re flying MJ back to the Avengers compound.

“Kid, you’re back! How was your first night on patrol-- who’s this?” Your dad greets you as you fly into the compound.

“Her name’s MJ, she’s a new friend of mine. Got mugged so I’m letting her stay the night here.” You explain quickly.

“There’s a small problem in that. You see, you’re masked.” He points out. You take the mask off, letting your hair frame your face wildly after being shoved in that small space.

“She already knows. Mugger took it off mid-battle. It’s okay, though, he didn’t see my identity.” You throw the mask to the side. Tony looks a little disapproving but doesn’t say anything about it.

“So every time you’re in interviews and they ask if (Y/n) is Obsidian, you say no. You’re lying? You’ve been lying this whole time?” MJ pipes up, curiosity shining in her eyes.

Yeah, you two are going to get along just fine.

“Yup.” Your dad remarks, putting emphasis on popping the ‘p’.

“Cool.” She nods, playing it cool again. You have a feeling she does this often.

“Well, we’re going to go to my room. Have you seen Harley?” You ask.

“Yeah, he’s in his room. He’s still awake. Said he couldn’t sleep until you got home safe.” Tony points to the hallway your room is down as he absentmindedly starts typing away on his computer, probably upgrading his suit again.

“Sounds good, thanks, dad!” You yell as you and MJ run down the hall, stopping as a door swings open right next to yours.

“(Y/n), thank goodness you’re okay. How did patrol go?” Harley steps out, clearly relieved.

“Went fine, nothing too out of the ordinary. This is my new friend, MJ, though. MJ, meet Harley. Harley, meet MJ.” You introduce the two. They hit it off.

“Nice to meet you.” MJ shakes Harley’s hand.

“You, too. Are we all gonna hang out tomorrow?” He asks.

“I’d like to if it’s okay with MJ’s parents.” You nod. She smiles slightly.

“I’m sure it will be.” She doesn’t let herself get too excited.

“Perfect. C’mon, let’s go!” You drag her into your room, away from Harley. He tells you he’s going to bed as MJ shuts the door on him. You snicker.

“(Y/n)...Harley is cute.” MJ whispers to you. You laugh.

“I mean, I guess he is. I dunno, he’s my best friend and I don’t really see him that way.” You shrug. She seems surprised that you’re not more into him.

“Alright...well, does he have a girlfriend?” She muses as her interest level drops. It doesn’t actually drop, but how much she’s showing it does. She likes to keep an external chill, you realize. She doesn’t like showing any emotion but boredom or slightly happy.

“Um, sorta? I wouldn’t really call her, like, his girlfriend or anything. But technically, I guess he does.” You frown, trying to think what you would call the situation.

“Oh, that’s...cool. Is it anyone you think I’d know?” She hums, bringing a book out of her backpack. You bite your lip and fiddle with a piece of technology that was strewn about your room.

“Yeah, it’s me.” You whisper, but she hears you.

“You’re kidding, right?” MJ loses all focus on her book, her eyes trained purely on you.

“No. We’re in an arranged marriage, which is why I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend or anything.” You grow nervous under her stare.

“That’s messed up. You’re fifteen and this isn’t the olden days. You shouldn’t be in an arranged marriage.” She makes a face. She’s very opinionated, but you’re not complaining. You’re not exactly happy about the situation either, but you’ve grown tired of arguing over it.

“I know but my dad says that I’m going to go under his wing and take over the business when I’m twenty-three. So once I’m out of college and taking over the business, I need a non-crime fighting non-superhero husband and…that’s Harley. It’s, like, just in case I die or anything while I’m fighting bad guys as Obsidian. Or if I’m just not around while fighting bad guys and the business needs to be controlled in my absence. He’ll be here to take over the business and he’s still super smart so it works out. Plus we’re close. Not in that way, but close enough to where it’s not super weird or anything.” You explain, yawning slightly from having to tell the same boring story over and over to everyone you meet.

You don’t meet a lot of new people, though.

“That’s super weird. Do you fight the matter?” MJ scrunches up her nose, slightly revolted at the thought of marrying someone she didn’t want to.

You sigh.

“I’ve tried but it never works. It’s my life and I have to live it, why not accept it instead of growing to resent it? That’ll only make things worse. Besides, I don’t really believe in love or anything, so it’ll never work for me. I’ll be stuck with friendship no matter who I marry. There’s no point in fighting the inevitable.” You set the piece of technology down and look up at MJ. She’s looking back at you with a serious expression.

“Sometimes all you need is the right person for you to find something to fight for again. That includes fighting for love.”

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vcsecretgifts · 4 years

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Altın Mağaralar

From: @amelthebravennian

To: @cygnaut

// @cygnaut thank you so much for this occasion to work over this rare pairing! I hope you’ll like it <3 I wish you a very Merry Christmas, and a lot of happiness!

…

The night was particularly clear, the sheepish twinkle of stars adorned the sky like celestial jewelry, after the last shades of dusk had burned out. It was a mild night, and the air transported, with its soft murmurs, the scents of warm topsoil, horses, and human food coming from a village nearby. The arid floor hadn’t seen any rain for so long, that the booted feet seemed to hover above the crackled dirt ground, lifting light veils of dust at their following. It must have been quite a show to behold, under the golden rays of midday, when heat and sun would have made of the whole land a desert splendor of gold and topaz.

Villages had been carved directly through the rock into underground places, the fast moving silhouette had heard. Moving along the shadows as a shadow itself, the shape thought about Derinkuyu and the buried houses they explored the night before, until dawn had plunged them in a deep slumber, that they had only left about an hour after the sunset. Beside the evident beauty of the place, the history and mysteries shrouding the wide expanses of valleys and hills, something else attracted the androgynous creature endowed with long braided blonde hair and cold blue eyes, deeper and deeper into Cappadocia. Feet seemed to know their path in that unknown territory, as if led by an imperious conscience through the broken curves of dunes and secrets caverns.

But if the direction seemed clear, the goal wasn’t, and there was still in this wide world some mysteries the shade wasn’t in a hurry to unveil. They had heard about ancients, about beings so powerful their heartbeats would rumble akin to a thunderstorm drumming to any immortal ear. About elders whose age was unknown, just as the limit of their potency and blood thirst. Armand had told about one of those elders. He had mourned after Marius, and the shape had learned along its journey that Marius wasn’t the only Child of the Millennia that had once walked around the Earth. They were no fool. The blood coursing through their veins, their son, and maker’s veins had to come from somewhere. They had read about legends in hidden libraries, and forgotten scrolls. Even if refusing to believe most of them, some worrisome elements couldn’t be denied.

The silent call running through Gabrielle’s body was most likely a trap, one on which they would agree to ensnare themselves merely because their instinct encouraged them to. They had learned about listening to it since the Blood -the Dark Gift- had first chanted within their supernatural heart. It wasn’t the first time they experienced the imperative push, after all. It had all began some years ago, not so long after they parted from Lestat.

It had been just a light pressure on the back of their neck, like a kiss posed by a secretive lover, an insisting glance weighting on their shoulders, a glare given by the darkness itself and delivering their fill of bothersome shivers. They had been in Italy then, visiting the remnants of a past mortal life of which they were the only living legacy. For a while, the immortal had believed that remaining hidden underground for days and nights would have made it fade and finally vanish, but they only found thirst and pain instead of peace. and so Gabrielle had left the security of the ground to get back to their wandering. Surely, the impression would disappear as they ignored it. And it did, for months, and months, until it seemed merely a foreign dream. They couldn’t even tell how many time passed before the disagreeable feeling came back.

It had been muffled steps they had heard following them to Malta then, too light to belong to any human being, too discreet for a fledgling chasing them. The sound had stopped only when they had boarded a ship sailing to Athens, and for a while Gabrielle had believed to be finally left alone. It took five nights, or perhaps six, for the ethereal push to come back again, lighter this time, but nonetheless present. It became then, as usual to feel it as the presence of a dear friend taking a walk through time and space with them.

They almost forgot about it, classified it in a part of their brain as an information not yet useful. Nights and days passed by, and their steps, led by the inner call,then left Greece and headed to Turkey. Eventually, it vanished along the road, taking years to come back as Gabrielle was digging themselves deeper in the Turkish lands. Through deserts and wide plains -indeed- the vampire had been guided, and it was with a slight indecision that they were now staring a succession of sinuous cliffs topping a narrow rocky valley. The reason of their presence in such a place was still as unknown as the next step to take. Oh, the beauty of the place was enough to fulfill any of their expectations. The real inquiring was about the ones of the presence, that seemed to make its way closer to them, just as in Malta.

Would it be here, at the confines of the world, that Gabrielle would find the answers their son had sought for? A sigh left their parted lips, interrupted in the middle by a sound they had prayed to never hear. Echoes of a low, deep drum hesitantly lost their way to the immortal’s ear. An Elder was coming by, each new heart beat heavier than the last, loudly annunciating the end of what had seemed to be a several years’ track down. It was vain to run away, thought the young vampire. If the Elder had succeeded to follow them across seas and lands, there would be no place on Earth to escape. They waited in silence, composing themselves in their attempt to spot from where the Elder would appear.

As the heartbeat came closer, a shape split the darkness from behind a boulders alike the moon piercing through dark clouds. Physical steps led the powerful vampire closer, unveiling a feminine shape moving with grace and seemingly devoid of any mischief. Long blonde hair cascaded on her back as silver reflection, displayed by the moon, conferred a ghostly presence to the Elder. Her fair skin was as pure and white as marble, and somewhere, it reminded Gabrielle the story of Armand, and how he had described Marius. Was it how they would all end up too, as ages would succeed one to the other? Like a living statue, as horrid as beautiful, so cold that even blood wouldn’t play the trick of humanity?

One would have assumed her glance to be as icy as the apparently frozen but graceful features of her face, but the tender blue of her hues seemed as welcoming as the hearth of a fire back home. It baffled the younger vampire to behold such a contrast. Such emotions seemed to transpire from her eyes, when her body language was terrifically neutral, that it was impossible not to understand her supernatural nature. And even if Gabrielle’s muscles tensed, ready to push them out of reach if only they had the time to foresee an attack, they remained on appearance perfectly stoic.

The only truly threatening thing about this newcomer seemed to be their powerful and low heartbeat, her dazzling and charming face now filled with vitality as she smiled. Her steps stopped at one arm length from Gabrielle, blue eyes wandering to old dusty boots to the large hat underneath which they had kept their braided hair hidden. Though not judgmental, the glance seemed to pass through the manlike frowzy attires, as if directly seeing Gabrielle’s soul. It was unsettling. To say the least. And before the woman’s lips parted to let a melodious, veiled voice cover the monstrous heart beats, a tremendous silence had seemed to quiet all the surroundings in a terrible wait.

“Don’t be afraid. It is curiosity that had led me on your path, and a sheer desire for friendship that made me follow your tracks. My name is Sevraine,” the Elder greeted, jovial from her voice to the bright glance she had fixed on Gabrielle.

They watched Sevraine quietly, all senses dedicated to the presence as if able to gauge the potential danger they represented at that very moment. Then, almost reluctantly, they took off their hat, and pressed it against their chest as they bowed gallantly.

“Gabriele is mine,” they said in Italian, just as they had once introduced themselves to their husband to be. A name often mistaken for a French feminine one. Well, it never truthfully irritated them, anyway.

Another silence settled itself between the two immortals, and the wind seemed to murmur harder in an attempt to break it. Bringing in its whirling the fresher scent of a dew that would never reach the floor, and the far murmurs of little birds. Dawn was coming close. Gabrielle could feel it underneath their skin, in an hour or so, the deadly sunbeams would flood the valley in gold. They would need to find a place to dig themselves under the ground before it happened, or else their blood would boil in their veins and their skin would dry before sticking to their bones and burn.

“I have a shelter, hidden deep in secret caverns,” Sevraine spoke again, sensing probably even better than Gabrielle the urge of regaining the darkness before sunrise. “Please, allow me to invite you in. There is much to hear from you, and I promise in return to answer your questions.”

The elegant Child of the Millenia opened an arm in a graceful gesture, pointing at the high reliefs of rocks and dust. With vigilant eyes, Gabrielle glanced the flawless hand, and a little further, the direction years of roaming had let to. They wondered a moment if following an Ancient on their diurnal lair was the wisest decision to make. Somewhere in their mind, Lestat’s voice arised, reminding them of his ardent seek for knowledge, for the story of their origins. The memories of Armand and his horrid coven mixed, and a thrill of warning went down their spine. But how could they refuse anything to such a powerful creature, that the even world seemed to appease itself in order to allow her supernatural heart to beat so loudly? Slowly, they nodded, placing their large hat back on their head.

“Lead the way,” they said, easing some of the tension that had built in their shoulders. After all, hadn’t she already led the game of cat and mouse all along? Sevraine gave a nod at her turn, but it was unclear whether she was agreeing with Gabrielle’s words or with their thoughts.

She led them down the valley, until a deep cave appeared half revealed by the moon’s glimmer. Gabrielle had some difficulties to find safe grips, their vampiric vision and strength tested at each new step, so much that it was more by instinct than anything else, that they found their way after Sevraine. Then, it was through a succession of tunnels physically testing to walk in that they dug deeper into darkness, finding their guide to wait after them at each tricky corner. Gladly, for it would have been a difficult thing for the younger vampire to find their way out, or in, without her.

“We are almost there,” she said quietly, as if answering a silent inquiring caught up in Gabrielle’s mind. And at the very difference of Armand’s intrusions, it didn’t feel bothersome. To be fully honest, they didn’t feel a thing, which was probably even more concerning.

Though, they found out pretty fast that Sevraine had spoken the truth, now discerning in the far depth of a larger cave, the glow of salving torchlight burning bright. So much ostentatious gold had been decorating what seemed to be an entry further into the shelter, that the light reflected on each stalactite, each cavity, each sharp rock was like the sun itself.

Gabrielle needed a short moment to ease their view, shortly stunned by the dazzlinness of the place, and its master. It was at that very moment, that the sneaky realisation of the situation caught them up. Once posed a foot further in the Golden caves, there would be no turning back. The Elder seemed to understand their hesitation, remaining for a silent moment as contemplative on the bright shapes as Gabrielle. They gave a nod, and walked further. Damned might they be if they didn’t take that chance to understand more about their nature and origins.

Entering Sevraine’s lair felt like walking in a Sanctuary, pompous from the wall to the ceiling covered in gold and ancient painting, to the severe faces of statues kept as everlasting guardians of the souls entering the cave. Candles cleverly placed here and there, rendered the whole place strangely welcoming and bright, the soft scent of melted wax and burning wick mixing with fresh draught smelling like dew. But the more baffling was yet to come, for at the very moment Gabrielle walked in a larger cave, their usual phlegm cracked in parted lips, opened on a silent expression of awe.

It was certainly the most wonderful cavern they had set foot in, outrageously wide, splendidly adorned with colored jewels and rocks, lightened by thousands of candles shining like stars all around. They wondered a moment how the flowers could be so vivid, so deep undergrounds, and whom were the figures she could catch here and there in small alcoves carved directly through the rock. Their eyes were drawn everywhere by discreet twinkles or colorful patterns, by trompe l’oeil paintings, movements of leaves dancing at the soft blows of wind… Beautiful, but unnecessary.

Down and down did Sevraine lead Gabrielle, their silent feet barely touching the steps that brought them both in a large marble court. There were others heart beats near, more discreet than the Elder’s one, more akin to the ones Gabrielle had perceived once in Armand’s catacombs. To whomever could they belong, not a face showed up yet, probably allowing the younger vampire to familiarise themselves with the place. Or perhaps it was because of the far call for slumber the coming sunrise chanted, the one they could very well feel weightening their breath and slowing their reflexes.

“Come, allow me to show you your room,” said Sevraine with her everlasting friendly soft voice.

Rooms. Many tunnels joined the principal ground, as it seemed, reminding again the hidden splendors of Derinkuyu. Gabrielle gave a nod, and followed as they did until then, through the labyrinthic succession of tunnels, opened places, and closed houses.

They entered one of them, dotted by a grand painting representing a window opened to the forest, and many more alcoves filled with burning candles. Sevraine gestured for them to enter first, and so they did, standing right in the middle of the unique room, breathing in the soft scents of green leaves falling as a cascade against a whole part of one wall, and the little nocturnal blooming flowers adorning them. A large bedding had been carved directly through the rock, many pillows and pelts giving to it an illusion of comfort, just as useless for Gabrielle, as the few apples they found on a table.

“This home is your home for as long as you wish,” Sevraine uttered softly, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Why?” Gabrielle couldn’t much restrain that sudden spark of curiosity, knowingly aware that nothing was truthfully free.

They remembered again of the damned coven composed of livid terrific creatures wearing black gaunt clothes and staining their hair with soil. They remembered how their covenmaster had begged for companionship in exchange of precious information, among others, the name of Those-Who-Must-Be-Kept that didn’t have any meaning to anyone of them.

“You heard about the Parents…” Sevraine seemed thoughtful, catching against Gabrielle’s will new spark of memories and secretive thoughts. “And you sought for more answers.”

“It is nothing more than legends told by a child.” they said, for that was what Armand had been : a cruel child, whose only beauty was his cherubic face and deep brown eyes. He had been rotten from the inside by his need for salvation. It wasn’t such a surprise, that the boy had believed such tattletales, just as an orphan would believe in the existence of loving parents somewhere in the world, ready to adopt them.

“I’ve met them.” The dreamy voice brought Gabrielle back from their remembrances, icy blue eyes now scrutinizing the friendly physiognomy of the Elder.

They couldn’t believe such words, of course, and even less coming from a creature seemingly that old. But soon, images intruded their brain, and in a split second, the room had disappeared to show a large golden throne chamber. They gasped, and made a step back, then another, colliding against an invisible table. Around them, the thick walls had become painted columns, the candles were now large indecent braseros aligned on each sides of a long and large nef. Human beings were all around on their knees, venerating what they seemed to take as their deities. Incense was probably burning somewhere, the warm and perfumed ambient air whirled by heavy feathered fans.

“It was a long time ago. A time of Queens and Pharaohs,” Sevraine continued along the shifting images.

On the very end of the nef, few steps led to two golden round thrones, on which two wonderful creatures of marble, onyx, silk and gold sat. The light reflected on their eyes on that very unnatural way vampiric eyes did, both of them wearing delicate lines of khol and gold. For a moment, Gabrielle stared at them with a sense of awe they rarely allowed themselves to experience. The man seemed peaceful, silent and immobile as another vampire murmured to his ear. His black hair made of pure ebony wearing a crown of linen and papyrus gave his handsome face a severe expression, and “the strength that emanated from him was enough to reduce anyone into sheer reverence.

“Enkil was the King of Kemet then. The Great King, already seen as Osiris by his loyal servants, and treated now as the personification of the God itself.”

But as much the handsome face of the man could spark admiration in one, it was nothing compared to the woman’s beauty. Her face was as delicate as porcelain dolls, her pale olivaceous skin covered with gold dust and heavy jewelry. Her long dark braided hair looked like snakes falling on her shoulders as Medusa’s tresses, and the tender pink of her lips seemed as delicate as rose petals, until they moved to form words in a dialect Gabrielle had never heard before, and showed in flash the tip of two deadly fangs. She had a certain look in her eyes which perplexed them the most. Just a little twinkle of rage, burning deep, deep into onyx. A shiver shook them, at the horrid realisation that the woman’s glance seemed barely human-like.

“She was Enkil’s Queen, and the very First of our kind. Akasha, bearer of the Sacred Core, Great Mother of all Vampires, calling herself Isis’s personification and demanding in exchange of her magical blood a blind servitude. And I, with my throat still filled with the liquid ecstasy of her Blood", would become her very first Priestess.”

Akasha… Enkil… The names rolled within Gabrielle’s mind as the vision vanished. Thus they were the very first ones of their species, walking among human beings as living Gods of Night and Blood. Where were they now? What would they look like? As shared between perfect immobility and lively moves? If being adored like Gods had been so important for them, why were there no tracks of them anywhere?

“What became of them?” they finally asked, daring to come closer to their Elder and sit by their side. Dawn was closer than ever, and yet, Gabrielle refused to let it show of their features. Trying to fool such an old creature was probably even more foolish, but they had learned soon enough to keep any show of weakness hidden.

“I promise you’ll have the answers to all of your questions as soon as dusk will rise. For now, we should part for the day to come and gather back later,” Sevraine softly stated, and Gabrielle could only nod gratefully, as they would pass out in an instant or another, even if she stayed there. She rose in a very elegant way, moving her aerial shape to the door from which she gave a light glance back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabrielle.” She bowed lightly, and disappeared in the shadows of the tunnel.

A small, sheepish smile twitched Gabrielle’s lips, as they peered through the door a moment, before laying on the bedding. Face covered with their hat and body now numbed by the forced slumber, they allowed the very last events to haunt their mind. Well, this seemed promising.

#2019 VC Secret Santa #VC #Vampire Chronicles #submission #amelthebravennian #cygnaut

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holdinbacksecrets · 5 years

Text

An Exuberant Burst, A Silent Beauty

AN: So... FINALLY?! I think I’ve been working on this one for close to a month? 3 weeks? Something like that, and I’m quite happy with it, definitely nervous to share it... but here goes nothing. Not to make this too long, but this is also a celebratory post because my two year anniversary was about a week ago..? So cheers to that. Also, I tried something new with this one, and decided to go without any quotation marks, so all the dialogue is italicized!

Inspiration: Heal Me by Lady Gaga

Thank you to any/all Tumblr friends who helped me with this in any way. You know who you are, and I appreciate you LOTs

When I was a little girl, my mother used to put me to bed, even when I was old enough to do it myself. If she was on a business trip, a normalcy in my household, I never let my dad take her place.

Instead, I’d squeeze my eyes shut, keeping them closed until I could imagine her standing over my bed. The gentleness of her aura. The sweet, sugary safety of her voice. The lovingness in every touch, each one with intent.

As I got older, I had to rely on the memory. My brain was used to sliding her into the space she once held. Until one night, it didn’t matter anymore. I fell asleep to an LP she listened to. One that had been gathering dust in her wardrobe, hidden near the back. The hiding spot where she kept her proudest possessions.

My mind surrendered to the artists' luscious tone. The richness, like honey, of the singer's voice, with lyrics I never memorized. The opening piano riffs sent me into a place I only found in the night, drunk by my subconscious mind, taking a ride in the luxury of my mother’s imagined presence.

A presence I soon found more of in my dreams than reality. When I was 13, I realized the business trips were colliding with her vacations. Trips to another mans home; a family that I didn’t belong in. A mantle that held photos without me, picturing a beautiful, tanned skin goddess, with long sun-kissed tresses and green eyes. A man taller than my father, his hands on my mother.

It wasn’t until I turned 16, that I’d wake in the middle of the night, to my own heavy breathing. In a cold sweat, feeling the pain. The moments she was missing. The dance recitals and swim meets. The Friday nights we’d spend making pizzas in the stone oven.

My dad would let me stay home the next day. After knocking on my door, hearing a muffled response, catching my face in the pillow. That same record playing through the room. His own heartbreaking, recalling track 5, and the way he held my mother as they danced at their wedding.

At 18, I flew to the world I was exiled from. The family that replaced mine, tarnishing the joy that filled me up, leaving me drunk on love and high off life. But then, I saw you.

Your sweats were baggy. Your black Nike’s kicked up on the opposing chair. Your fingers flew across the screen of your iPhone. My eyes looked you over, and you glanced up too, only for a moment, lasting a second.

My eyes tore away from your sculpted frame. From the beauty I couldn’t imagine being real, wondering if it was possible to find calmness in a stranger.

I saw you again, but you didn’t notice me then. You were too busy running your fingers through your hair. A habit I’d later come to find blossomed from nerves. Your tall legs carried you to a car. You loaded your luggage, speaking to the man dressed in a crisp suit.

A week later, I sat up in the guest rooms four poster bed. The mattress was softer than the one in my own room. The pillows were too hard. The room was painted a mustard yellow, heightening my own anxiety, making me wish for the simple gray, where I dressed my comfort.

My mother knocked against the wooden door. Her sweet voice a step higher. Her hair a shade lighter. Her lips painted in a bright red. Another color that came across like a stranger, turning my mother into someone who I deemed unrecognizable.

Dinner will be ready soon.

She almost closed the door. Her PSA being done for the time being. Might as well get a speaker system for the unreasonably large home, but she walked into the room anyway.

The moment we saw each other at the airport felt different than what I expected, worse. She was different too, and she didn’t try to pretend like she knew the mother I adored. Instead, she stayed away, greeting me at breakfast, asking if I wanted tahini dressing or ranch on my salad at lunch. Calling from the hall before she left in the afternoon, that I could join her and Clara, only if I wanted.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, rolling her neck from side to side, allowing her shoulders to slouch for the first time. A deep, restrained sigh escapes her lips. She wipes the red from her mouth, resting her head in the palm of her hands.

I know I abandoned you.

Not a day goes by, that I don’t wish I could change all my mistakes.

Tonight, I know it won’t mean much, but my coworker is having a party. Clara and Remington will be visiting his mother. If you want to, I’d love you to join me. I won’t tell you what to wear. I won’t wear any red... I know it’s not much, but I’ve missed you. I’ve missed so much of your life; I don’t want to miss anymore.

The wrinkles by her eyes no longer appeared as creased makeup, but tired exhaustion, and years of guilt creating imperfections in her timeless beauty.

So I agreed, knowing, even if she’d forgotten, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t miss the way she warmed me up. The way she had always made me feel so worthy, so important, like the water she needed to survive. The silhouette of a dream was back in my reality.

///

The drive through the city isn’t uncomfortable that night. It’s reassuring and natural. Like a dance I was taught at a young age, surprised to remember the steps years later.

I hold my hands in my lap, twisting the rings on my thumb and index finger. In between glances out the window, taking in the beauty of the city, seeking out the differences. Not once had my father and I had flown to visit my mother when her work trips were nothing more than what I thought. The three of us had never spent summers vacationing in a tropical paradise, or weekends in the city. If I had come here as a young girl, the buildings would be castles, with gumdrop doors and golden archways.

She told me of her coworker's son. How proud his family was of him. How successful he was at a young age. The familiarity of his name stuck to my tongue, rolled around my mind until it found a comfortable spot, sticking to the curiosity.

And, he’s cute. And, he was the man from the airport.

My knees buckled. My heart rate echoed in my ears. My palms grew clammy as I shook people’s hands. People my mother knew: coworkers, friends. People I never heard of, but ones who knew me.

The further we walked into the home, the closer he felt. My body was electrified. My eyes glued to him, watching the bottle in his hand, admiring his honest smile and kind eyes.

The way his muscles bulged under his button-down every time the Corona touched his lips. The way he stood with his right leg out further than his left. The beat he’d drum against his thigh, closing his eyes momentarily, forgetting those in the room, feeling the music drifting through the vicinity.

He’s handsome, isn’t he? She had caught me looking, encouraging me to muster all the confidence I had and approach the only guy who seemed to be around my age. He stood next to a girl, with similar features.

His sister. You’d like her. She’s very mature for her age.

I was ready to run and hide in the bathroom when his eyes fell upon me. He smiled smoothly, making me feel as though my limbs were suddenly jello. My brain mirrored that of an alarm, screaming danger, flashing a stunning red with white accents. Reminding me of all the practice I didn’t have with men, all the boys I hadn’t dated, and the realities of all my nonexistent relationships.

Are you always this nervous? Is he really talking to me right now?

I’d like to think I’m not.

I introduce myself. He does the same, and his name, Shawn, is louder in my mind than any music. He gestures to the stunning girl next to him, Aaliyah. His lips fall into a knowing smile when I explain that our mothers work together. He tells me how sweet my stepsister Clara is, that he was wondering if he’d ever meet the girl unknown. The mystery.

Was I really just some unknown, forgotten girl? Did my mother parade around with Remington and Clara? Forgetting the daughter she left alone, fending for herself?

Shawn offers me a drink, to which I accept before he leads me through the house. Aaliyah follows close behind. Her attention drifting between her phone and the little girl tugging at her skirt. Shawn greets people as we walk, placing his hand on my lower back during introductions, pulling it away too soon.

A glass of Chardonnay is in my grasp, cooling the heat on my palm.

This couldn’t be real.

I suddenly knew where I wanted to be. Thinking it was worth leaving my familiarities to get to know this person. This gorgeous man that didn’t know about the fucked up things my mother had done, the years of school spent in my created isolation, running from popularity and sympathetic eyes, or the nights I’d lay awake, imagining someone’s fingertips running along my bare thigh, sharing secrets in the dark.

I stare at my reflection in the quaint powder room. My flushed skin is glowing. My lips are turned into a smile, one I can’t suppress. My fingers wrap around the edge of the granite countertop as I let the calming melody of track 5 relax my mind.

As I leave the comforting seclusion, Shawn’s silhouette catches my eye in the living room, where he’s sat in one of the couches with his sister. His arm hangs loosely around her shoulder. His head is dipped, focused on whatever she’s showing him. The party was winding down. The music had been replaced with a piano instrumental, despite the musicians at the party, and the grand piano in the den.

My mother reaches for my hand as I begin my walk back to the boy who had stolen my attention. She whispers in my ear that it’s time to go. Clara and Remington were already home, and these shoes are giving me blisters.

She leaves me alone to thank the hosts, but not without a sly motion to the boy whose aura is radiating onto my skin.

In a moment of confidence, I place my hand on Shawn’s shoulder, drawing his eye away from his sister. He’s standing immediately, prepared to offer me a place on the plush couch.

I was just coming to say goodbye, to the both of you.

Oh, well, it was really nice to meet you.

Shawn clears his throat, bringing his phone out of his back pocket. He asks so quickly I would’ve missed the words if my eyes weren’t on his lips. He smiles, catching the innocent glance, holding the iPhone out to me.

I type in my name and number, hands shaking as my mother’s voice rings behind me. Shawn’s arms bring me into an embrace, and I inhale sharply, feeling his hardened stomach against my chest. My fingers brushing sculpted muscles through his thin dress shirt.

I’ll call you.

My voice fails me, but I nod into his shoulder, managing to smile at his sister, serving amusement in her eyes.

As his arms fall to his sides, I take a step back, my hands on Shawn’s biceps. I want to brush the stray curl off his forehead and admire the gold flakes in his eyes in the privacy of an empty room.

But my hands fall, and I wave to his sister. Maybe I’ll see you around?

Or I’ll call, and we can get coffee

I walk backward, nodding in agreement.

Coffee sounds great.

Let’s go dear. My mother’s voice breaks through, damming the river of a dream. Her tone interrupted the golden flakes and pinked lips. Throwing me a raft, blinding my clarity. The piano ballad fell into the background once more. Goodbye Shawn, Aaliyah. Lovely to see you both.

I rest my head against the car window, watching the lights of the city blur into a rainbow in a blackened sky. I tuck my bare feet under my butt, curling my toes. My breath brushes the window, noticeable against the cool glass.

My mother yawns next to me as the heater blows across my face. When I close my eyes, I can hear the party’s music. I can feel the radiating warmth. I can sense the loving relationship between Shawn and Aaliyah.

The first time I met Shawn, I thought of you. Something about who he is. His honesty. I’ve always wanted you to end up with a man like him. I’d never have to worry about you.

My eyes leave the picture outside my window, falling on the beautiful woman next to me. Her manicured fingers grasp the steering wheel. Her eyes stay on the road, but I can feel her truth, even without her honest orbs.

I know it’s been hard — I can imagine it’s been hard, but to whatever capacity, I know you. I see you in a gorgeous light, my love, and all I want for you is to find that person. Someone who won’t do to you, what I did. Someone who will make you believe in love again.

Why are you telling me this? The emotion in my voice is impossible to hide. The darkness in the car doesn’t blanket the pain. The pain of my adolescence was camouflaged by the shadows as I grew into a young woman.

I want you to understand what you deserve.

But I didn’t deserve you, for all those years?

She parks the black Mercedes in the driveway, and I suddenly crave my gray walls and damask, patterned comforter. The records that kept the memories happy and gave me the power to create my mother in whichever way I desired.

A comfort that would save me from the space of this car. A car that replaced the Acura my mother had driven before. A car that drove her further away from the woman I knew, to a house that didn’t feel like home, and a family where I didn’t belong.

I know I can’t fix things, and I would - I swear I’d do anything to righten my wrongs.

Your intentions are pure, and I appreciate that, but don’t pretend like you have any sense in choosing the kind of man I should love.

///

I feel like a stranger, huddled into the sectional couch, buried underneath a blanket. A mug of hot chocolate rests on the side table. Next to a book I’ve yet to touch all week.

I wonder if this is how it feels, for anyone else with divorced parents who found a love in someone new. A stranger who didn’t reflect in the old family photos and savored memories.

It created a free pass to be someone else, to rewrite myself. Paint a fostered persona into a sunny picture. I contemplate losing myself along the way, somewhere in between. Would my dad no longer recognize me? Would my childhood room feel smaller? Would I yearn for the extravagant lifestyle my mother fit into so effortlessly when I was away?

Hey, I didn’t know anyone else stayed up this late.

Clara walks into the living room, getting comfortable in the armchair adjacent to the sofa.

I usually don’t, but I couldn’t sleep tonight.

It must be a lot to take in.

I don’t pretend like I know what she means, and Clara realizes it too. I never wanted this. When my parents first broke up, I’d sneak out my window in the middle of the night and run around the neighborhood to my best friend’s house. I’d end up sleeping on her basement couch more than I slept in my own bed. Her house felt like a home, a complete family, with consistency and honest love.

My eyes fall on to the beautiful girl across from me. I had constructed my ideas of her as soon as we met for the first time, believing every piece to be true. Regardless of what I actually knew, being nothing at all.

We’re more alike than I anticipated.

And what did you anticipate?

I shake my head, reaching for the steaming mug. Clara’s head falls to rest in her palm as she watches me. The light from the lamp glistens against her flawless skin, and I ignore the years I spent, craving seclusion and invisibility, pushing away the knowing hand. The hand that wrapped me in an embrace. One more thing my mother had left for me to find on my own.

Look around, it can’t be that hard to imagine.

Do you want to know what I thought about you? Her eyebrows raise and she stands to sit next to me.

I pull my legs up to my chin, holding my breath.

I thought that this was finally it. I’d finally have this complete, consistent family I’ve been imagining in my head, seeing in my dreams. I thought it would be picture perfect. Crazy, right?

I smile, more to myself than to her, feeling seen. Allowing the comfort of seclusion and invisibility to drift away, realizing right now, with Clara, was a safe space.

I didn’t know anyone else could feel that way, not when they seem to have so much.

Oh, babe. All of this means nothing. It’s exciting at first, when it still feels brand new, but luxury could never replace love.

Shawn was the love I deserved, according to my mother. Even her manicured fingers reached for a life of love, knowing, in secret, that the fancy cars and Egyptian cotton wouldn’t save me from the current of loneliness.

///

In the morning, I wake up again in the four-poster bed. The sun beams through the delicate curtains, shining the previous nights' highs and lows in a halo above my head.

I can pinpoint the beautiful moments: When Shawn took my breath away, to the words that were planted in my head, spoken by my mother, stripping the golden years of its magic, to the conversation between Clara and I. Finally feeling connected to one another. Finding someone else who understood the difficulties of getting lost in the current of change, trying to keep our heads above water.

In a moment I imagined the rest of my life, with a love that was born out of riches. Feeling nauseous, knowing I could never leave a child behind, wondering how my mother slept at night.

I hug a decorative pillow to my chest, closing my eyes, hearing track 5 in my mind. The lyrics don’t come, they never did, but I make up my own. I can feel the tempo, the beat vibrating through the floors.

On late nights in high school, when studying consumed me, I’d read to the rhythm of the music. The words suddenly had meaning. The poetry throughout the pages jumped out in bursts of beauty. Those nights were the only ones that didn’t claim my dreams in my mother’s voice. Those nights became my own, going by in a blur before I woke to my scheduled alarm.

Each morning that followed a night like that was electric, and the world appeared brighter. I’d find my father in the kitchen, oatmeal for him and a bagel and smear waiting for me. He was my home. My very first lifeline, guiding me with patience and care.

It was us, that was our family. My hard-working father, the music, and me. The dark times, the 3ams spent thinking of my mother, and the current calling my name, held no strength against him.

///

I feel my phone vibrate against the dark wood of the guest rooms side table. I yawn, rubbing my eyes, pulling myself up into a seated position.

I can hear my fathers breath in a stream of relief as I answer. A low laugh crossing the line.

My darling daughter, it’s not the same without you here. How is my pride and joy?

I sink back into bed, feeling lavished in the sound of his voice. Embracing the comfort.

I miss you, so much. And mom, she’s different, dad. Being here is like stepping into a room filled with all the things that used to make me think of her, and facing the harsh reality of who she’s become.

That was the last thing I wanted you to face, especially without me, and in a home resembling a museum.

My mind tunes into the background noise. A familiar beat, a rhythm so intertwined with my life, that my feet begin to tap underneath the covers. The lyrics are there, soft and refrained, sending a calmness, reminding me of who I am, regardless of who I become around my mother.

I met someone at a party. Maybe it’s crazy, but I left floating on a cloud. And for the first time this week, I found a piece of home in this unknown place. The words my father went on to speak, resonated with me into the depths of my being. Where the darkness gathered, and the pain of my parents broken relationship burrowed.

He told me, love isn’t easy. He said, the world, your life, is already a journey. Every day is wrapped in a box with a golden ribbon. Don’t ever forget, that you’re in control of who walks beside you. Let it be someone who keeps the fire burning in your belly. Someone who you wake up with, attracting excitement and love, yet calmness and serenity. Someone whose spirit aligns to you, because you deserve nothing but the brightest of love, and the most fulfilling of life. Your love should paint a vibrancy, with music and dance, with spontaneity and flourishing, inspired journeys. Let your love drown your demons and be a power like the melodies you cherish: resounding and truthful.

Shawn’s POV

My bedroom has become a place of peace. A singular salvation in this crazy world my life has turned into. A constant in the ever-changing travels and people intertwined with my destined dream, finding it’s way into my reality.

A reality that has been nothing but fulfilling, yet alone in the late hours of the night. The party had ended, the high from performing had faded, and everyone had gone back to themselves. Spending their nights in another space. Times that unwinded from my own life, reminding me of the love I had yet to meet.

It wasn’t until I found my fate in music and songwriting, that I yearned for another. Someone to inspire my life. A person I wanted to walk beside. Someone whose light would heal the empty nights, when the crowds disappeared into memories, and my friends and family were in another time zone.

I craved one’s energy with booming love. Love that sung in my ear like a symphony. A touch that electrified my skin. The way hers did.

I felt it as her fingers brushed my shoulder. I sought it after our eyes met in the airport, but my mind was full on schedules, functioning off an espresso, and the knowingness of being home.

My breath caught in the back of my throat as she walked into the foyer that night. Her dress was enough to make my tongue coat my lips before I took another swig of beer. I had been preparing myself to approach her when I felt her presence next to me. A voice of enchantment and beautiful orbs to match, inviting my own to drink her in a concentrated wave.

She held herself with confidence. In between glances to the floor, or moments of distraction. Before I caught her eyes on my mouth or staring into her wine glass.

Aaliyah didn’t shut up about her for the entirety of the night that followed. We stayed up, with a movie serving background noise. A blurred picture of movement and scenery.

My phone weighed heavily in my hands, recognizing that songwriting and evening crowds of thousands, never taught me how to coax the nerves of a girl who played with my curiosity, ever since my mum first spoke her name.

Age 20

Toronto is something beautiful from the view of Shawn’s condo. It’s like being in a whole other world, invincible to anything outside the calming space of his home. A place I had come to love.

The safe haven was warmest in Shawn’s arms. My mother’s brooding ways faded away as he spun me around in the living room. The couch and coffee table pushed out of the way. Christmas had come and gone, but the sparkling lights on the tree reflected in his chocolate brown, piercing green orbs.

For years, I had been the girl who closed her eyes and dreamt of another world. One painted gold, with a familiar tune drawing my path. Shawn created a different picture, loving me in a rawness, leaving me high for days. The anxieties could never penetrate the umbrella of gratitude he left me with.

I lay my head against his chest as his arms tighten around me.

I would’ve waited for you forever.

Shawn’s fingertip paints a line along my jaw. I pull away enough to meet his eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck.

That’s an awfully long time to wait, especially for a girl like me.

As if you aren’t worth it. He spoke with a knowing, a complete confidence. Like my entire being unraveled in melodies drifting into colors, becoming a visual piece of a captive world Shawn belonged in. Do you remember the night of the dinner party? The way your mum spoke to you?

That night was a memory that crossed my mind every time I flew back to Toronto. I couldn’t force myself to think about seeing Shawn or Clara. My mind was made up, locking me in a cage. My mother as the ringmaster.

The night was a disaster from the start. Until you walked in, saving the day. A role Shawn had stepped into seamlessly. The first time I visited my mother was an experience I could’ve never imagined. Not with all its twists and turns. The illuminated shadows, pieces of her darkness, hidden so well. Attributes my father had tried to protect me from.

I saw you that night, really saw you. It was one thing, overhearing conversations of words that never brought any truth, but I saw the pain. I could feel your heartbreak in the way you gripped the countertop. The intensity of your aura stunned me in shielded rays. I craved a connection, but you already had a barrier wrapped around yourself.

Shawn saw me that night. Despite the stunning dress I wore, and the makeup my mother had left out for me on the bathroom counter, masking my freckles and tired eyes. Even then, when my past was a novel to his mind, and his world, with all its madness and excitement, had yet to collide.

I used to dream about finding someone who’d melt away my walls. A touch that worked like a key. For the first time, I didn’t feel invisible. I didn’t feel like a mirage for my mother’s pleasure.

And then, he healed me.

Shawn arrived like lightning: In flashes. In heat. An exuberant burst, a silent beauty.

I fell fast, and we crashed slowly. I could pinpoint each milestone. From the first kiss to the first I love you, to the first time he held me in the dark as my mind drifted into sleep. The first night I didn’t yearn for track 5. The first night I found my dreams in our quiet breaths and gentle touches. The I love you that crossed my ears at the moment I let go.

The crowded rooms became only him and I. The waiting, the wondering, the curiosity found a heartbeat. Our spirits met and exploded into a vibrancy: inspired. Burning. Resounding.

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes preference #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn imagine #shawn fanfic #shawn fanfiction #My writing #shawn mendes x reader #shawn x reader

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adorkablephil · 5 years

Text

Fic: Snow Angel

Title: Snow Angel Summary: Dan’s been watching YouTuber Phil Lester for years, but Phil doesn’t even know he exists. Of course, that’s because Dan is Phil’s invisible guardian angel. Rating: PG (for Dan’s foul mouth) Word Count: 15.4K Author’s Note: Written for @jorzuela in the 2019 @phandomreversebang. She offered a variety of possible elements and asked authors to choose 3 or more to make their own prompt. I chose winter, party, birthday, magic, hurt/comfort, angels, AU, and coffee. She made multiple pieces of art for this story, which was incredibly generous of her! A million thanks to @ky-thewolf for the dedicated, supportive, and extremely helpful beta work! The three of us were an unbeatable team in our Twitter gc! Also available on AO3

Phil sat on the sofa, not talking to anyone, with a paper plate of cake on his lap. It was white cake. Who likes white cake? Why did David buy white cake for Phil’s birthday? Didn’t he know Phil at all? They’d been flatmates for three years, but David bought him white cake. Didn’t he know red velvet was Phil’s favorite? Did he even care? David had taken the big rectangular white cake out of a Tesco box with a discount price tag on it, and it tasted a little stale.

David was hogging all the attention, too, telling some funny story that had everyone laughing, all gathered around him. No one noticed Phil, even though the party was supposed to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. A milestone, right? Thirty. It was a big deal. But Phil just sat there alone on the sofa. David had invited mostly his own friends, anyway. Phil didn’t have that many friends. Not enough to make a party, just maybe enough to go to a nice dinner or something, which was more Phil’s type of thing. He didn’t really like parties. He tended to hover in the corner near the snack table.

Everyone was enjoying David’s stories so much that no one even noticed when Phil got up and set his paper plate on the side table, grabbed his warmest coat, walked quietly to the front door of the flat, and left. Just got up and walked away from his own birthday party.

A few minutes later, he brushed some snow off a bench and sat down in the little park across the street from the flat. Well, not really a park, just a bit of greenery in the middle of their London neighborhood. He’d always liked snow, but tonight it didn’t make him happy like it usually did. He just sat on the snowy bench under a street lamp, shoulders hunched against the cold, hands shoved into his coat pockets to keep them warm.

—

It was just too much. Watching him suffer like that … it was too much.

—

A pair of black boots appeared in the snow some distance from where Phil was sitting. The boots had zips. He liked zips. Not Phil. Him. He liked black, and he liked zips. Zips on everything, even when they weren’t necessary. Unconventional, unnecessary zips. He didn’t wear them often, because he wasn’t often in a human body, but he enjoyed them. When humans invented zips, they’d really been onto something.

His coat had zips too. A black coat, of course. He watched Phil from afar, just sitting on that bench and staring at the ground, and then he started walking toward him. Two paper cups of coffee appeared in his hands. When he got to the bench, he offered one of the cups to Phil, who startled slightly, looking up into his face. “Sorry. I didn’t notice you there,” Phil said, then looked in confusion at the cup of coffee being offered.

“You looked cold. I thought you might like a cup of coffee.”

Thoughtfully, Phil first brushed the snow off the rest of the bench before taking the proffered cup. “Thank you. You can sit if you like.” Phil took a sip of the coffee he’d been given, and his eyebrows went up. “Exactly the way I like it!” He gazed in surprise at the man sitting beside him. “How did you know?”

“You just looked like a cream and sugar kind of guy.” They smiled at each other.

“I can’t believe I was so rude. You gave me coffee and I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Phil,” he said, holding out his hand with a guileless expression. They shook hands.

“Call me Dan.” They both sipped from their cups. Well, Phil sipped—Dan just let the liquid touch his lip and felt its warmth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dan. And thank you very much for the coffee!”

“You’re welcome. I had to give you something for your birthday, didn’t I?”

Phil jumped, nearly falling off the bench, and turned to stare. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”

“Thirty, too. That’s a big one. Shouldn’t you be at some kind of party or something?”

Abruptly, Phil seemed to forget all about the mystery of how the stranger knew it was his birthday, and he just deflated. “Well, the party wasn’t that great, so I left.”

“That’s what you get for living with a dick of a flatmate.”

Phil really did fall off the bench this time, landing right on his butt in the snow. He didn’t even get up, just sat staring with his mouth hanging open, apparently unable to even find words. Eventually, he found his tongue. “Who … who are you? How do you know all of this?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Sitting there in the snow and staring up at a mysterious stranger, Phil set his jaw. “Try me,” he challenged.

“I’m your guardian angel.”

Phil frowned. Slowly, deep in thought, he picked himself up and dusted snow off his backside. “Okay,” Phil breathed. “There’s a lot to unpack there. But, first things first … guardian angels are real … and mine is named Dan? It’s not a very impressive, angel-type name, like Raphael or Galadriel.”

“You do realize that Galadriel is a character in The Lord of the Rings, don’t you?” Dan asked, amused.

“Of course I do!” Phil exclaimed in frustration. “I’ve seen the entire trilogy five times! But how does an angel know about The Lord of the Rings?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Who do you think was watching over you all five times you sat through that entire trilogy? And thank, you, by the way, for only making me watch The Hobbit once. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to turn a very short book into three excruciatingly long movies?”

They both shook their heads in disappointed disapproval. “I’m sorry I even put you through that at all,” Phil admitted. Then he stared at Dan in shock. “You said ‘fuck’! Angels say ‘fuck’? And how did you know about the book?” Then he smacked himself in the forehead. “Because you were there when I read it when I was a kid.”

“Nah. I only got assigned to you seven or eight years ago. You should have heard the previous guy complain! All about how he could barely keep you from walking off cliffs or lighting yourself on fire.”

Phil scowled. “Angels complain about me? You know, I’ve heard some insults before, but that one goes to the top of the list.”

Dan waved a hand dismissively. “Puriel is as big of a dick as your flatmate.”

“There’s an angel named Puriel? Sounds like a hand sanitizer.”

Dan actually laughed so hard that this time it was he who nearly fell off the bench. When he got control of himself, he gave Phil a long look. “You’re taking all of this much more calmly than I expected.”

Phil looked contemplative for a moment, then he said, “Well, why not? I mean, blobfish are weird as heck, and they’re real. So why not angels? I feel kind of flattered that I have a guardian angel.”

“Everybody’s got one.”

“Oh.” Phil blinked. “Well, I still think it seems nice, knowing that somebody’s been watching out for me.”

“Yeah, Puriel might be a dick, but you definitely do require a lot of attention. I thought the thing about lighting yourself on fire was a joke, but what the hell made you think you should operate the stove with your fucking foot?”

“Hey, that turned out fine!” Phil replied defensively. “Nothing caught on fire…”

Dan stared at him silently. And waited. And waited.

And waited.

“Oh,” Dan saw when Phil finally got it. “That was because of you?” Dan nodded. “Oh … well, thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Dan chuckled.

“But there’s a question you still haven’t answered,” Phil insisted. Dan shrugged, welcoming whatever Phil wanted to ask. “My guardian angel is named Dan? It just seems sort of … boring. Not very fancy, as far as angel names go.”

“You want Puriel back?” Dan quipped. Phil laughed. “To be honest, our real names aren’t in a human language, so we just use these names as a sort of convenience when we actually need to have a conversation with a human, which doesn’t happen as often as you’d think. So I usually go by Daniel, but we’ve been hanging out together for years now, even if you didn’t know it … so I figured you could call me Dan.”

Phil held his hand out again and said, “Well, now that I know who you really are, it’s nice to finally meet you, Dan. And thanks for all the help you’ve apparently been giving me behind the scenes.” They shook hands warmly. “But, hey, why did you let that squirrel bite me? And…”

Dan held up his hands. “No way you’re pinning every bad thing that ever happened to you on me. First of all, I can’t control living creatures, so if you try to pet a goose, that goose has every right to bite you in the butt.” Phil tried to interrupt, but Dan kept talking. “But I also can’t fix everything. If you’re going to try to kill yourself every five seconds, I can only catch you 99 times out of 100. And I think those are pretty good odds. So every time you’ve tripped or knocked something over or fallen down the stairs or something … just imagine if I hadn’t been there to catch you the other 99 times.”

Phil tilted his head in confusion. “But I thought you couldn’t control living creatures, so how could you keep me from falling down the stairs?”

Dan grinned. “I can’t control you, but I can make the handrail suddenly sort of magnetic so that it draws your hand to it. Or I can shift the weight of whatever’s in the bag you’re carrying. Or I can make the step rise up to meet your foot…”

“You can do all that?” Phil marveled, gazing at Dan in wonder.

Dan shrugged modestly and buffed his fingernails against his coat, making Phil laugh again.

They sat there in silence for a little while—Phil just staring at Dan in wonder—when suddenly snow started falling softly around them. Phil held up a hand and smiled. “It’s snowing again. For my birthday.”

Dan just smiled at him.

“Is that you? Are you making it snow?” Dan shrugged again, but gave a mischievous smirk. Phil stood up and stared up at the sky with his arms spread wide. “Well, if you’re making it snow for my birthday, thank you, because I love the snow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dan replied softly, watching Phil’s blissful expression as he gazed upward and let the snowflakes fall on his face. He looked like what most people would expect an angel to look like. Dan looked down at his black clothes with their random zips, then back at Phil with his arms wide and blissful expression. The contrast couldn’t have been more stark.

Phil began to twirl very slowly, still gazing upward, arms still extended. “You’re going to trip over something,” Dan warned him.

“I have a guardian angel watching out for me,” Phil replied with a little laugh.

Dan just watched Phil enjoy the falling snow for a while before offering another warning. “You’re going to end up drenched, you know. All that snow is melting as soon as it hits the warmth of your body, and it’s just turning to water. It’s like you’re standing in the rain.”

“Standing in the rain is good, too,” Phil said. “But snow is better. I don’t mind it melting. Watching it fall is just the best thing ever.”

After a few more minutes of watching Phil gaze up at the snow, even trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue once or twice, Dan reluctantly admitted, “You may be a pain in the ass to keep alive and safe, but you’re better at this than most people."

"Better at what?" Phil looked down from the sky to see Dan’s face.

"Living.”

Phil frowned. “How can somebody be better at living?”

Dan tried to think of how to explain. “You appreciate things more, like the snow. You smile more than most people, and you make other people smile. You love more, including all creatures, not just humans ... even plants! You reach out and try to offer love where you can. You're kind. You sing more often than most people. You laugh a lot, including at yourself, which most people can't do so well. You try new things instead of always staying with what's safe, and you don't mind if you fail. You do what makes you happy even if it isn't what everyone else is doing. You create beautiful things that no one else could have thought of. You're sensitive to how others are feeling and actively increase the happiness of the other people around you. You're just ... you're better at it. You're a better human than most. You're just ... better at living. You're good at it." He ended this long speech with a slight feeling of embarrassment. He didn’t usually give compliments. He didn’t usually talk much at all, actually. But he’d been watching Phil for a while now, and he’d noticed things.

Phil stared at him in apparent awe, his eyes wide, but he didn’t say anything in response. Dan wondered if he’d been struck dumb by a random string of compliments from a grumpy, black-clad guardian angel … and figured that was actually probably the case. “Come on,” Dan grumbled. “You’re getting soaked. Let’s get you into the coffee shop around the corner to dry off.” He took Phil’s arm and dragged him along, since Phil still seemed dazed.

“I’m better at living?” Phil whispered to him as they walked.

“Forget I said anything,” Dan said gruffly, increasingly embarrassed by his outpouring of emotion.

Phil smiled and seemed a bit less dazed. “I’m good at it. An angel said I’m good at it,” he murmured to himself in wonder.

“I said forget it!” Dan rumbled threateningly.

“No,” Phil said firmly. “I never will. Not my whole life. I will never forget it. Sometimes I really doubt myself … so … so thank you for saying it.”

Dan shrugged uncomfortably and opened the door of the coffee shop, practically shoving Phil inside ahead of him.

—

The coffee shop was deliciously warm after their time in the snow, but it caused the last remaining snowflakes to melt immediately. Water dripped along Dan’s scalp, but he was lucky enough to be wearing a scarf that caught most of the moisture before it could touch his neck.

Phil, however, gave a visible shudder as melted snow practically streamed from his soaking wet hair onto his bare skin. “Do you have a towel from the kitchen?” Dan brusquely asked the startled-looking girl behind the counter. “Or even just a bunch of paper napkins?” She ducked into the back room and emerged with a tea towel which she timidly offered. Dan snatched it from her hand and began vigorously rubbing Phil’s wet hair as Phil tried to bat him away.

Eventually, satisfied that Phil’s hair would at least no longer actually drip water, Dan gave his own hair a quick rub, then offered the wet tea towel back to the barista with an apologetic smile. He knew the dimples this human face had would charm most people into forgiving him almost any bad behavior. “I’m sorry I was so rude when we first came in. It’s freezing out there, and we’d gotten quite a bit of snow on us.”

The barista flushed and returned his smile, taking the tea towel from him. “Let me just put this in the back, and I’ll come take your order. Why don’t you take off your coats and things? It’s nice and toasty in here.” Dan and Phil took her advice and hung their outerwear on the provided rack. Phil rubbed his hands together, then ran his hands up and down his arms to stimulate the blood flow.

“Go on,” Dan told him, looking around at the empty room. “Go sit at the table by the window. I’ll order us some more coffee to warm us up.” He knew Phil would like to watch the snow from the window table, and Phil did indeed smile as he gazed out at the winter wonderland.

When the barista returned, Dan placed their order at the counter before going to join Phil at the table. “Warming up?” he asked. Phil nodded happily. The coffee shop was warm enough that their hair was already drying.

Phil had rested his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, and was gazing out the window. “It’s so beautiful,” he said dreamily. “I love snow. And I must admit it’s nice to watch it from someplace cozy.” He looked at Dan. “I loved standing in it, too, though. Thank you for that.”

Dan rolled his eyes and said, “I already told you you’re welcome. You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“But what if I want to keep thanking you?” Phil asked impishly. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

Dan sighed heavily, trying to indicate the extreme patience he was showing in the face of Phil’s ridiculousness. He then said, slowly and firmly, “You. Are. Fucking. Welcome. Now shut the fuck up about it.”

Phil gazed at him curiously. “Do all angels swear as much as you do?”

Dan threw his head back in frustration, then raised it up again to look at Phil. “Would you rather have Puriel back? Get your hands all nice and sanitized?”

Phil laughed, then shrugged. “It was a legitimate question. I mean, you do swear a lot.”

“That’s just me,” Dan replied with a huff. “I’m not the sweet and sugary type. Sorry if that offends your delicate sensibilities.”

“I don’t mind,” Phil said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I like you just the way you are.” He smiled at Dan, and Dan felt a strange kind of fluttery nausea in his human stomach.

“Well, that’s good,” Dan said. “I don’t plan on handing the job off to anyone else, so you’re stuck with me. I don’t know why Puriel complained so much. You’re not that bad.”

Phil grinned. “Even if I do try to light myself on fire by working the stove with my feet?”

Dan laughed. “Even then. You just … keep me on my toes, you might say.”

They both giggled like schoolchildren as the barista approached the table. “The coffee will be ready in a minute, but … he said today was your birthday…” and she placed a red-frosted cupcake on the table, a single burning candle standing on top.

Phil sobered immediately. “For me?” he asked with wide eyes, looking between Dan and the barista and back again.

“For you,” Dan affirmed, then urged Phil, “You have to blow out the candle!”

Phil blew out the candle, then thanked the barista, who just smiled at him and walked away.

“Well,” Dan said impatiently before Phil could thank him again. “Go ahead and eat it!”

“Do you want to share?” Phil asked.

“It’s your birthday. It’s not a proper birthday cake, but it’ll have to do. Now go on!”

“The other cake, the one at the party, it didn’t even have any candles,” Phil said sadly as he began to peel the wrapper off the cupcake. And then he suddenly looked up at Dan with wide eyes. “Is this…” he looked at the revealed cupcake again. “Is this red velvet?”

Dan grinned. “I guess you’ll have to taste it and find out.”

Phil took a big bite of the cupcake and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “It is red velvet,” he moaned almost completely unintelligibly with his mouth still full. He swallowed and asked, “How did you know red velvet was my favorite?”

Dan just gave him that look again.

“Oh, right,” Phil giggled, then took another bite. He visibly savored it, then swallowed again. “Are you sure you don’t want a bite?” he asked Dan. Phil was always like that, preferring to share anything he found particularly wonderful, instead of wanting to hoard it for himself. It was one of the things Dan had always found especially admirable about him. Something he’d always found especially endearing. One of the things that had made Dan care about him so much and not mind the constant death-defying challenges.

He couldn’t understand how Puriel couldn’t love someone that generous and kind.

But Puriel was a dick who wouldn’t recognize a truly good person if they kicked him in the ass. Which a good person probably wouldn’t do, come to think of it. But Dan would.

The barista brought their two cups of coffee and showed them the sugar and small pitcher of milk sitting on the table, then told them to let her know if they needed anything else. Phil had his mouth full of cupcake, and Dan was afraid he might spew crumbs in his attempt to thank her, so Dan quickly said, “Thanks! I’m sure these will warm us up.” The barista turned to go, so all Phil did was nod vigorously, keeping his mouth closed as he chewed.

Dan sat, pretending to sip from his coffee, and simply watched Phil devour the cupcake with great relish while looking out the window at the snow. It was like watching happiness personified.

When he’d finally finished the cupcake and chased down most of the remaining crumbs with some coffee of his own, Phil toyed with the candle in his long, pale fingers. “Another year gone,” he said, sounding a little melancholy now.

Dan nodded. “Yup. Another year closer to your inevitable death and the probable doom of this entire universe.”

Phil blinked repeatedly. “You must be the weirdest angel ever.”

“Haven’t met many, have you?” Phil nodded at what was, obviously, a fair point. “There’s some weird ones, let me tell you.”

“But … my inevitable death? The doom of the entire universe?” Phil stared at him, still obviously thrown off balance.

Dan shrugged. “It’s the truth. Happy birthday!” He made ironic jazz hands. As intended, it made Phil laugh again.

“I don’t like to think of it that way,” Phil mused. “It’s more like … another year of working toward making my dreams come true. Maybe someday I’ll actually make it all happen.”

“I have faith in you,” Dan said, caught off guard by his own unintended honesty. At first, he didn’t understand why Phil started giggling, but then he caught on. “Oh, ha ha. Faith from an angel. I get it. It’s not that funny.”

“It is pretty funny,” Phil disagreed, “but thanks for the sentiment.”

Dan thought about the word. “Hmm. I don’t usually think of myself and sentiment having much relation to each other.”

“Maybe I bring out the best in you,” Phil joked with a sunny smile.

Dan tilted his head, giving the idea some consideration. “Well, it’s the case for a lot of other people, so why not me?” Phil looked confused. “You tend to bring out the best in people,” Dan explained.

“I do?” Phil seemed surprised.

Dan shook his head fondly at Phil’s utter incomprehension of his own effect on the world. “Yes, Phil, you do.”

Phil ducked his head, suddenly shy. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Dan didn’t know what to say to that, so they both just sat there for a while. Phil went back to watching the snow falling outside the window as he sipped his coffee. Dan held his coffee mug in his hands and enjoyed the aroma while he watched Phil watch the snow. The coffee wasn’t so hot anymore, but the mug still felt good in his hands. It was nice to get to feel and smell things, one of the benefits of being in a human body.

“So what else would you like to do on your birthday? I gave you snow. What else?”

“Dogs!” Phil replied immediately, looking extremely excited.

“Um, no.” Dan sighed to show he was displaying the utmost patience. “I told you already. I don’t have any control over living creatures. You do understand that dogs are living creatures, right?” he asked sarcastically.

Phil huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Well, I mean, the fun ones are.”

Dan burst into raucous laughter. “Oh my god! That was the best joke I’ve ever heard you make! We’ll make an edgelord out of you yet!” Phil Lester, making a joke about dead dogs. Dan never would have thought he’d see the day.

Phil frowned in confusion a moment, then suddenly waved his arms in horror, exclaiming, “That’s not what I meant! I meant like, as opposed to plushies! Not … what you were thinking.” He made the cutest little disgusted face.

“Okay, okay,” Dan said, calming down from his fit of amused hysteria. “Aside from living dogs, what would make you happy on your birthday?”

Phil made his funny face where his lips moved to the side, the face he made when he was really thinking about something. “I don’t know. Maybe … sparklers?”

“Sparklers?”

“Yeah,” Phil enthused, getting more excited by the idea as he explained it. “You know, like at Guy Fawkes. You hold the stick in your hand, and you light the other end, and it gives off sparks. Didn’t you ever watch over me on Bonfire Night, all those years?”

“Yes, of course, I know what sparklers are, you moron. I just … you want sparklers for your birthday?” Dan couldn’t believe it. He had almost infinite powers to give Phil whatever he wanted, and Phil wanted … sparklers?

“I like sparklers,” Phil sulked defensively, and took a big slurpy drink of his coffee, which must have gone disgustingly cold by now. He then proceeded to cross his arms and stare pointedly out at the snow, ignoring Dan, his feelings clearly hurt.

The snow stopped.

Phil snorted, annoyed. “You did that on purpose.”

“Well, obviously,” Dan replied. “Otherwise, the snow might put out the flames on the sparklers.”

—

Phil had always loved sparklers, always loved how they seemed to crackle with life and excitement, how they left trails of light behind them when you moved them through the air, but the sparklers Dan created were different.

“Here,” Dan said. “Let me light it for you.” And just as the sparkler had come out of nowhere, the flame seemed to light it with only a gesture from Dan’s hand. The sparks began to fly, and Phil gazed at the glittering, flickering light with fascination. It made that hissing, popping sound that was so familiar from all the Bonfire Nights of his childhood.

He swept the sparkler through the air, and it left a stream of light behind it, just as it always had, just as he’d always loved, but the sparkler Dan had made left a trail that lingered longer than usual. Phil made loops and swirls, fascinated by the way the light remained in the sky for just a bit longer than he had seen before, long enough for him to create images. He drew a heart, then grinned at Dan. “Aren’t you going to do it, too?”

Dan lit a sparkler for himself and began drawing zigzags and rollercoasters of light. He wrote the name “Philip” in the sky, and then beamed at Phil.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile like that,” Phil said with awe.

Dan looked at him in confusion, the smile falling from his face. “Smile like what?”

“Like … you were happy,” Phil explained. “All your other smiles, they seemed a little sad. But this time, you really just … you just looked happy.” He looked down at the snow. “I’m sorry I ruined it by bringing it up. As soon as I said anything about it, it was gone.”

“It’s not gone,” Dan said quietly, honestly, feeling a soft smile return to his face as he gazed at Phil. “It’s still here.”

Phil returned the smile with a tender one of his own, and then turned to write “Daniel” in the sky with a flourish. Then he drew a happy face afterward and turned to grin at Dan.

Dan snickered and drew an angry face with a “v” over the eyes as furious eyebrows. But Phil just laughed and drew loops around the unhappy face until suddenly Dan saw that it was a series of gracefully shaped hearts. Something inside him stirred again, and he pressed his free hand to his chest to hold it there, that feeling.

And suddenly he knew what it was.

He didn’t want to admit it—it was against all the rules—but it was true. And he wasn’t going to lie.

Not giving himself a chance to hesitate, he turned and wrote with his sparkler, “I love you,” against the darkness of the sky. He kept staring at the trail of glowing words until they had faded completely back into darkness.

He couldn’t look at Phil.

Dan might have been developing these feelings over years of watching and knowing him, but Phil had only met him tonight. To Phil, he was a virtual stranger. There was no way Phil could understand or return his feelings. And yet he hadn’t been able to hold it in, hadn’t been able to hide it, not from Phil. And so he’d written those words in light, and their effect would endure inside him forever, even though their illumination had faded from the night.

He couldn’t look at Phil. Couldn’t stand to see his expression. The pity.

He felt a warmth, a presence by his side, and he knew it was him, it was Phil, but Dan just couldn’t look up, the sparkler still absurdly in his hand, unmoving after writing those damning words in the sky.

But Phil moved to stand in front of him, close, so close, so warm and perfect and everything Dan hadn’t known he wanted, because he wasn’t allowed to want it, wasn’t supposed to want it, and finally Dan hesitantly raised his head to see an exquisitely gentle expression on Phil’s face.

“I love you, too,” Phil whispered, but the quiet words rang in Dan’s ears like a clarion bell. Words he’d never expected to hear, never never never, and then Phil leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dan’s and everything else disappeared. Dan’s entire world was those soft lips against his in a kiss that was everything he’d wanted, everything he wasn’t supposed to have, everything he’d dreamed of, and he realized now that he’d been wanting it for years, that he’d fallen in love with Phil long ago. Phil with his sunshine smile and his kindness and his love for the world. Phil who was like nothing Dan had ever seen before. Phil who was kissing him, kissing him, there in the snowy darkness with sparklers crackling in their hands. He finally began to register all this as Phil slowly, lingeringly pulled away and looked into Dan’s eyes.

Dan didn’t know what Phil saw there, but he knew what he saw in Phil’s eyes, and it was sweet and gentle and fierce all at once. “I love you, too,” Phil repeated. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know I only met you a few hours ago. But … I feel like I’ve known you for years. Maybe because you’ve been there for years, and somehow some part of me knew that and felt you there. I can’t explain it, but it’s true.” He raised a chilly hand to Dan’s cheek, where it warmed quickly against his skin. “I feel connected to you like I’ve never felt with anyone else. When you sat beside me on that bench, it was like finding another part of myself.”

Suddenly, Phil lowered his hand and looked away, biting his lip. “Does that sound stupid? You just … you wrote that with the sparkler … and then I just … maybe you didn’t even mean it. You were just messing around…”

Dan stopped those stupid words, pressing forward for another kiss, this time a little less gentle, and he let his sparkler fall to the snowy ground, where it hissed and spat before the flame died out. He wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist in his thick winter coat and pulled him nearer, wanting him as near as possible, wanting nothing more than Phil in this entire universe and beyond. He heard another hissing sound as Phil’s sparkler dropped beside his own, and then felt Phil’s arms around his neck as Phil tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, and it was heaven. Dan had never been to any heaven as an angel, only taken orders like a good foot soldier in the supernatural bureaucracy, only watched over people on earth as they lived and loved in ways he never thought he could ever experience, but now he felt what he thought all those people had meant when they said something felt like heaven, because this was it.

When Phil finally pulled away—because Dan would never have pulled away, never never never, he would have continued kissing Phil until the end of time—they gazed at each other in the darkness. Without the sparklers, the night around them was lit only by the windows from the coffee shop a little distance away.

“I think I’ve been in love with you a long time,” Dan admitted hesitantly, looking into Phil’s eyes as they gleamed in the dim light. “I just didn’t know what it was, because I’d never felt that way before. I only knew that I cared what happened to you, a lot more than I’d ever cared about any of the other humans I’d protected. In hundreds of years of watching over people, I’d never felt this way. But until tonight … I didn’t know what it was.”

Phil slid his hands down from around Dan’s neck until he could entwine his fingers with Dan’s, both their hands linked together by their sides as they stood so close that their visible breaths mingled in the cold air.

“So what happens now?” Phil asked hesitantly.

And with that simple question, Phil shattered Dan’s heart and his world.

—

Dan had brushed the snow off the bench with the sleeve of his coat, and they both sat there under the streetlamp. Dan had pulled his feet up and wrapped his arms around his knees, clasping his hands and huddling there for warmth. This human body felt the cold. Not earlier, not when they played with the sparklers, when Phil smiled at him, when Phil stood close and they had … but now, now his body felt the cold.

He rested his cheek on his knees, face turned toward Phil, who sat on the bench beside him.

“So you’re just going to leave,” Phil said, his voice stiff and angry. “After all that, you’re just going to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Phil. You know that. I’ll still be here.” Dan knew his words weren’t going to help, but he didn’t know anything that would, so all he could do was tell the truth.

Phil huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. My invisible friend. And you don’t even seem to care. You’re just sitting there, like … like it doesn’t even matter.” Phil turned his back on Dan, looking toward the warmly lit coffee shop where they’d been so happy an hour ago.

“Of course it matters,” Dan rasped out. His throat felt choked, so he cleared it, but it didn’t help. Maybe it was a human thing. “It always matters. But I can’t stay. Even now, I’m breaking the rules, just by being here, by being with you.” Phil didn’t say anything, the line of his back rigid in the lamplight. “I shouldn’t take human form and interact with you in the human world at all. But … tonight, on this bench … you seemed so sad … so lonely … I couldn’t leave you here alone. And so I came again…”

“Again?” Phil almost roared, and the sound echoed in the quiet of the late night in the little park. Dan realized that he had underestimated how upset Phil was. No, not upset—angry. Hurt and angry. Because of Dan. The opposite of what he would ever have wanted. But soon that would all be erased … along with everything else. The thought brought Dan little comfort. Phil turned to look at him again, his face contorted with anguish, his voice quiet now, rigidly controlled. “You’ve been here before? Did I not see you … or did you look different…?”

“I’ve come twice before,” Dan admitted. “Only two times … times when you seemed most lonely and I couldn’t bear it anymore. I’d never taken human shape before with any of my charges, but twice before tonight I did, I came to you … but it wasn’t the same. I just … you needed to talk, needed someone to listen … needed to know that someone cared. And so I came, and I listened to you, and I let you know that I am always here, always with you, always caring … and it seemed to help. And then I erased your memories of my visit, but the comfort lingered and your smile returned … and I felt better, that I had helped you, even if you wouldn’t remember me. I would remember for both of us.” He sniffed, and told himself it was the cold, not oncoming tears, and said, “Just like I’ll remember for both of us this time, too.”

Dan, tightened his arms around his knees and turned his face as soon as he felt the tears begin to sting his eyes, turned his face away from Phil and rested his other cheek on his knees, looking away into the darkness beyond the street lamp.

“Wait a minute,” Phil said haltingly. “You’re going to erase my memories?” Dan didn’t reply, because he knew it wasn’t really a question, not after what he’d just said.

“This whole night?” Phil continued. “Everything? You’re going to wipe it all from my brain like none of it ever happened? Does it mean that little to you?” Phil sounded absolutely destroyed by the final few words, his voice shredded almost to nothing.

“I don’t have a choice,” Dan cried, still looking away, unable to look at Phil and see the expression on his face right now. “There are rules! I don’t get to just do whatever I want, Phil. I’m not like you! I’m a guardian angel, and we have rules we have to follow or the entire structure would collapse.”

After a long silence, Dan finally turned to look back at Phil, and he looked angrier than Dan had ever seen him before. An anger that roiled beneath the surface, while Phil’s face looked perfectly still. When their eyes met, Phil said slowly, carefully, “So why did you say you loved me? Why did you kiss me? Why did you do any of that, when all the time you were planning to take it back?”

Dan didn’t know what to say.

Phil nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Just getting your jollies, huh?” Then he laughed with no humor in the sound. “Christmas was a month ago, you moron.” He froze, then said, “Hell, you could have been here, then, too, and I would never know it. You could just keep playing with my brain over and over again.” Dan could see his anger grow with every sentence now, with every word. “Did we ever have sex? Because I suppose it wouldn’t count as rape if I was willing at the time, but I’m not sure if you erased my memory of it afterward…”

Dan shouted, “Stop! I told you! I was only here those other two times, and all I did was listen. This was the first time I ever … I never even realized how I felt about you until tonight.”

“And so you thought you’d take advantage of that nifty memory erasure power…” Phil began, but Dan interrupted him.

“I didn’t plan any of this!” Dan sobbed, and tears were streaking down his face now, hot against the cold of his skin. “I just … it took me by surprise. I’d never felt this way, never … never sat in a cozy window seat with a handsome man I loved … never played. I was never a child, Phil, so I’d never played before, never laughed with a friend and felt a sparkler in my hand and swung it through the air.” He wiped at his cheeks then dropped his chin to his knees again. “I … I lost control, Phil. I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to have any of this. It’s against the rules, and this must be the reason, because I should never lose control like that. I’m sorry. I should have just … I should have just listened to you like I did before and then gone. Even that would have broken the rules, but it wouldn’t have been so selfish. I should never have let the rest of that happen. It was very wrong of me. I’m so sorry.” He closed his eyes, because he could feel more tears gathering, threatening to fall.

Phil’s voice was soft when he said, “You were never a child? And you think it was wrong to play?”

Dan opened his eyes, and he gazed at Phil through eyelashes covered in teardrops that glistened like crystals in the lamplight. As Dan looked at him, they framed Phil’s face like some kind of ironic halo. “I’m not human, Phil. I don’t have a life. I just have an eternity of watching from the outside, an eternity of guarding the human world, keeping people safe. That’s all I’ll ever have. Except … tonight.”

“You said you weren’t supposed to have any of this. I thought you meant love, kissing, all of that. But you mean the rest, too? Even just … even just the coffee? I noticed you only pretended to sip at yours. Was that why you wouldn’t take a bite of my cupcake? Because someone told you it wasn’t allowed?”

Dan sighed. Phil just didn’t understand. Dan gazed at him through the scattered stars of his own tears. “We don’t have anything for ourselves, Phil. We aren’t supposed to. We don’t get to have guardian angel parties, even with white cake, let alone red velvet cupcakes. We don’t have anything for ourselves. We only exist to serve. I only watch. I watch your Bonfire Nights, with the sparklers. I watch you walk through crowded streets and bump elbows with strangers and apologize to them because you’re always too nice. I watch you laugh with your family and friends, watch how you love them, how they smile at you with such affection. I watch you play video games and drink pumpkin spice lattes and take the Tube. I watch you curl up by warm fires with a blanket over your lap and a cup of hot chocolate. I watch you live a life, but I don’t live, Phil. I don’t get to have that. I was created to watch over you, to keep you safe, to make your life as healthy and happy as possible. And that’s what I do. It’s my place in the world. And I treasure it. I treasure my ability to help you, even though it is from afar. It’s my reason for existence.”

Neither of them said anything for a long beat, and then Dan whispered, “I don’t get to have a life, Phil. And, no matter what happened tonight, no matter how I feel about you, I can’t let you keep the memories, and I don’t get to stay. I just … can’t. I have no right. I just … I’m not human.”

This time the silence stretched on so long that Dan wondered if Phil was going to just get up and walk away. But then Phil asked, “So … if you don’t have guardian angel parties … does that mean you’ve never had a cupcake?”

Dan laughed on a sob. “No, Phil,” he laughed at the absurdity and his own grief. “I’ve never had a cupcake.” His cheeks were wet again now, the tears rapidly cooling in the wintery air.

And then suddenly his left wrist was grabbed forcefully, causing his other arm to fall loose and his legs to slide off the bench. He turned his head to gaze up at Phil, who stood beside him, holding Dan’s wrist in a tight grip. “Then come on,” Phil said in the most determined voice Dan had ever heard from him. “Because I’m buying you a fucking cupcake.”

Dan hadn’t heard Phil use that particular swear word often, aside from when he played video games, so he knew Phil was serious about this ridiculous idea. But this was neither the time nor the place. In fact, there was no time or place in which it would ever be appropriate for Phil Lester to buy him a fucking cupcake.

“Are you going to make me drag you there?” Phil asked through gritted teeth. “Because that might traumatize the girl who was so nice to us.”

Dan sighed. “Why would you want to buy me a cupcake, Phil? After everything I’ve just told you?”

“If you don’t get to stay…” Phil looked away and his throat worked for a moment before he continued. “If you don’t get to stay, if you have to go back to that, then I want to at least give you a cupcake to remember.”

“That sounds like a terrible Hallmark movie,” Dan laughed through his tears. “A Cupcake to Remember.”

—

The cupcake had come with three candles on it. Dan looked at Phil in question as the barista walked back behind the counter, well away from their window table.

“One candle for each time you’ve come to see me,” Phil explained with a grin. “Like your three birthdays.”

Dan would never understand how Phil could take such absolutely absurd situations and simply adjust to them, simply accept them and move on. Now he had accepted that Dan had been here before, and he didn’t hold on to any anger or recriminations. Instead, he just got Dan a cupcake with three candles.

Dan blew the candles out. Like he’d seen a million times. Like a real person having a real birthday.

“So what do you think?” Phil asked when Dan took the first bite, his voice eager as he watched Dan’s face.

A bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny—not accustomed to being the one observed—Dan chewed and swallowed, which in itself was an odd sensation. “It’s … interesting.”

“Just interesting?” Phil sounded disappointed. “It’s a red velvet cupcake! You don’t like it?”

Dan considered how to explain. “Well, to be honest, I’ve never eaten anything before, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.” He took another bite. The cake felt spongey in his mouth, with a rather pleasing texture. He liked it better than the sweeter icing.

Phil’s jaw dropped, literally. The gaping mouth was not his most attractive look. “You’ve … you’ve never eaten anything before?”

Dan looked around, making sure the barista was not within hearing distance. “Phil … I’m not human. Guardian angels don’t eat. We just … watch. I just watch over you. I see you eat every day, see you enjoy food, but I don’t get to enjoy it myself. I’m glad when I see you enjoy it, though. I like to see you happy. If all I can do is watch, I like to watch you be happy.” He chuckled a bit to himself. “Food seems to make you very happy. Especially popcorn and sweets.” He took another bite of the cupcake. Eating really was a very strange experience.

Phil shook his head in wonder. “You really … wait! Here! Drink some of my coffee!” He pushed his mug into Dan’s hand. This time they hadn’t ordered two, just a coffee for Phil and the cupcake for Dan. Dan looked at Phil in confusion. “A cupcake is much better with coffee! And I’ll bet you’ve never drunk coffee before, either, even though I’ve seen you hold it in your hands.”

Obediently, not sure why he felt compelled to humor Phil’s whims, Dan took a sip of the coffee. It was warm and sweet and smooth in his mouth, and it washed cupcake crumbs with it as it flowed down his throat. He imagined he could even feel its warmth in his belly. He nodded to Phil. “It’s good.” He smiled.

In the end, the cupcake defeated him, and Phil had to finish it, which he did with great enjoyment, despite having eaten an entire cupcake of his own not long before. Dan, in turn, finished the coffee. He decided that he preferred coffee to cupcakes, but opted to keep that thought to himself, lest he hurt Phil’s feelings. Phil had been so excited about the cupcake, after all.

They sat silently together at the table, an empty plate in front of Phil, an empty mug in Dan’s hands, both of them watching the snow which had begun falling again outside. This time, Dan hadn’t needed to prompt it.

“So,” Phil began softly, “you can’t stay.” Dan shook his head. They met each other’s eyes, sharing their regret. “Do you need to leave right away? Could you stay until tomorrow?” Phil looked hopeful, but Dan silently shook his head again.

Dan looked down into his empty mug. He’d tasted food and drink for the first time tonight. He’d played in the snow. He’d kissed someone he loved. He couldn’t ask for more. He’d already taken too much, far more than he should.

“This is all…” he began, but Phil interrupted him.

“Against the rules. I know.” Phil sounded bitter now. “You know, these rules really suck.”

That surprised a laugh out of Dan, but then he nodded in reluctant agreement. “They really really do.”

“Are you going to erase my memory now? Leave me sitting in a coffee shop wondering why there are three candles on my empty plate?” Phil’s quiet voice held pain and acceptance.

How could Phil accept even this?

How could he accept it when even Dan could not?

Because Dan found that he couldn’t. He must be the worst fucking guardian angel in the history of existence, because these rules made no fucking sense to him, and he absolutely could not accept that he had to erase himself and this wonderful, beautiful night from Phil’s memory.

“What if…” Dan began hesitantly. Could he really do this? Visiting Phil was one thing, but this … this would be a much more serious breach of the rules. He’d never heard of anyone doing such a thing. “What if I didn’t erase your memory?” he finished in a quiet rush.

Phil’s head came up and he stared at Dan, shocked. “I thought that was…” but Dan interrupted him.

“Against the rules. Yeah. It is. But what if I didn’t?” Dan gazed anxiously at Phil.

Phil shrugged in confusion. “Then I would remember everything we did tonight.” He smiled. “Everything.” His gaze flicked down to Dan’s lips, then back up to his eyes.

“But, that isn’t everything that would change,” Dan insisted, frustrated with Phil’s lack of understanding. “You would always know, from now on. You would always know about me. That I’m watching. That I’m there. That’s what’s not permitted. Humans can’t know about us or it might change their behavior, and we’re merely observers. We’re not supposed to change your lives except in the small ways we help to keep you safe.”

Phil put his hand on Dan’s underneath the table and met his eyes with steely determination. “So I would know for the rest of my life that I wasn’t alone, that you were always with me, that someone was always on my side and watching out for me. I don’t see how that could be a bad thing.”

“I’m not going to do it,” Dan said, making the sudden decision at the same time as the words erupted from his mouth. “I’m not going to erase your memory.”

“But what about the rules?” Phil asked, suddenly anxious. “Will something happen to you if you don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Dan admitted. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this before. But I’m not erasing this night, not for anything. I don’t want to hold the memory for both of us … I want us to hold it together.” They smiled at each other like shy co-conspirators.

They held hands tightly, and Dan never wanted to let go. He’d heard it so many times, but he’d never understood it when humans said that, when they said, “I never want to let go,” but now he knew. Because now he felt it.

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Absolutely sure?” Phil sounded despondent.

Dan felt pain in his chest and wondered if this was what humans meant when they talked about “heartbreak.” How could he learn so much in one night? And all by breaking the rules! Was this why the rules existed, to prevent guardian angels from learning about humans, instead of preventing humans from learning about guardian angels? Or both?

He spoke firmly, despite his own agonized feelings. “There are rules, Phil, and I might be breaking a lot of them tonight, but this is the biggest one. It’s impossible. No one has ever done it.”

“Just because no one has ever done it doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” Phil replied with just the slightest amount of hope in his voice, but Dan just shook his head and gazed morosely into the empty coffee cup.

“I can’t stay, Phil. I have to go. But you know I’m not actually going anywhere. I’ll still be here.” He looked up to meet Phil’s beautiful, gentle, loving eyes. So sad, but so beautiful. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Phil replied without hesitation.

“Promise me you’ll move out of that miserable flat,” Dan insisted, fighting off his own despair with bravado. “Away from that terrible cunt of a flatmate. Find someplace of your own, someplace you can be happy.”

Tears gathered in those beautiful eyes. “I promise.”

“You know I’ll see if you break your word.” Dan tried to smile, but felt he probably did a poor job of it.

Phil gave a wobbly smile of his own. “I won’t. I’ll give David my notice tonight and find another place. I’ll be out by the end of next month.”

“Just … be happy, Phil. Nobody deserves it more than you do.”

Phil didn’t say anything, just gazed wordlessly at Dan.

“And … just know … I’m always here,” Dan added at last.

They both sat there a moment before Dan gave into his impulse, winding his hands into Phil’s hair and pulling him into a quick, fierce kiss which immediately gentled into something achingly sweet before he let their lips part. He looked into Phil’s pale eyes for a long moment, enjoying the warmness of him, the realness of him, the realness of them both, their last moment of togetherness. And then he let go and stood up from the table.

Dan walked away from Phil and past the wide-eyed barista, opening the shop door and hearing the chime as he walked through. He would not let himself look back as the door swung shut behind him. He stepped into the falling snow and relished its cold on his skin as he walked away from the coffee shop and into the darkness beyond its windows, beyond the lamplights. He walked into the dark until all he left behind was the imprint of two zippered boots on pristine white snow.

—

He saw Phil sit alone in the coffee shop for a long time, holding the empty mug in his hands and looking at the three candles on the empty plate in front of him, occasionally gazing out at the snow with a melancholy smile and eyes shining with tears.

And then he got to watch Phil walk home to tell his shocked fucking fuckwad of a flatmate that he was moving out.

—

Phil and his friend Chris packed kitchenware together into a large box.

“How long have you been flatmates with this bloke?” Chris asked.

Phil shrugged. “About three years, I think.”

“And you still keep all your plates and mugs and things in separate cabinets? After all this time?” Chris seemed offended on Phil’s behalf. Dan could tell he thought David must be a real twat.

He was absolutely correct on that score, of course.

“David didn’t want me using his things,” Phil replied, and Dan wanted to strangle the selfish little twat with his inconveniently incorporeal hands. But the all-important rules said he mustn’t affect the lives of anyone other than his assigned charge, which was Phil, so he couldn’t even cause any kind of accidental mishaps that might send Phil’s soon-to-be-former flatmate slipping on some conveniently located ice or anything. Phil added, “He says I break things.”

Well, okay, Dan had to admit that was fair.

Chris nodded. “Well, that’s fair,” he said, echoing Dan’s thoughts. Dan liked Chris. In fact, Dan liked all of Phil’s small collection of friends. Phil had good taste in people, in general, because he looked for humor and kindness above all, and those were excellent qualities, in Dan’s opinion. Dan had to admit that he even considered himself to display those qualities. He might not be the most cheerful entity in the universe, but he did think of himself as kind—to those who deserved it—and he certainly saw the humor in things—probably even in many things he shouldn’t. He liked irony, sarcasm, and dark humor. He wasn’t sure if those above him in the power structure would approve, but he didn’t really care.

He cared less about them, and about the rules, than he used to, even if he’d never been the most obedient and obliging of employees. He’d always tried, and he still tried today … but he just cared more about something else now. Or, rather, someone.

Half an hour later, Phil and Chris began carrying boxes down the steps to the small lorry Phil had rented. Phil misstepped and very nearly fell all the way down the stairway and broke his damned neck, but Dan made the stair quickly rise up to meet his gigantic clumsy foot, and Phil instead only came dangerously close to dropping a box full of mismatched crockery.

“Watch it there, mate!” Chris called out in surprised concern. “You’ll crack your head open falling down these concrete stairs!”

But Phil only took a few more careful steps before replying with a slight smile, “My guardian angel must be watching over me.”

In his incorporeal heart Dan smiled, too, even though Phil couldn’t see him.

—

On Valentine’s Day, Phil refused his friends’ invitation to go out together. Phil often refused invitations to go out, as he preferred to stay in, so this was nothing unusual, but instead of video games or his other usual pastimes, Phil sat on his new sofa in his new flat, surrounded by cardboard moving boxes, and watched The Notebook on Netflix, sobbing as if his heart was breaking.

Perhaps it was.

Or perhaps it already had.

Had Dan done that to him? Had he betrayed his only reason for existence by actually hurting the one person he was meant to protect from harm?

In the evening, Phil took a bus to the coffee house near his old flat and ordered a red velvet cupcake. The young man at the counter told him that they didn’t sell red velvet cupcakes. When Phil argued that he’d bought one only two weeks prior, the employee assured him that the bakery did not provide them with red velvet cupcakes, and so they’d never been available at this location.

Phil nodded slowly, giving a secret little wry smile as if he understood that Dan had made those particular cupcakes happen on that particular evening just for him, and Dan again felt a smile burgeon within his angelic heart. It was a slightly sad incorporeal smile, though, because it hurt to see Phil back in that coffee house alone, remembering him.

Phil ordered a plain chocolate cupcake with a cup of coffee and went to sit down. Half the tables were full, including the one at the window, so Phil sat at another table nearby to wait for his name to be called. With more than one table occupied, the employee working the counter certainly wouldn’t bring orders to the patrons’ tables as the friendly barista had on the night Dan and Phil had been there together.

When Phil’s name was called, he fetched his order and sat at a table not too far from the window, discreetly watching the couple sitting there. When they moved to stand up, Phil moved as quickly as was politely possible to claim the table before anyone else could.

He sat a long time at the table—their table—gazing out the window at the falling snow. He nursed his coffee, drinking the entire thing as slowly as possible, but he only ate half his cupcake, and there were no candles on the plate beside it when he left it behind.

Afterward, Phil sat on the bench in the little park until he was shivering with cold. His dark hair drenched with melted snow, he walked slowly back to the bus stop, where he sat with his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground, until the bus eventually came to take him back to his new flat.

—

“You’re listening to the Internet Takeover with AmazingPhil, and that was Lion Babe! Did you like it? If so, shoot me a message to tell me what you think. And now I have a special dedication. It’s a belated Valentine’s Day dedication to everyone out there who spent this particular holiday alone. Don’t give up, because there may still be someone out there for you! This is an oldie but a goodie, and it’s called ’Someone to Watch Over Me’…”

—

Phil visited Florida with his family, and Martyn commented that his little brother seemed more subdued than usual.

“I’m just … missing someone,” Phil replied, obviously so relaxed in the company of loved ones that he wasn’t thinking to be circumspect about his words.

Martyn heartily clapped him on the back. “I didn’t even know you were dating anybody!” he said with obvious happiness.

Phil blinked. He looked at Martyn. “Oh,” he stammered, “I’m not.”

Martyn looked confused, but said in a more subdued voice, “Well, then, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Dan knew Phil wouldn’t talk about it.

—

Phil attended a major YouTube convention, where he met a great many people—both members of his audience and fellow content creators—who hugged him, and Dan wanted to cut all their arms off, because these strangers shouldn’t get to hug Phil when Dan couldn’t.

The desire to dismember people wasn’t a very appropriate thought for a guardian angel, but since when had Dan confined himself to appropriate thoughts?

One fan after another told Phil that watching him had changed their lives, and Dan just kept thinking, “I’m not alive, I don’t have a life, I don’t get to have a life, but … same.”

—

“You’re listening to the Internet Takeover with AmazingPhil! I’ve got a request here from @snow-dude, so we’re going to play Evanescence’s ‘My Immortal’...”

—

Phil looked more uncomfortable at this particular party than Dan had perhaps ever seen him before. He’d been told to expect just a few friends, but the few friends had brought another few friends, and Phil’s mate’s flat ended up filled with more people than Phil usually socialized with in a month. Or even two.

Wearing his minimal Halloween costume of cat ears on his head and whiskers drawn on his face, Phil sat on a sofa in the lounge, looking at his phone, obviously hoping no one would talk to him.

A rather handsome fellow dressed as Thor—lacking somewhat in the muscles department, despite the fact that he obviously did work out a bit—joined Phil on the sofa and said hello. Dan would have gnashed his teeth if he had any.

“Hi,” Thor said, smiling in a very friendly way. Not too friendly, not edging into creepy, but just friendly enough to put a nerd like Phil at ease.

“Hi,” Phil replied, putting his phone down like any polite Englishman would when confronting a blatant social assault.

“A cat, huh?” Thor commented. Dan decided that the guy must be a moron.

“A cat/human hybrid,” Phil replied, then held up his hands like claws and showed his teeth before laughing awkwardly.

Thor laughed along with him. “So … um … Bryony tells me you do YouTube. I know she used to be into that, but I don’t know much about it. What sort of videos do you make?”

Phil looked physically pained at his complete inability to escape this conversation. And then Thor slid his hand down onto Phil’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. Dan didn’t have fists, but in his mind he clenched them anyway. He clenched his nonexistent fists in an overwhelming desire to punch this Thor fucker in the fucking face.

But Phil just scooted away slightly, avoiding Thor’s hand, and looked away. “Um … I’m sort of … I’m sort of hung up on someone…”

Thor looked mortified. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry! Bryony didn’t tell me, or I wouldn’t have…”

Phil smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I haven’t really told anybody about it. But I just can’t move on, you know?”

Thor looked extremely uncomfortable when faced with a complete stranger’s romantic sob story—he, too, was English, after all—and so he removed himself from the situation pretty speedily.

“That’s right!” Dan thought. “You just keep moving! And you don’t look anything like Thor, anyway! Just so you know!”

But Dan had watched every moment of Phil’s life this past year, so he knew Phil hadn’t dated anyone in the past several months, and so if he was hung up on someone … it was still Dan. And that really shouldn’t make him happy, because it was making Phil miserable, and Dan’s job was to try to keep Phil happy and healthy.

But it still made him happy.

Not that Phil was sad. He wasn’t happy about that, of course not.

But the fact that Phil still thought about him, about that night in the snow together … he couldn’t help but feel happy about that, because Dan hadn’t forgotten it for a single second since it happened.

—

Phil scrubbed the stovetop from where he’d spilled some pasta and it had burned into a crusted-on mess. He had to exert quite a bit of effort, but he got into a sort of rhythm with his scrubbing as he hummed in time with his movements.

Then Dan recognized the song Phil was humming.

Knowing Phil, it wouldn’t be long before he started to sing, and sure enough a moment later Phil started belting out Betty Who’s “Somebody Loves You.”

Who’s around when the days feel long Who’s around when you can’t be strong Who’s around when you’re losing your mind Who cares that you get home safe Who knows you can’t be replaced Who thinks that you’re one of a kind

Dan tried to contain an inward chuckle at Phil singing alone there in his kitchen, scrubbing at his disgusting stovetop, but he didn’t have to try very hard. He actually didn’t find it all that funny, because he really hoped that Phil thought of him when he sang this song.

Dan suddenly realized he’d been hearing Phil humming this tune for days, but just hadn’t identified it until now.

Phil continued singing.

I’m around when your head is heavy I’m around when your hands aren’t steady I’m around when your day’s gone all wrong

Dan listened until he finally couldn’t help it and in his mind he chimed in unison with Phil, “Ooh somebody loves you…” even though Phil, of course, couldn’t hear him.

—

“Phil? Martyn? Will one of you come help your poor mother?” Phil’s mum called out to her sons. Most of the decorations already adorned the tree, but only the pinnacle remained.

Phil looked up from where he had been placing one of the final baubles on a lower branch and asked, “What is it, Mum?”

“It’s the angel,” she replied, and Phil blanched. “We need to put it on the top of the tree, and I’m not tall enough, even with the stool.”

“Ask Martyn,” Phil choked, and he raced out of the room.

Phil fled to the guest room containing his things and closed the door, sliding down to sit with his back against it, making sure that no one would follow him in to ask what was wrong.

And then Phil cried. Silently into his hands, not wanting any of his family to hear. He cried for a long time.

And if Dan could have, he would have cried, too.

—

Phil was eating dinner with four good friends at a rather nice Thai restaurant. Nothing uncomfortably fancy, but not a place he would casually frequent. Dressed much more nicely than usual, he seemed quite at ease and happy with his companions, who laughed perhaps a bit more loudly than he did, but Phil was rarely a loud person, except occasionally when playing video games.

Phil smiled with contentment, and Dan couldn’t help feeling as if he’d played a role in getting Phil to this place in his life, that he’d set Phil on this better path even if it had only been by encouraging him to leave that wretched flatmate behind last year.

Dan could barely believe the change in Phil’s circumstances. He was thriving now: living in his own flat which he’d furnished with his own things exactly to his own tastes, succeeding admirably both on YouTube and on his radio show at the BBC, closer than ever to both friends and family.

But there was one fly in the ointment. That lingering bit of sadness behind his eyes. That sense that he longed for something—someone—he’d lost forever. Those song dedications. His refusal to date.

—

It was just too much. Watching him suffer like that … it was too much.

—

A pair of black zippered boots appeared, attached to a black-clad form slightly hidden in the grass some distance from the door to the restaurant. It had been a warm January and so the snow had not settled in the warmer areas, but a bit lingered at Dan’s feet in the shadows.

He stepped onto the pavement and walked to the restaurant’s door, opening it and going inside, where a rather officious-looking little man at a podium asked him if he had a reservation. Dan hesitated a moment, then told the host that he was with the Lester party.

As the man led him through the restaurant, Dan began to feel increasingly nervous. How would Phil react? Were people staring at him? Could they tell that something was not quite right about Dan? Would Phil’s friends find him odd? Would he make Phil uncomfortable at his own birthday celebration? Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

But it was too late to turn back now, because Phil had seen him.

Phil’s friends continued their conversation, but Phil simply stared at Dan, his mouth slightly open in shock. When Dan arrived at the table, Phil didn’t say anything, though his friends all fell silent, turning to look at Dan with open curiosity. The host glanced uncertainly at Dan, obviously wondering now whether Dan had lied about being a member of the party at the table, wondering whether he’d be forced to somehow eject Dan from the premises despite Dan’s comparatively impressive size.

Dan glanced at the floor, then back to meet Phil’s eyes again. “Surprise?” he offered lamely. “May I … I thought perhaps I might join you. If … if you like.”

The restaurant’s host glanced between Phil and Dan, clearly uncertain. “Sir, this gentleman said he was a member of your party. But if he is bothering you…”

“No!” Phil replied quickly. “No! He’s not bothering me … us. I mean … yes … I know him … he is with us.”

With their odd-numbered party of five, there was, in fact, a spare place setting at the table. It was at the opposite end from where Phil sat, and Dan hesitated, nervous about joining the group and sitting so alone. Phil’s friends looked from Phil to Dan, clearly waiting for some explanation of the situation.

Phil stammered in obvious disbelief, “This is my … friend … Dan. I … I haven’t … I haven’t seen him … in a really long time. I had no idea he might be coming.” His friends seemed a bit confused, and Phil noticed their reactions. “He’s a very dear friend,” he hurried to explain, and Dan felt a surge of emotion at the description. “Would you … would you mind changing seats so that we can sit together? It’s been far too long since I’ve seen him and … I just…” Phil trailed off in wordless shock. But his friends just smiled and rearranged themselves, moving their plates and things with them as they scooted along to make room for Dan to sit at Phil’s right side.

“Hi,” Dan said quietly, with a bit of a shy smile.

“Hi,” Phil replied with more happiness in his eyes than Dan had seen in a very long time. In a year, perhaps, since that night in the snow. That tiny lingering sadness had completely disappeared.

“I’m Bryony,” one of Phil’s friends introduced herself when it became apparent that Phil was not going to do the honors. Dan already knew her name, of course. She was one of Phil’s closest friends, and Dan already liked her immensely. He gave her a warm smile.

Phil jolted out of his daze and quickly introduced everyone else. They all welcomed Dan with open friendliness, as kind and generous as Phil himself. Phil had such excellent friends. Dan felt honored to finally meet them. He said as much, and they looked at him oddly. ��Phil has … spoken of you often,” he said awkwardly, because that wasn’t quite a lie. Phil had spoken of them often, just not directly to Dan. “I feel as if I know you already.”

“That’s odd,” Phil’s friend Thomas commented, glancing at Phil. “He’s never mentioned you.”

“I asked him not to,” Dan explained quickly, uncertain if perhaps he was just making things worse. “Our relationship has been … an odd one.” Thomas’s eyebrows went up, and Phil’s friends exchanged knowing looks. “Not the way that sounds…” Dan stuttered, realizing that he’d just implied a secret romantic relationship and may have made Phil uncomfortable.

“Exactly the way that sounds,” Phil said firmly, smiling at Dan. He looked at his friends. “I’m glad you finally get to meet him. Dan and I have been very close for a long time, but I never thought I’d get this chance for you all to know each other.” He reached out and took Dan’s hand with a smile so full of bliss that all Dan’s doubts fell away.

“How long are you staying?” Phil asked. “I mean … how long will you be in town?” He glanced uncertainly at his friends, clearly trying to behave and sound as normal as possible in this ridiculously abnormal situation.

“I thought I’d stick around this time,” Dan offered tentatively. “Move here. We could see each other all the time, you know? So I’m looking for a flat.” Dan floundered. “And … er … a job, I suppose. I’ll need one of those.”

Phil’s face went pale, then flushed. “You’re … you’re staying?” he asked, wonder in his voice.

Dan nodded. “If that’s … what you want.”

“Yes!” Phil exclaimed without hesitation. “Yes, that’s what I want! Of course that’s what I want! I can’t believe … you’re really staying? Permanently?”

“Permanently,” Dan affirmed, reassured by Phil’s excited response.

“Well, if you’re staying,” Phil’s friend Thomas interrupted with good cheer, “then you may as well break bread with us. We’re sharing everything family-style, so help yourself!”

Dan looked at the various dishes on the table with some trepidation. He knew what all the foods were, as he’d watched Phil eat and discuss them on previous occasions, but he had no idea how they would actually taste. He reached out toward a green curry, which he knew Phil liked quite a bit, but Phil put a hand on his arm to stop him. “That one’s a bit spicy,” Phil warned. “You might want to start with something milder. Maybe the pad thai.”

Phil’s friends had resumed their eating, but now paused again to glance in confusion at this exchange.

“This is my first time…” Dan began, uncertain how to explain.

“His first time having Thai food,” Phil finished for him, saving him. Dan nodded. It was true, after all.

Everyone else at the table expressed their surprise that Dan had never had Thai food before and all made suggestions regarding which dishes he should try first. Dan followed Phil’s suggestions and ended up with a modest amount of food on his plate.

Dan had heard people talk about food millions of times. He’d watched people eat millions of times. But that red velvet cupcake last year was the only food he’d ever tasted, and now ... he tasted all kinds of flavors. Like a real person, he was just … eating, which was completely different from observing it from the outside, from an immeasurable distance.

It was an overwhelming experience. So many sensations all at once.

He glanced at Phil and saw him watching Dan with concern. And suddenly everything was all right. He was with Phil. He took another bite of pad thai, and he tasted noodles, and he heard Phil’s friends talk to him as if he were real, because he was real, he was finally real, and he was human, and he was with Phil.

He chewed his noodles and swallowed, and gave Phil a smile. He wasn’t just an invisible guardian anymore—he was part of this world. With Phil.

In the end, he decided that his favorite dish was the fresh spring roll with shrimp, dipped in a peanut sauce that left a slight burning sensation on his tongue. That must be what “spicy” tasted like.

When they’d all finished and the plates had been cleared from the table, a member of the waitstaff arrived with a white-frosted cake topped with four flaming candles. “Three candles for the decades, and one for the additional year,” Bryony explained, and everyone laughed. Phil blew out the candles, and the cake was placed on the table where they could all see it in greater detail.

On the white surface, a forest scene had been hand drawn in primarily red piping. Squirrels, rabbits, foxes, and hedgehogs cavorted among plants and trees piped in green, with blue-piped stars scattered above their heads. The candles had been planted among the stars.

Dan immediately recognized the style, and along with everyone else he turned to look at Phil’s friend Will, a well-known artist. Tears gleamed in Phil’s eyes as he whispered, “It’s so beautiful.” Dan couldn’t help remembering the horribly disappointing cake from the previous year, and he felt proud that he had encouraged Phil to grow closer to his true friends instead of relying so much on a flatmate who didn’t care for him at all.

Dan gave Will a warm smile and said quite honestly, “I recognize your art style. It was wonderful of you to do this for Phil.” Will returned Dan’s smile and looked down at the table shyly, nodding his silent thanks for the compliment.

“But we can’t cut this up!” Phil insisted. “It’s too pretty to eat!” Bryony took several photos of Phil with the cake, then several of the cake itself, then encouraged him to cut a slice, because the beauty would be well preserved in photos. Still, Phil flinched slightly when he sliced into the cake for the first time. “Who wants some stars?” he asked, then he glanced at Dan.

“I want the hedgehog,” Dan requested in an effort to sound normal and divert attention away from himself.

“Take the stars for yourself,” Bryony suggested. “You certainly deserve them, and more.” She leaned in to give Phil a kiss on the cheek. Dan decided he rather loved Bryony. He hoped they would become good friends.

The idea of having friends felt strange, but good. Something fluttered in his stomach, and he thought it might be happiness. He would have to identify all these feelings as time went on.

He had so much to learn.

“It’s red velvet!” Phil cried as he pulled the first slice out of the cake. Everyone laughed at his surprise. Because of course these people would know he loved red velvet, that it was his favorite, and they would go out of their way to get him what he wanted most, and they would spend hours decorating it, and they would give him the quiet sort of party he enjoyed. Dan doubted that anyone had purchased this cake at any Tesco, and he looked at Bryony, guessing that she had probably baked it herself.

This was friendship, and this was love. This was the very best of what it meant to be human.

This was what Dan had chosen, and he doubted he would ever regret it for a moment.

—

When they emerged from the restaurant, everyone began discussing who should share taxis, all in a noisy, happy jumble of conversation.

Dan looked at Phil. “Want to go for a walk?” It wasn’t only food he would need to get used to. Five different people talking to him across the dinner table had been rather a lot to follow. He just longed for a moment alone with Phil.

“But it’s started snowing again!” Thomas objected, sounding concerned.

“That’s perfect,” Phil said, smiling at Dan.

—

“So you just quit?”

“So I just quit,” Dan affirmed as they walked side by side along the pavement and the snow fell lightly around them, landing on their hair and coats.

“How do you ‘quit’ being a guardian angel? Do you submit your letter of resignation to heaven or something?” Phil sounded amazed and baffled.

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know anything about heaven. I always just got orders to watch over someone, and so I did it. And today I decided I wasn’t going to do it anymore. That I was going to be with you for real, instead.”

“So you quit?” Phil was repeating himself now, still sounding dazed. “You just walked away?”

“So I quit. I just took human form again and decided I’m going to stay here.” Dan didn’t say anything else for a moment, but he stared intently down at his feet as he took each step. Finally, he burst out, “I couldn’t stand to be with you, but have you not able to see me.” Dan clenched his fists as they walked. It had been horrible. “I couldn’t stand to not be able to talk to you, or drink coffee with you, or … I couldn’t stand to not be with you, really with you, not even for one more day.”

Phil put a hand on Dan’s arm to stop him, to turn him and meet his eyes. They stood in the falling snow and looked at each other. “I thought you said it was impossible,” Phil reminded him in hushed tones, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

Dan reached up to take Phil’s hand in his, smiling at him. “And you said I couldn’t know if it was impossible, just because no one had ever done it.” He leaned in to kiss Phil softly, then whispered, “I did the impossible for you, Phil Lester.”

And then Phil gave him a real kiss.

—

“You know, if you’re going to be a proper human person, you’ll need a last name,” Phil teased as they continued their walk, hands linked and swinging idly between them.

Dan hadn’t thought of that. He considered. “Well, I’m sort of being born in winter, right? ‘Winter is coming,’ and all that. Perhaps something from ‘Game of Thrones,’” he mused.

Phil chuckled. “Daniel Stark?”

Dan shook his head, laughing. “I’d feel too much like the son of Iron Man or something.”

“Dan Lannister?” Phil suggested, clearly joking now. “Daniel Greyjoy?” He snorted, he was laughing so hard.

Dan tilted his head, thinking. “I see myself more as the silent protector type,” he mused. “Lurking unseen until finally I make myself known at just the right moment.” It sounded perfect.

Phil looked confused. “What character is that?”

“A direwolf,” Dan said smugly, referring to the powerful animals that had protected the Stark children.

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Those names might call a bit of attention. Dan Ghost? Daniel Nymeria?”

“I was thinking of something less literal. Maybe something related to wolves in general. Daniel Wolfe? Is it too obvious?”

Phil shrugged. “That could work. Or maybe something about howling?”

Dan nodded, pleased. “I kind of like that one, but the spelling needs work, because the word ‘howl’ wouldn’t look like a proper last name.”

Phil suggested, “What about ‘Howell’?” and he spelled it to show what he meant.

Dan grinned. “I love it. Daniel Howell. The direwolf who’s been protecting you silently from the shadows all these years.”

“I love it, too.” Phil stopped and gave him a serious look. “I love you, Daniel Howell.” And then Phil reeled him in for another kiss.

“Daniel Howell loves you back. More than you know.” Dan wrapped his arms around Phil and just held him tight, feeling how real he was, how real they both were, together.

—

“What happens now?” Phil asked eventually.

Dan continued walking beside him. “Well, I hoped I could stay at yours, just until I figure things out … if that’s okay with you.” He glanced at Phil’s face, then back down at the pavement, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“No,” Phil said, and Dan’s stomach dropped. He’d always wondered what that expression meant, and now he knew. It was horrid. “I mean, yes, of course,” Phil continued, squeezing Dan’s hand in his. “Of course you can stay with me, but I meant … in the larger scheme of things.” Dan looked at him and waited, not sure what Phil was trying to ask.

Phil frowned, trying to find words, then asked hesitantly, “Are you still an angel? Or are you human?”

Dan shook his head, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I think I could go back to just observing from the outside if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. Right now I’m human, and I plan to stay that way. To stay with you.”

“Will you always look like this, while I get old and wrinkly and gray?”

Dan laughed. Phil honestly seemed worried about this. “I don’t know, Phil, but I doubt it. I expect this human body will age like any other human body does. So I assume I’ll age with you. We’ll get old and wrinkly and gray together.”

“Forever?” Phil asked. “Do you promise?” His eyebrows were drawn together in a little pinch above his nose as if this was the most important question he’d ever asked.

“I promise you,” Dan replied seriously, trying to calm his love’s fears. “Philip Lester, until your very last breath. I’ll always be with you.”

“And after that? After my last breath? What happens then?”

Dan hadn’t really thought about that. The important thing was to be with Phil. The rest would work itself out. Phil was the important thing.

“To be honest,” Dan said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen past this, past what you humans do here on earth. But whatever it is, whatever happens next, we’ll do it together. Nothing’s going to make me let go of your hand. Not ever.”

Phil squeezed Dan’s hand, then pulled Dan into his arms and kissed him. His lips were cold but fantastic. “Together,” Phil affirmed. “Forever.”

Dan nodded his head and then leaned back slightly, just enough that he could see Phil’s pale eyes in the light from the street lamps. Dan smiled. The snow fell soft and quiet around them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and it was the first day of Dan’s life.

The very first day.

And it was glorious.

#phanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction au #au phanfiction #phanfic au #au phanfic #phan #phandomreversebang #myphanfic

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