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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Begin Again (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Inspo: Begin Again by Adam Melchor

Summary: Dating apps never pair you with the right people. Until you come across the profile of a handsome, pancake loving FBI agent named Marcus.

W/C: 4.8k

Warnings: lots of talk of food, language, late night deep conversations, some sadness at the end but nothing intense? reader has a pet cat, is that worth a warning? idk

A/N: HI GUYS this is my first full length Marcus Pike fic! I really hope you like it!! thank you so much to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for being my best editors and proofreaders and idea givers!!!

note: PLS listen to the song before/after/while reading! it’s one of my favs and it really goes along with the story

Over the course of your adult years, you’ve become convinced that dating apps are complete and utter bullshit. The algorithms never work right, never pair you or any of your friends with anyone worth seeing in person. Maybe that’s just the problem; maybe it’s not the apps but the people. Whatever the answer is, whatever reason you’ve never found success in the endless swiping, you’re through with it.

That was before last week. The rainy Tuesday night left you in your apartment, alone, to succumb to the cold spring dreariness. Over a cup of hot tea, you’d downloaded the app again. Might as well try, right? You have nothing to lose. If worst comes to worst, catfishing an annoying guy is always a blast. The good news is that this app requires you as the woman to make the first move. That’s kind of a downside- you never know how to start conversations- but at least you can’t get unsolicited dick pics right off the bats. Life is full of tradeoffs, you suppose.

You begin again. The app becomes your favorite pastime. Bored at work or home? Dating app it is. Left. Left. Left. Boring man after boring man. One labeled himself super-straight: absolutely fucking not. One holding a fish: nope. A man who describes himself as a gym rat: not your type. It’s a boring way to spend your lunch break, you’re aware, but the entertainment value is fun if nothing else. There are a lot of strange men out there.

After a few days, your luck seems to turn around as the photo of a man with brown hair and warm brown eyes pops up on your screen. He has a scruffy beard and wavy hair, and the way his smile tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart flutter. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You read the bio next.

Marcus, 35

❗️ Washington, D.C.

Got forced into making this, but optimistic. Lover of art, dogs, and time to relax. Always down for breakfast for dinner and cuddling. Looking for someone with a sense of independence, love of travel, and a sleep schedule equally fucked up as mine. Must love pancakes.

Must love pancakes. That’s absolutely adorable. You immediately think of your cat, named Pancake, and you laugh and swipe right, hoping the man already thought the same of you. Your eyes widen with excitement and you almost laugh out loud from your giddy state when you see the little logo indicating it’s a match.

The first message you send him has to be perfect. You ponder your options for a minute, frowning and furrowing your brow as you think. You don’t want to come on too strong; you’re not trying to sound like you want a hookup. A simple one-word greeting wouldn’t be enough.

You could comment on something from his bio, you realize as you read it again and again. Maybe ask him about his dog? No, that’s too awkward. You want it to be about him, something that can draw him in. Talk about traveling? No, you don’t want to sound like you’re bragging about the places you’ve gone in your life.

Pancakes. Pancakes are good. You love pancakes. You think for a second more, debating what to say, before inspiration strikes and you send off the message before you can stop yourself.

Marcus Pike has essentially felt the same as you. He’s a somewhat charming man. He’s had his fair share of relationships, but they never quite work out. His ex-wife, now long gone and blocked from his phone, was an absolute failure of a relationship. He’d gotten close to what felt like true love with Teresa, another FBI agent, but she flaked at the last second.

Maybe the constant here was that he met them in person. When Marcus falls, he falls hard and fast, down an endless spiral of emotions with no escape. Maybe if he met someone online, it would be different. His best friends had all encouraged it, and on a night out not long after Teresa left him, Pike set up his own profile. He liked that the app didn’t require him to make the first move. It’s refreshing.

Marcus had seen your profile hours ago, on a mindless phone break from his work. He’d swiped right too, stunned by your smile and the lovelines you radiated even through the phone. He crossed his fingers for a good part of the day, hoping you’d swipe right on him too.

His day is busy, leaving him no time to fiddle with his phone and distract himself. He eats in the cafeteria, checking up on his phone. After lunch, he’s walking back to his office when his heart flutters as he sees the dating app indicates he’s had a match. He looks at it and swallows hard before stopping, moving to the side of the hallway to allow others to pass. He’s breathing hard, and his heart speeds up when he sees that you are the one that matched with him.

He knows how this app works. He has to wait now, to let you make the first move. He can’t even write a message until you send one. So he pockets his phone again and continues on his walk.

He’s determined on his walk, rushing back to his desk so he can sit and be thoroughly enthralled in waiting for or receiving your response. His phone buzzes several times with notifications, one of which he prays is you. When he finally sits, he opens the app ceremoniously and has to hold back a genuine laugh when he sees your first message.

Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus shoots back a text nearly immediately. Sorry, what?

Your bio. “Must love pancakes”. Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus is absolutely beaming as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. Blueberry. Always. I hope that’s the right answer :)

Unfortunately, it’s not, but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide

You called him cute. It makes Marcus’s heart flutter. Come on. There’s nothing like the warm blueberry popping in your mouth.

There is. It’s when the chocolate chips are all melty and creamy.

God, Marcus is already painfully into you. You know what… at least you love pancakes. I’ll let it slide. You got a favorite place?

Anywhere I can get ‘em. You seem like quite the connoisseur, do you have one place in mind?

Jane slams down a stack of files on Marcus’s desk. “Paperwork overflow, Pike. Can you get these done tonight?”

Marcus is the fastest in the office with paperwork, which often leads to him being the one that flies through the files in the place of the people who actually filed it. He nods. What else is there to do? “Sure.”

Jane claps him on the shoulder and wanders off. Marcus watches him in slight annoyance. The best place in D.C. is definitely Sandy’s. Hey I gotta go, text ya later?

I’d love that :)

It didn’t take long for your texting to move from the dating app to actual texting. It happened within the same day, in fact.

Marcus messaged you some hours after the initial conversation. Your phone buzzed while you were doing yoga in your apartment, your cat curled into a ball beneath your stomach as you held a downward dog. You nearly collapsed on top of Pancake as you fumbled to sit cross-legged on the end of your yoga mat.

The message from Marcus is bright on the top of your screen. Hi. Sorry that took so long. Work stuff.

Smiling, you take a swig from your water bottle and lean back against your couch. Not a problem. Understandable. What do you do for a living? It’s a loaded question in D.C.; they could range anywhere from politicians to their rich sons to artists and athletes.

I work for the FBI, actually.

Your eyes light up in excitement. That’s the coolest shit I’ve heard. What do you do? Are you an agent?

The man’s responses don’t take long at all. He must be waiting in the chat to respond. The idea makes your heart flutter. Yep, I’m an agent. I work in international art crimes.

You certainly didn’t expect that for an answer. Wow, okay, that’s even cooler than I thought. I was about to call you Agent Pancake but I think my girl would be disheartened...

Snapping a photo of the way Pancake is nuzzling into your side, meowing for snuggles, you have to laugh as you send the photo his way. Funny you love pancakes so much. This little muppet is named Pancake.

Marcus responds with a barrage of heart-eyes emojis, which makes you laugh aloud and scoop Pancake into your lap, stroking her strawberry-blonde fluff. She’s an absolute angel. Like her mother, I’m presuming.

Your cheeks flood with warmth and you can feel the tips of your ears turning hot too. You’ve never even met me, Agent…? You trail off the text, asking for his last name.

Pike.

Agent Marcus Pike. What a nice sounding name. It sounds official and strong and you really like it. Cute last name. Might steal it from ya someday ;)

You don’t normally flirt this shamelessly, but he’s so goddamn cute and funny. You cross your fingers behind your back that this isn’t just a facade, that this is Marcus himself texting like he would to anyone else. You got a phone number?

As you laugh, Pancake paws at your chest to grab your attention, nails nearly digging into the stretchy fabric of your yoga tank top. “Watch it,” you scold her softly and remove her paw from your chest, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the head. Sure do. You want it?

Yes please.

You send your number his way and moments later, your phone pings with a text from an unlabeled number.

Maybe: Pike: hey, it’s Pike :)

You: hey… dammit, I really want to call you Agent Pancakes, but I think my fluffy little heathen would be offended. I don’t know what to save you in my phone as...

Agent Pancakes: Save me as whatever, I suppose. Not my problem, right?

The texts became more frequent. Over the course of three weeks, you’d stay up late talking like teenagers, knowing you need to go to bed but unable to bring yourself to do it.

You learned that his middle name was Mauricio, that his mother wanted him to have at least something a little more Latino in his name. You told him the story of how you’d adopted Pancake as a kitten from a shelter and she woke you up one morning with her claws entwined in a snarl of your hair. He told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancée, Teresa, and you responded that he deserved something better than that. You can already tell that he’s a good man.

At the end of three weeks, you shot Marcus a text. Things seemed to be going pretty well.

You: Hey, you want to do a video call sometime soon?

Agent Pancakes: I’d love that! I’m free tonight if you are.

You: Always free. Shouldn’t you know that?? Doesn’t the FBI spy on us through our phones and whatever?

Agent Pancakes: well, I do work in art crimes. Even if we did, it would be a totally different thing

You: Good.

An hour later, you fidget with your hands as you sit on your couch, the laptop propped up across from you and ringing for a video chat. Marcus’s profile picture bobs on the screen as you wait for him to pick up.

Marcus’s face and apartment fills your screen, and you automatically grin. “Hi,” you giggle and wave, absolutely enraptured by how cute his real smile is, not the forced one in the photos.

“Hey. Nice to kind of-finally meet you,” he tells you and waves back. The wall of his apartment is nothing exciting, but his facial expressions already have you falling. Those big brown eyes compliment natural but ridiculously pink lips, and his brown hair is neatly done. It looks like he’s wearing a tie and a dress shirt; probably his work gear, you suppose.

“You too!” You tell him, unable to stop smiling. “You shaved.”

Marcus’s heart jumps out of his chest when he sees you ringing him. He barely has time to flop on the couch and turn it on, propping up the camera across from him.

God, you’re so gorgeous. Your giggle is infectious, making Marcus laugh softly at god knows what. Your grin is equally as contagious, making him smile back. He rubs his jaw in response. “Yeah, yeah. I tend to keep it clean there. Stubble takes too much maintenance, and I have this little patch where it never quite grows,” he tells you as he juts his chin to the camera, touching the spot where his beard can’t grow.

“I like it either way,” you assure him, shrugging a little. “How was your day, Agent Pancakes?” Your voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even with the granulated audio over this shitty app. Agent Pancakes makes his heart flutter. “No, not you!” You groan as Pancake climbs onto your lap. “Hi. Your twin wants to say hi.”

Marcus’s smile widens. “Oh my god, hello cutie pie,” he chuckles, launching into baby talk. “What a pretty girl. You make a good Pancake.”

You smile and rub her fur, grinning. “She’s my baby,” you chuckle and set her aside. “Yeah. I’m busy. Leave me alone.” Pancake meows in protest. “Shut up, I’m on a date,” you whine.

Marcus’s ears perk up. “This is a date?”

Your eyes widen as you turn back to him. “I… yeah?” You ask, wincing a little.

He grins back at you. “I like it. And I’m really in love with the idea of seeing your face when you talk.”

“I like your voice,” you flirt back, but you mean it. “It’s so pretty. Do you sing?” You ask mindlessly, studying the way his brow furrows and his eyes convey exactly what he’s thinking.

He chuckles softly. “I used to. I haven’t in a long long time.”

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

When he shakes his head, his neatly gelled hair tries to break free. A strand does, falling in his face. “You don’t wanna hear it, I promise.” He removes his tie, and you can’t help but watch the movement. It’s incredibly sexy.

A mischievous smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. “No, I really do, I really think I do.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Only if you try the pancakes at Sandy’s sometime. I promise you, they’re the best pancakes in the District. I’ve never had the chocolate chip pancakes, but if they’re anywhere near as good as the blueberry, they’re fantastic. And they’re open 24 hours. I go there a lot for late night case work.”

You smile at that, getting cozy on your couch and hugging your blanket. “That does sound nice. I love a good all day breakfast,” you say with raised eyebrows, the teasing in your voice. “Okay, human Pancakes. How was your day?” You ask him again, intent on hearing his answer. Not only is his job fascinating, but he’s adorable when he explains things.

Marcus frowns, and that makes you instinctively frown too. “Well, it’s been good. We’re tracking a huge smuggling ring right now, but since we’ve pinpointed a stock house for them, I might have to travel for a while.”

You frown. You’d been hoping you could have a real date soon, at least. “How long is a while?” You ask him curiously, sipping from your water bottle that sits next to you.

“Couple weeks. No less than a month, probably. I’d… well, I might have to go undercover, which means we couldn’t talk for a while.” His eyes are apologetic, showing that he hates this news as much as you do. “And… I’d leave maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Your heart sinks. “So soon,” you say with a sad smile, a desperate and lonely chuckle. “Well, if you want to come home to me, I’ll be here.”

Marcus’s smile perks up just slightly. “You would be the best thing in the world to come home to. And I’ll have the scruff back by then.”

“Yes!” You exclaim and laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “I think you’re really cute anyway, but I really love the scruff,” you shrug shyly.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out just for you.”

The adrenaline from his first technical-date with you prevents Marcus from sleeping. The call lasted hours, the two of you covering almost everything important in your lives. You talked about your favorite television programs and politics, your parents and your favorite pizza toppings. Talking with him was like nothing you’d ever experience, a connection you’d never thought a dating app could offer.

After several hours, during a lull in the conversation, Marcus suggested the two of you log off. It was around 11 P.M. now, and, even though Marcus has a sleep schedule like a raccoon, he figured you should sleep. He blew you a kiss through the camera, which you pretended to hold to your chest and grin at him.

But now it’s an hour later, just past midnight, and Marcus is antsy. He doesn’t sleep much anyway, but your face is running through his mind like it owns the place, and at this point, maybe you do. Marcus sits up in bed and sighs. He knows the proper remedy for this: Sandy’s. Throwing on a rare pair of jeans and a leather jacket over the white v-neck he wears, he slips on his shoes and makes his way to the tiny, 24-hour diner.

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins too. You text any of your friends that will listen, rambling about how beautiful Marcus’s face is and how wonderful it was to finally hear his voice. You pace your apartment, petting Pancake as you pass her perch on the arm of your couch. You try to do a little yoga to calm down but you can’t stop smiling. Marcus occupies too much room in your brain to try to think about anything else.

When it’s just after midnight, hunger strikes. You realize you never ate dinner, too preoccupied with talking to the handsome man to even consider microwaving something from your fridge. Talking with Marcus has instilled you with a love for pancakes, and you think to yourself that maybe Sandy’s would be worth a shot. It’s open late.

So you toss on a jacket and pick up your purse, slinging it over your shoulder and leaving your apartment. You toss the book you’ve been reading into your bag, planning to read it while you sit and eat. Pancake gives a sleepy meow of protest but you just smile and lock the door behind you.

The diner is just as small as Marcus described it to you: just a short line of booths along the windows and a smattering of tables in the middle. There’s a colorful, warm-toned tile floor that juxtaposes the warm green of the walls and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. Quiet classic swing music filling the atmosphere. You can see why he likes it: it automatically makes you smile.

You sit in one of the booths, facing away from the door, and the kind waitress takes your order: chocolate chip pancakes and an English breakfast tea. The air conditioning is blasting, making you chilly. You tighten your jacket around yourself and sip the tea when it arrives, adding cream and sugar.

Cracking open the book, you cross your legs and lose yourself in the book. The restaurant has a calming aura, and you can feel the tea warming you from the inside. It’s fitting that Marcus loves this place, you think to yourself.

When the pancakes come not long after, you take a bite and almost groan in happiness. It’s absolutely delicious: Marcus was most definitely right. Disappointingly, you have to go to the bathroom about three bites in.

Even the bathrooms are cute, you discover. When you return, someone else sits a booth away, another lone diner at this godforsaken hour of night, facing the door. You can see the back of what appears to be a man’s head, neatly trimmed brown hair and a brown leather jacket over their neck and shoulders. Sitting back down, your back to the other customer’s, you return to your book and continue to eat your chocolate chip pancakes.

The customer and waitress are talking, but you don’t pay much attention, too enraptured by your book. It’s quiet again after the man puts in his order, and you enjoy the soft jazz music that makes you tap your foot in time against the tile.

There’s a buzzing and the melodic sound of a phone’s ringtone; one of the defaults that a phone provides. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the man pick up. “Agent Pike.”

That can’t be your Agent Pike, can it? You turn and listen and realize it’s definitely him, from his voice and the way he holds himself and the stack of- of course, blueberry pancakes and a hot coffee set in front of him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Let me write that down.” Marcus types something into his phone. “See you then. At the office? Good. Alright, see you.” He hangs up.

Standing, you tuck your book back in your purse and put the bag over your shoulder. With one hand, you grab your plate of pancakes, and the other grabs your tea. You set them down across from him and slide into the booth, grinning. “Huh. Agent Pancakes, here, in the middle of the night. How unusual.”

Marcus’s tired face lights up in excitement. “What?” He laughs, his eyes scanning your face. “Why are you here?”

You shrug and take a bite of his pancakes, sighing. “Had to see if they were worth the hype. I couldn’t sleep, you got me so excited.” The blueberry pancakes are absolutely fantastic, just as good if not better than the chocolate chip ones on your plate. “Damn, you were right.”

“Hey,” he laughs and pulls his plate closer to his chest. “Don’t touch my pancakes.”

You make pleading pouty eyes, frowning a little. “Can’t we share?” You tease. It already feels like you’ve known him for years, even though this is your first time seeing him in person.

Marcus sighs. “I suppose,” he says and rolls his eyes in sarcasm, pushing his plate back out so you can access it.

Marcus is beyond stunned, absolutely enraptured in how beautiful you are in person. If he thought he fell on that video call earlier, he’s now reached the very bottom of that cliff, the impact of your everything stealing the air from his lungs. God, he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now, on those lips coated in blueberry juice and maple syrup.

The two of you spend quite some time so there, just talking and continuing the conversation where it left off before. The waitress refills Marcus’s coffee twice and your tea once. “So who called you when you were sitting alone?” You ask him as you bring the white porcelain mug to your lips, sipping at the creamy tea.

He sighs. “Guy I work with, his name’s Patrick. He’s a douchebag, I can’t lie,” he says with a chuckle, and his heart flutters at the way you give a soft laugh back. “Just telling me the details. I leave in about 6 hours. I’ll be in Singapore for a couple of weeks.”

“Singapore?” You exclaim, eyes wide as your fork clanks against your plate. “You better be able to contact me.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m going undercover. I can’t.” He sighs, and he dares to reach out and touch you, to reassure you that he’s there and himself that you’re real, that you’re right there. “Will you wait for me?”

Your heart melts, from an already slush-covered river to a rushing rapids. “Of course, Marcus.” It makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve called him lots of nicknames, but never his real name. Something is painfully intimate about it. “I like you a lot; why wouldn’t I?” You ask, shrugging as if it’s the simplest thing. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

When you finish your meals, Marcus picks up both tabs, despite your protesting. “Can I walk you to your place?” He asks as you both stand and adjust your jackets.

You nod and take his hand. The lights of the city are seemingly extra dim tonight, leaving the street lights to illuminate your beautiful face as the two of you stroll along. You have all the time in the world, don’t you? It’s 1:30 in the morning. You’re both already evading sleep desperately. A little more time together can’t hurt.

His hand never leaves yours, his fingers lacing through your knuckles. You chat quietly, as if you could wake the sleeping city from the peaceful blue drone of a weeknight morning into its daily splendor of horns and hordes of speedy pedestrians.

Marcus bumps your shoulder with his, making you stumble a little to the side and laugh as you look up at his gorgeous face. His face reflects the love you’re both feeling, almost giving the city around you a pink glaze of warmth from the rose-colored glasses you must have placed over his eyes.

The walk draws to an end, as you stand at the entrance to your apartment building. Marcus’s body looks so soft and inviting, and you dare to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him to your chest. “I don’t want you to go, Agent Pancakes,” you murmur into the soft skin of his neck, which is starting to get a shadow of stubble.

Marcus kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t move either, prolonging this time you have together before he can’t see you. “I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to stay here more than I do now, but I have to.” His arms wrap around your waist, strong and safe.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, your noses practically touching from the proximity you share. The world feels like a bubble around you two, like some impenetrable one-way material that makes it so if Marcus leaves now, he can never come back. “Well, it’s gonna be a long time, a month or two,” you say with a sad smile. “We’ll have to begin again.”

Marcus shakes his head, his brown eyes almost welling with tears. “There’s no one else I’d want to begin again with.” With that, he looks in your eyes, the question hanging there. Wait for me?

Always, you respond silently by pressing your lips to his, kissing him slowly in the orange glow of your apartment building’s entrance. He kisses back, his lips tasting of coffee and maple and blueberry, yours tasting like chocolate and tea.

You squeeze your arms tighter around him, getting on your tiptoes to be as physically close as you can to him. He has one hand on either side of your rib cage, holding you there as he kisses back with all of the passion and love he has.

It can’t last too long or he’ll never leave. He won’t be able to. He breaks away after a few moments, his lips close to yours. He presses your foreheads together, arms encircling you again. “I have to go. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

You lift your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you take so long to walk and eat with me?” You laugh quietly.

Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave you yet,” he admits, his eyes trained on yours. He gives you one last painfully gentle kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you say with a sad smile. “You’ve been my distraction lately. Whenever I’m bored, I text you.”

He sighs, the confession increasing his frown. “I’ll be in an entirely new place, without you.”

“But I’ll be here, in my same old life without you in it.”

The words punch a hole through Marcus’s heart. It’s true; he’ll have new distractions, new things to do. You’ll be here with a Marcus Pike-shaped hole in your heart. He kisses your forehead, the wheels turning in his head. “If you get a call in the next few weeks from an unknown number, be sure to answer it, okay?”

You nod and smile softly. “You need to go. Go.”

He nods and his hand squeezes yours. “I can’t wait to begin again with you.” With that, Marcus Pike, Agent Pancakes, whatever you want to call him, the man you’re highly suspecting might be your soulmate, walks off into the slightly chilly D.C. night.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike headcanons #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #begin again

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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

Text

A heavenly reunion pt. 1; Queen x reader

*Author's note*

This is it guys. After almost 3 years of writing this series it's FINALLY come to the end. Like all good things, they must end eventually so here it is. The LAST chapter of my Rock Angel series.

I first want to point out the YEARS (except Freddie's death date) DON'T MEAN ANYTHING. I'M NOT TRYING TO PREDICT THE FUTURE OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. I just picked these random years to represent when the remaining members of Queen will pass, AGAIN THESE AREN'T REAL DATES AND I HOPE THEY AREN'T.

Pt. 2 will be up in just a few minutes so until then, enjoy this first part.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@queen-paladin

@sparkleslightlyy

@starswin

@labessieisallama

@isabella-bby

@naturalswifty89

@onebigfangirlworld

@ssa-sadboi

@5sos-wdw

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@geek-and-proud

@wormzteef

@bohemiansweede

_______________________________________________________________

*3rd Person POV. June 23rd, 2051*

Rock star, animal rights activist, founder of organizations like ANGELS CURING AIDS, WORDS CAN HURT TOO; Victims and survivors of emotional and verbal abuse, and the ANGELS AGAINST STALKING that helps protect people from violent stalkers. Also apart of charities like the Mercury Phoenix Trust foundation. The Rock Angel (Y/n) Kline had lived a full life.

She continued to tour with Queen as they got many other partnerships throughout the years. But she most enjoyed collaborating with Adam Lambert as he reminded her of him, bright and ambitious just wanting to share his music with the world and he knew he could never fill in Freddie's shoes but he sure as hell made a name for himself in his own way.

She was also a part of the "Bohemian Rhapsody" film that had been made and got to know the actors playing the men that she had grown up with and came to see them as her true family. Ten years after the film released, her own story got to be told thanks to the rights of Paramount and the brilliant mind of Dexter Fletcher, who had directed the story of her boys and Elton John, another one of her dearest friends and mentors.

But now at the crippled age of 90, the Rock Angel now lived in the privacy of her home in London. She was forced to stop touring because just 3 years ago she was diagnosed with a form of dementia.

It was hard on her family and her 4 children and dozens of grandchildren even great-grandchildren to see the once strong woman they had once admired for so long and looked up to as a role model not only in music, but life.

In their current home of London, her husband of over 70 years Jack who had made a name for himself. After the whole stalking incident, Jack joined the ranks of the LAPD. He worked himself all the way to the top and became Chief for over 30 years before he retired by the time he was in his 60's.

He sat there by his wife's bedside stroking her long white hair as she lay there forced into bedrest. She looked up at him and whispered.

"Jack?"

"I'm here baby."

"Where are they? Where are my boys?" she asked.

"Our sons? They're just downstairs."

"No, no. I meant my boys." At those two words, Jack's heart broke as he looked at his wife sympathetically.

"Baby they've—they died. It's been so many years since they all left this world." At hearing her boys were dead, tears fell down her face but Jack held onto his wife and kissed the top of her head. "But I can show you their videos, if you'd like."

"Please. I need to see them. To tell them goodbye." Jack then reached for the I-pad and opened up the Youtube app and began typing in the very song that he knew he would need.

He knew his wife didn't have long and he wanted her to have one last happy memory of hearing the perfect song written by her boys.

Together they held the I-pad and soon the music video "These are the days of our lives" came on.

"Why does Fred look so sick?" she asked worriedly. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to explain.

"He was suffering from AIDS, and it—really affected him love."

"I wish I could've taken care of him." She said as she stroked the screen every time Freddie came on screen. At the instrumental break as she watched Brian skillfully play the guitar, she smiled and said. "Bri....he was such a good guitar player."

"He was, but nothing compared to you." Jack praised obviously playing favorites. He then took notice of his wife growing tired as the song ended.

It was time.

"It's okay baby, you can rest now." And she did just that. Her breathing slowed right as Freddie spoke the last 'I still love you' line and the video ended. "Goodnight my Rock Angel. Be with your boys once again." He then let out a sob as he leaned against his deceased wife.

At 10:45am on June 23rd, 2051 (Y/n) Kline was pronounced dead at the old age of 90.

Everyone who had collaborated with the Rock Angel or had looked up to her all gathered at her funeral. Close friends and family all came to mourn at the loss of the last of the greatest Rock and Roll singers. She was buried in her birth town of Leicestershire, right next to her real parents.

*My POV*

I felt peaceful. My mind was no longer hazy. I could remember everything once again, but what confused me was where I was. I found myself walking through a long corridor but as I passed a mirror, I stopped and backed up to find a shocking surprise.

I was young again.

I looked to be about the age of 19, when I first met the guys. My hair was in the same long wavy fashion I once had before I cut it. I stroked along my cheek just to see if this was real or a dream, but as I stroked it I found that it was. Suddenly a door opened before me and I don't know why but I found myself walking toward it.

Now I was in what looked like an office with everything you would see. Filing cabinets, a large desk filled with paperwork but what caught my attention was the abacus that stood at the front center of the desk.

"Ahh (Y/n) Kline, please come forward." I turned to see a man around his 60's with short black hair, a grim like face with sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes. He wore a black business suit and he was intimidating but for some reason I came forward toward the desk.

He sat down and pulled out a file and began reading through it humming to himself then he said.

"Place your hand over the abacus." I looked at it to see that the color code was white and black. White at top and black at the bottom.

"What is this?"

"This shall determine your next step. Just place your hand over it and let fate do the rest." I didn't know what this was gonna mean but again I saw myself place my hand over it and the second I did, it started going frantic.

Moving up and down frantically with no one even touching it. It was mostly balanced most of the way until it finally majority of the counters went white. The man smiled and said.

"Give my regards to those Rockstar friends' of yours. I'll be looking forward to your next concert." He then snapped his fingers and everything went bright.

Next thing I knew, I heard the sound of birds chirping and felt the sun beaming down on me. I was then greeted with wide open fields and a giant house along with several barn-like homes. It was like Garden Lodge and Rockfield farm mixed into one.

As I stood a few feet away from the main mansion-like house I swore from the second window of the white satin curtains I saw movement. I walked towards the house and placed my hand on the doorknob, I paused for a few seconds before I finally opened the door. I walked in and it was exactly like Freddie's home of Garden Lodge.

I walked through the threshold to see the grand staircase to my right, the long corridor ahead of me and the entrance to the living room to my left.

"Hello?" I said as I stood there. It was then I felt something nuzzle between my legs and I heard a meow. I heard it again and I looked down to see a very familiar face. "Hey, Delilah." I picked her up and held her as she purred and nuzzled my face. I scratched under her chin and she lowered her head to lick my hand.

"No it should be more like this." I heard a low, smooth baritone voice say.

"No, no and no Mr. tuxedo! Bernie has it like this and it shall remain this way. He and I are the genius piano and songwriting duo and it'll stick to this rhythm and timing." Another voice boasted out.

Oh my god.....It can't be. I set Delilah down and she took off running up the stairs as I crossed the living room into the parlor where Fred kept his piano to see two men that I had not seen in forever.

"David? Elton?" I spoke up. The two men turned toward me. David looked so much healthier than last I saw him and he looked younger just like me, in fact he looked about the same age he was when he did Live aid as well as working on the Jim Henson project 'the Labyrinth'.

Elton on the other hand looked about the age from when he was first starting off, back before he began experimenting with all the drugs and all that. The vibrant ginger hair but he still had on those flamboyant sunglasses he always loved to wear.

"Is that—really you?" I asked bewildered.

"Oh shit it can't be. The high angel herself, the Rock Angel?" Elton dramatic tone.

"Yes, it's me."

"Ohh darling. Welcome home." David greeted me with a wide smile and open arms as he walked up to me. He embraced me as he chuckled warmly and said, "Did you have a good life darling?"

"Uh-huh. I had the best life." I said, my voice muffled within his blue suit.

"It looked like you did love." We separated and I couldn't help but admire just how healthy he was.

"How have you been David?"

"Much better darling. No more chemo, I can finally breathe again."

"That's good."

"Alright you overgrown smooth talker, let me at her now." Elton proclaimed as he shoved David aside and immediately came up and kissed both of my cheeks before embracing me. "Oh darling we sure have missed you."

"And I you Elton. Life just hasn't been the same without your music."

"Been practicing those scales I taught you?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes, whenever I could."

"That's my girl." He hugged me again and I buried my face into his shoulder.

"(Y/n)?" a choir of voices soon rang up. I felt my heart stop as I lifted my head, not believing what I was hearing. Elton let go of me and both he and David with soft smiles on their faces told me to go and see who it was. The four voices called out my name again.

I crossed through the parlor, ran across the living room until I came to the door and just halfway up the staircase, I felt my smile widen and tears fill my eyes.

"My boys."

"You're finally here!" Freddie proclaimed. My legs raced directly up the stairs and Freddie, Brian, Roger and John all gathered me at the center in a long awaited Queen group hug.

All I felt were arms wrapped around me tightly, kisses all over my head and face and gentle hair and back strokes. I don't even know how long we were in that hug for but I didn't care, all I cared about was the fact my boys were here all together. When we finally separated I finally got a good look at all four of them.

They were all so young and vibrant just like how I first saw them back in concert long before I became an intern, I would like to think they were now the same ages they were when they first played at the Rainbow back in 1974. Long hair and all.

"I can't believe you four are here." I praised.

"And we can't believe you're here. And with your long hair again, was this when you were most happy?" asked Brian.

"If by that you mean when I first became Miami's intern? Yeah, best day of my life. Do you guys hate it?"

"No darling we've loved you no matter what your hair length is." Freddie said as he stroked the ends of my hair.

"I only just hope you didn't bring along any extreme surprises. Belly button rings, more tattoos." Deacy teased me. I chuckled but felt tears fall down my face.

"Aww lovie what is it?" Roger cooed as I felt him rub my shoulder. All four of them looking at me with those concerned puppy dog eyes they all knew how to do.

"I'm sorry. It's just—I missed you four so much." They all awed as Freddie first took me in his arms and said with his head leaning against mine.

"I know darling. It seems like it's been forever since the five of us were together."

"Coming from you Fred you have no idea." I wept as I gripped onto him as tight as I could, burying my face into his long black hair which softly tickled my face.

God if there's anything I missed about Freddie, it was his warm hugs. They were always so warm and inviting, anyone who was lucky enough to be given any sign of affection from this loveable man was considered lucky, and I was fortunate to be one of those people, and now finally after almost 60 years, I was able to feel that affection once more.

We were now upstairs in the master bedroom to do some private catching up.

"Alright sister dear, come here you." Deacy said. I smiled and immediately went into his arms and he embraced me. As all of you know, after Freddie's death, Deacy was the one to take it the hardest. So much so that he hardly played at any Queen gigs except for maybe three occasions then by 1997 he officially retired and no one had heard from him since.

The guys and I respected his decision so in order to make sure he was alright, I kept in contact with Veronica and would occasionally ask how Deacy was doing as well as the kids. I had learned that the two of them had two more kids, Luke and Cameron and the two of them had been successful in their own ways, all of the Deacy kiddies had, especially Luke who followed in his dad's footsteps and played in a band of his own.

In fact with the permission of the parents, I had allowed my nephew Luke to play at a few of my tours, and god just seeing him play reminded me so much of his dad, not to mentioned he looked so much like him.

And it was an honor to play with a second generation of Deacon.

The sad news of Deacy's passing came to Jack and I from Laura on a cold November day in 2035. Out of the two of us, Jack was the most heartbroken because he not only lost a brother but his idol and mentor.

We were invited to the burial by decree of the Deacy clan but I made sure that through some makeup and wigs that Jack and I weren't recognized by press because we wanted this to be private. As Deacy would've wanted that.

"Ohh I've missed you so much (y/n)."

"Not as much as I missed you brother mine."

It was then my attention turned towards the last 2 members of Queen, the remaining members I kept working with till the end. Brian May and Roger Taylor.

Together in our lives after Freddie's death and Deacy's retirement, I had been there for everything Queen got to accomplish, and they did the same for me. In fact it was Brian who bestowed upon me my plaque to be initiated into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame before I was given my star right above Queen's.

I was also involved with some of the work they did for a little movie called "Bohemian Rhapsody", and they helped become a part of my movie "Set it all free Angel". I first turned my attention to Brian.

It had been almost 10 years since my movie came out and 20 for Queen's film Bohemian Rhapsody. I was in my home studio working on my next upcoming album when I had received a call from Anita telling me that Brian had passed away at the age of 93. It was a peaceful passing so he wasn't suffering or in pain which I was thankful for in a way, he's suffered through so much that if I wanted him to go out, it would have to be peacefully in his sleep.

The world was devastated at losing such an inspiring man. Not only in the music industry, but for his work in astrophysics, as well as the animal programs that he's helped funded and laws he helped raise awareness for.

When he died, I took over the business in his name and within 3 years; I finally helped get laws of abusing, harming or killing animals to be illegal and anyone caught doing that wouldn't get misdemeanors. They would face legal full sentencing of 20-50years in Federal prison. On the night the laws passed and I along with Brian's partnering animal rehab centers signed off on the law, I went to Brian's grave and told him everything.

I immediately glomped him into a hug and held onto his waist tightly. He embraced me back just as tight as I was holding him, me humming lovingly as I buried my face into his chest feeling him stroke down my hair. After what felt like forever, he separated from me and stared down at me with those loving hazel blue eyes of his as he placed both his hands at the top of my head before stroking them downward against each side of my head and ending by cupping my face in his hands.

"I am so proud of everything you've done (Y/n). I saw it all, thank you for continuing my legacy for animal rights."

"You taught me everything I needed to know about being kind and caring towards all creatures, so much so you helped inspire me to do my own animal rehabilitations and rescues. I just—wish I could've been there for you when you......"

"It was beyond your control love. But I didn't suffer. I knew you loved me, and would've done anything to come see me had you known. I never blamed you, so stop blaming yourself." I nodded as tears slipped down my face but with his thumbs he wiped them away before hugging me once more. I felt him kiss my temple before cupping the side of my face once more to kiss my nose.

Even as I got older and we were both in our senior years, he never once stopped with the nose pecks. I smiled and Eskimo kissed him before he pressed his forehead against mine. It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to my right to see Roger standing before me.

Besides Freddie's death, I think the most devastating thing for me was when Roger died. It was about a year after Brian's death when I had gotten a frantic call from my godson Rufus that Roger had been taken to the hospital because of a stroke. Without hesitating, I got into the car and raced to West London Medical Hospital, where I met up with the Taylor pride.

I was frantic with anxiety and fear that I would lose yet a 3rd member of Queen. Over 48hrs passed when Rog finally regained consciousness and I was sitting right there by his bedside holding his hand. He spoke so softly it was like whispers on the wind and the only thing he wanted to do was go outside.

Reluctantly the doctors allowed it so my godchildren, and his wife Sarina took him out to the hospital garden and allowed me some one on one time with him. But I didn't know that that would be the last time they would ever get to talk to him. The last words he ever spoke to me were and I still remember it to this day, even up here in heaven.

"Brian and Freddie have come to collect me, they send out their love to you and Deacy. Look after the old bastard for us." And I literally felt his life slip away from my hand as he died right there in front of me.

For months I was depressed. I was allowed to go to the funeral and speak my eulogy and I sang at his funeral, this time my own rendition of Phil Collins' song 'You'll be in my heart.' It was also because of his funeral that Deacy and I got even closer than we had in years.

He had secretly gone to both Brian and Roger's funeral but it didn't take till Rog passed for him to physically approach me and we both just wept and cried from losing a father, a brother, a great friend together.

Finally when I finally gained the strength, me and the Taylor children all took a picnic up where Roger was born and just looked out beyond the fields of where his childhood home was and reminisced on all the wonderful memories we had of our father.

And it was from his death I produced my album 'Papa Lion' and dedicated it to him; 'To my Papa Lion, and all the other father lions out there. Keep protecting your children no matter what'.

"You gonna get into these arms or what love?" he asked me. I spoke not a word but felt tears in my eyes as I raced up and buried myself into his neck and dirty blonde almost brunette hair. He held me and spun me around, kissing all over my face humming and moaning lovingly.

When he finally set me down, he cupped my face just like Brian did but he gently leaned forward and very gingerly headbutted my forehead and the two of us nuzzled each other, rubbing our noses together.

Like a father lion and his cub reuniting with each other at last.

I held onto his wrists which still cupped the sides of my face and just allowed my tears to fall out but I couldn't stop smiling.

"I hope those are happy tears." He said to me. I sniffled and nodded.

"Yeah the—these are....ha-happy tears." I choked out.

"You know you don't have to be so strong around me, right lovie?" It was then I just broke down and wept as I embraced him. "Shhh, shh. I'm here my lion cub, I'm here. Papa lion is here." He whispered in my ear.

"God I have waited so long for you to say that." I whimpered out to hear him softly laugh and just hug me tighter.

"Oh my darlings.....my heart.....it's too full!" We heard Fred exclaim out dramatically. We both laughed as I nuzzled deeper into my papa lion's chest, happy to finally be reunited with them.

After finally calming down, we were all just sitting around the master bedroom. I was up against the couch leaning against Deacy's legs as he was currently brushing and braiding my hair.

"So you guys continuing to rock it out here in Heaven?" I asked.

"Don't you know it darling. Every good singer who has helped made a difference comes up here and we continue to live a peaceful eternity doing what we were born to do. Be performers." Freddie stated.

"In fact we just had our concert the other night. We got to perform alongside the Beatles." Said Roger.

"Shut up! The Beatles?!"

"You know it love, Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr." Said Brian.

"Wow, I wish I could've seen it." I said.

"You will darling, we perform our concerts every single night. And it's always a mix mash of artists and bands collaborating together to perform the Greatest Heavenly Rock 'n Roll concert." Said Fred.

"Now that you're here poppet, you'll get the chance to perform with the best of the best." Said Deacy. I was flabbergasted.

"Holy......" I couldn't even finish it because I was just so shocked to think that I would be performing with the greatest artists long before my time and bands I wish I had the chance to record or perform alongside with. The guys all chuckled at me and I said.

"So that's why David and Elton were here."

"Mm-hmm. We're all performing together in tonight's show. Three artists of the 70's decade for the first time ever sharing the stage together." Said Brian.

"Ohh man what people would've killed to see that in person. I mean yeah you guys performed at the same venue like we did with Live Aid or did some recordings together but never all three of you guys on stage at once." I said.

"That's how it works around here." Spoke Deacy as he finished the last strand of my braid. I thanked him and observed the braid he had done and I commented.

"You've gotten better Deacy."

"Laura was good practice. My baby girl always wanted her hair braided."

"She may have gotten that from me, sorry." He playfully scowled at me but I cheekily stuck my tongue out at him. "Say Fred, where's Jim at? I figured if you were here, he would be too."

"Oh that man of mine, he's out tending the garden, come have a look." He escorted me to the back window and there I saw a field of flowers as far as the eye could see.

"Whoa. He's done all of that?"

"Been doing it since 2010 darling. Always a hard worker my husband. When he first came, I was worried he wouldn't like this appearance of mine, after all I didn't have my tache and my hair was much shorter than when I first met him."

"Jim loves you Freddie. He loves you no matter what you'd look like."

"And I did know. Turns out he's got a long hair kink." He whispered to me which made me choke out a laugh.

"Seriously?" He nodded ecstatically and that's when Deacy spoke up.

"We're still here Fred, no need to hear any of that."

"Oh god Deacy don't act so innocent. After all you were the one who wrote a song about pre-ejaculation." Deacy's mouth just gaped before turning stoic, and of course Rog and Bri were laughing their asses off. He turned to me and I shrugged saying.

"He's got a point."

"Okay yeah ha-ha fuck all of you."

"Oh come off it John. We mean no harm by it." Roger teased

"At least it's better than a car fucking song." Deacy fired back.

"That's not funny!" Roger proclaimed.

"It is kinda funny." Deacy sassed back.

"Okay, okay enough both of you. I had enough of your arguments to last an entire lifetime. I don't need to relive it now when I just got here." I stated.

"Sorry love." They both choired out.

"Oh (y/n), I do have a surprise for you though." Brian spoke up. I looked at him and said,

"What kind of surprise?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?" He said as he walked right up to me.

"If you tell me, I'll still act surprise." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around me.

"C'mon love, let's head outside." We soon went down the stairs and headed out of the house.

Brian lead me to an open field about a half mile away from the house. There was nothing but green for miles ahead.

"Brian what's this about?"

"You'll see." He then took his index finger and thumb and curled them inward like pinchers before placing them against his lips letting out a loud whistle. We stood there for a moment that was until I heard a bark. A very familiar bark. No it—it couldn't be.

Soon jogging up the hill about a mile away was a German Shepherd. His familiar traditional fur coat shined under the sun as he looked right at me. He let out a couple of barks and soon several more dogs came running up beside him.

They consisted of a golden retriever, 2 pit-bulls, 3 huskies (1 traditional black and white, another grey and white and the last one an auburn coloring), a collie, and 4 Labradors (2 blacks, a tan and one brown).

With each dog that this pack had, I knew every single one of them. I turned to Brian baffled and he just grinned at me before nodding telling me that they were who I thought they were. I turned back around and the German Shepherd let out a bark. I then let instinct take over and ran as I cried out.

"Bucky!" He soon came running after me, as did all the other dogs barking and panting as they all ran down the hill towards me. "C'mon kids! Come on!" I proclaimed. Each dog was running as fast as they could but Bucky and the black and white husky Shasta were leading the pack. "C'mon kids!" Bucky let out some barks as he raced ahead of Shasta and we met half-way.

Bucky leapt with both paws to my shoulders knocking me down onto the ground.

"Ohh Buck. I can't believe it's you! Ohh look at you boy! Good boy Buck!" A second later Shasta came up to me whimpering happily as his tail wagged. "Oh Shasta baby boy look at you! Hi~ Hi baby boy~." Soon enough my entire dog pack was all up on me grunting and whimpering happily as they all began to tackle me, wanting my attention and love.

Now while you all know I've had Bucky and Sammy as the family pets for Jack and the kids. The other dogs have a different story. The two pitbull brothers that I had named Titan and Bear were rescue dogs when I was a part of an actual rescue mission with one of my animal charities in saving dogs from a Mexican dogfight.

Whenever I was free from touring and recording, I made sure they were well taken care of and even let them stay at my home for awhile before they were finally adopted by a good family.

My triple threat huskies Shasta, Maya (the grey and white) and Eevee (auburn) were actually Kelly's dogs. Shortly after she left for college, she wanted to fill her house with dogs so she adopted these three and very often when she would visit or we would visit her, these troublemakers were always there. Sweet and loveable but stubborn little buggers but I wouldn't take them either way.

The Labradors were also rescue dogs that I helped out. The black one Raider and white one Rowdy were just left abandoned tied up in the backyard of their owners homes. The owners had abandoned them and left them for dead in the hottest summer of the year. But thanks to my team we got them out, sheltered and good homes but I occasionally checked in on them since I couldn't let them go.

The brown lab Cleopatra and the other black lab Midnight were once stray dogs till my son Freddie found them and gave them some food and water. Since he didn't have the heart to turn them to the shelter he adopted them. They even started their own little family since Midnight and Cleopatra were mates together and had many puppies together.

And finally the beautiful Collie was Jezebel. Jezebel was something special because she was actually my nana's dog. I hadn't seen her since I was probably five years old, she was already an old girl growing up but from what I remember, she was so maternal with me.

Whenever my nana was busy with something, she knew she could trust Jezebel with me.

After giving every single dog my attention I finally managed to stand up and see all the dogs in my life standing in a row.

"Jezzy, Bucky, Sammy, Titan, Bear, Shasta, Maya, Eevee, Cleo, Midnight, Rowdy and Raider. I don't believe it. Good doggies. My lucky dog pack. I can't believe you're all here. How did you find them all?"

"I was out strolling wanting to observe the stars when I found Bucky and Sammy. They immediately recognized me and just came running right for me. Soon enough they brought me to meet the rest of the dogs you've known and rescued. I was surprised about the collie but I knew she wouldn't be among them if she wasn't a part of your family."

"Yeah, Jezebel was my nana's dog. I called her Jezzy cause I couldn't quite pronounce her name. She was like my guardian dog angel. Always maternal until she passed away of cancer when I was just 5 years old." I walked up to her and pet her head and she leaned up against me. "She even saved me from almost being attacked by a stray dog one summer."

"Well I'm very glad she did." Brian said as he walked up and stroked her head and she gave his hand a friendly sniff and lick.

"And you took care of all of them?"

"Well I'm an animal activist through and through. If Freddie takes care of every cat that comes to Heaven, I thought I should take care of the animals I've grown fond of, but also the animals my little protegee has taken on herself. As well as the family dogs." I smiled and Brian and thanked him with a hug and he gratefully hugged me back.

As the day drew to a close and nightfall came, the boys had escorted me over to the Heavenly Concert hall. If we want to look at it scale wise, imagine it as Wembley Stadium during the time of Live Aid back in 1985. We drove in a royal golden carriage fit only for her royal majesties themselves.

"Wow, it's just like Wembley stadium."

"It is in a way, but it can fit an infinite amount of people. Any and all are welcome to watch us perform." Said Deacy.

"And we won't need to do soundchecks or anything?"

"Nope. This is heaven darling. Up here everything works to the full capacity and capability. No have to worry ever again about sound checks or power outages." Freddie stated. Our carriage soon stopped at the back entrance and the doors magically opened.

I stepped out first followed by Deacy, Roger, Brian and Freddie. Deacy wrapped his arm around me and guided me into the building and the five of us followed the sign down to the basement level where the dressing rooms were.

And it was like they said, I saw dozens of stars with the names of so many artists and bands before and during my time. Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, the Beatles, David, Elton, Led Zeppelin, REO Speedwagon, George Michael, Phil Collins, Bob Dylan, and everyone and anyone you could think of.

"And here we are darling, your dressing room awaits." Roger said as he stood before a red door with a golden star with wings on each side that read in bold black letters my stage name ROCK ANGEL. He opened it up and I was in awe.

Inside was a very large room filled with furniture, a huge makeup station with large mirror decored with lamplights around the perimeter of it.

On the left side of the dressing room were hundreds of different outfit's I've worn throughout the years. Everything was there on hangers along with some of the hats I wore, fedora's, cowgirl, and my famed flat caps of various different colors and styles.

While on the right; I could see just music instruments like the Red Special Brian had made for me up against a special holder up along the wall right by my makeup stand.

"Is this my....."

"Go on and have a look darling." I heard Freddie say in my ear.

"Okay. I finally have my own mall." I walked in and was just in awe at everything. It looked like heaven had taken my master bedroom from my first home I had after becoming the Rock Angel and just put it all here.

I walked inside and said.

"Ooo, very nice shoes." I pointed out on the shoe wrack seeing some of the styles of shoes I've worn. From combat boots, to Adidas', flats, and even the high-heeled boots that Deacy always wore during the 1970's.

"We're glad you like them darling. Why don't you go around that corner and press the black button along the dresser." Deacy said. I walked further in and reached a dresser and found the black button. When I pressed it, a couple of shelves slowly opened up revealing almost every pair of sunglasses I've always worn.

"Oh my god! I've missed wearing these." I picked up a pair of my ray ban black and gold framed sunglasses. "Didn't I make these look good?" I quickly turned to see the guys were gone. "Guys?"

"Over here love." I heard Brian's voice say. I walked towards the right to see my boys standing or sitting along some of the foot stools.

"Oh there you all are. Ohh nice amps." I couldn't help but see the amps up along the wall. "I—I'm just...." Before I could continue a remote was tossed over at me by Roger as he said.

"Before you even say anything else. Type in combination 2-1-2." I muttered the combination to myself as I pressed the numbers and soon the closet before us opened and soon revolving around were various guitars and bass guitars, shelves soon opened revealing several pairs of drumsticks each imprinted with my name on them.

I had no words.

"Umm....this is.....I can't—" I jumped back a bit as the top shelves suddenly opened revealing two different microphones. One was a basic black but it was bedazzled with red gems while the other one was pure gold with golden gems.

"Elton and I had a little hand of having your microphones designed." Said Freddie with a modest shrug.

"I mean....guys this is......unbelievable. And this is all mine?"

"Oh darling you should see ours. It's practically the entire mansion back home."

"Each star that comes here is given the full custom of what they've enjoy back on Earth. And since you've favored how you once had your rotating dressers back in 2011, it's all here for you but advanced into your instruments as well." Said Roger.

"And if anyone has any suggestion like if they're close to another artist, they can submit some suggestions of what should be in said artists dressing room." Brian spoke up.

"Aww you guys, I love you." I said as I came up to them and we got into a group hugged.

"We love you too (Y/n) darling. Now hurry up and get ready, the concert is about to begin." The boys left me to my own business. I walked up to my clothes rack and went through every style and decided that if I was to do my first concert in Heaven, I might as well wear exactly what I wore for my first concert as the Rock Angel.

After getting ready and doing my makeup the same way Freddie had done for me that day in Madison Square Garden, I picked up my Red Special and put it around my neck and left my dressing room.

"The Rock Angel is back." I looked up to see the boys standing across me in front of their dressing room, dressed to the T like they had at the they did at the Odeon theater Christmas Eve 1975. I smiled and said.

"Well look at you guys, it seems like only yesterday I was sneaking my friends into the house while Joanna and Graham were at their Christmas party just to watch you guys live at the Hammersmith Oden theater." I sassed.

"Thank you love, now c'mon time to head to the stage." Roger said. The lads cheered and I followed behind as we all walked back up the stairs and went through the corridors of backstage. Hundreds upon hundreds of artists were getting themselves ready to go up and perform.

I watched as the boys did their typical body warmups to get themselves pumped up when I felt a nudge at my arm.

"You seem quiet poppet, everything okay?" I looked up to see Deacy standing beside me.

"You said anybody whose anybody comes to see these shows right?" He nodded and I said solemnly, "Do....do you think my family, like my mum and dad know that I'm here now? That I'm here performing?" I felt him wrap his arm around my shoulder and he said.

"It's possible. Anytime a new artist or band comes here, it's fully announced far and wide throughout Heaven. So there's a good chance they might be out there in the audience."

"I hope so. I just want to show them what I've achieved, I want them to be proud of me."

"They are poppet. Just like we are." He embraced me in a one armed hug leaning his head against mine.

"I really have missed these moments between us Deacy."

"So have I. And I've got a hell of a lot of comforting to catch up on."

"Well now's a good start."

"Oi you two! Are we going to perform or not?" The two of us smiled as we heard Roger's voice cry out to us. My brother looked down at me and he said.

"C'mon, let's go do our thing." I nodded and we headed towards the guys.

*3rd Person POV*

Once again it was concert time. Every soul that had passed into heaven that was a fan of Rock and Roll or music in general came from far and wide to come to the concert of concerts, even bigger than the Earthly event that Live Aid gave the world.

Generations of artists and musicians that had come from around the world from many different backgrounds came to this very stadium to give the performance of their afterlives. Thousands, almost a million people poured into the stadium as the lights were flashing and doing their test run for each artist that would perform that night.

Soon Bob Geldof came onto the stage and everyone applauded for him.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome once again to the Heaven's Rock and Roll concert." Everyone applauded and cheered holding up signs of their favorite artists or bands that would be performing tonight. "It gives me great honor to announce that we recently were given a new arrival, but I won't give it away on who it is." The audience crowd because they wanted to hear who it was as Bob continued, "I'll leave that to the band who know her best. So without further ado I would like to bring up on stage the first band performance of this evening's festivities. These lads I knew personally and they helped make one of the biggest rock concerts even greater than I could ever imagine. These four individually talented young men rose to the stardom in the early 1970's before exploding into the worldwide phenomenon by the 1980's. Ladies and Gentlemen please bow before her royal majesties that is Queen!"

The crowd roared with applause as Bob left the stage and the stage grew dark. Soon the opening notes for "Now I'm here" began playing and everyone cheered louder as they began clapping in rhythm. Those who have seen and grew up seeing Queen live, knew exactly how to react and behave during a Queen concert and those who got to know Queen up here in heaven got a taste of what it would've been like had they seen them in person with all four of them up on stage.

Soon Freddie's silhouette and voice echoed through the speakers as he began to sing the song. When the song began to pick up, the lights on stage exploded as did fire from the sides of the stage as all four members of Queen were finally revealed to the crowd.

Freddie lead with the vocals and his mates and brothers backed him up on not only the vocals but their instruments, and ever the frontman he was, strutted the stage like it was his as his voice overpowered and reached out into the audience with a force unlike anything.

By the end of the song, Freddie proclaimed into the microphone.

"Thank you! Thank you, good evening everybody!" The crowd cheered as Freddie continued, "Oh it looks magnificent out there tonight. Okay my darlings, right now. Right now, we're going to take you for the first time ever we're taking you all to the battlefield. This is called Ogre Battle!"

The boys continued to play a few more songs like 'White Queen', 'Killer Queen', 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Don't stop me now' and 'Son and Daughter' included with Brian's famous guitar solo giving Deacy and Freddie enough time to change clothes for the next half of the performance. Freddie now wearing the famed black satin outfit with his chest exposed and diamond fingernailed glove as well as the chain glove on the other.

"Yes thank you, thank you very much. Featuring Brian May on guitar!" Brian took a bow as the spotlight shined on him and the crowd cheered. "Now then my darlings, as I'm sure everyone's heard we have a new arrival. A very special girl to all four of us. How would you all like to meet her?"

The crowd roared with applause and soon Roger began doing one single rhythmic beat. Hearing the beat made the entire audience clap in that single beat rhythm.

"She first rose to the spotlight in the summer of 1981. A bright, charismatic young woman whose music has touched the lives of millions. To us she wasn't a shadow of our fame, she was an equal partnership. The like of which we had never knew we could ever ask for. Ladies and gentlemen and everyone up in the balcony give it up for Heaven's very own Rock Angel, Mrs. (Y/n) Kline!"

From up on the catwalk above the stage, the silhouette of the Rock Angel herself came up and it appeared that she actually had angel wings sprouting from her back as she began the first verse of her famed song "Set it all Free".

By the chorus, the screen lifted up and she hopped off the catwalk and gratefully fell from the 10ft catwalk onto center stage playing her Red Special as her boys backed her up as they always did whenever they performed this song together.

And seeing the two artists perform together, Queen and the Rock Angel, the crowd was in pure excitement bouncing up and down and crying out the lyrics to the well known song that the Rock Angel's 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

But none were more happy to perform once again than the artists that were on stage. It had been forever since it was the five of them together up on stage and they couldn't help but look at each other. As the guitar solo came up, it turned into a guitar battle between the Rock Angel herself and Brian May which got the crowd really pumped up.

By the end of the song, everyone was chanting out 'Angel! Angel! Angel!'

"Hello Rock and roll heaven how's everyone doing tonight!?" The crowd welcomed her with a roar of applause. "God I can't believe I'm here performing with my boys once again. And right now we'd like to bring out a special guest for this next number." She turned to Deacy who nodded and began playing his bassline for "Under Pressure" which got the crowd applauding louder.

"This man is a well-known legend and the birth of a true 'flamboyant' hard rocker. And a very close friend of mine." Freddie started.

"Six time Grammy award winner, 4 time Brit award winner, actor, musician. Everyone put your hands together for Mr. David Bowie!" (Y/n) proclaimed into the mic.

It was then Freddie and (Y/n) began singing the first part of the song as at the center stage a circular hole began to open and soon rising up onto the stage was David Bowie himself. He wore a royal blue suit with a black undercoat suit shirt as well as the business white shirt. A light blue tie and black shoes.

He soon began his line of the first bridge as Freddie and the Rock Angel backed him up. When the second part of the song came up after Freddie's little vocalization, David gave the gesture for (Y/n) to take the second part of the song. And as she always performed it, she would lowly sing in her alto range before suddenly belting out to the perfect volume as she would hold the note out for as long as she could letting the two legends back her up.

Just like the record Freddie and Roger softly sung the first part of the break, then David came in before (Y/n) belted out the why vocals before the song picked right back up. It was something that could only be seen in Heaven. Three legendary singers performing one song.

David Bowie, Freddie Mercury and (Y/n) Kline the Rock Angel.

The three lead singers stood side by side with each other with David on the left, Freddie in the middle and (y/n) to the right. The three in almost rehearsed synchronicity began to sidestepped across the stage as all three voices blended the bridge that it could give one an eargasm.

Agreeing with each other and knowing what she could do to close the song, both David and Freddie stepped back with (y/n) completely unaware as she just allowed the song to consume her.

At the final note, she let out a proud controlled belt that was first heard at Freddie's tribute concert and it almost seemed like the sun was rising as the stage was lit up in a heavenly glow as she held the note. The entire audience was in an uproar as they gave a standing ovation to the Rock Angel herself.

She turned around and saw the five older men smiling at her and applauding her for a phenomenal performance that they have missed so dearly.

The concert continued as Elton John soon came up on stage and together he, Freddie and (y/n) sang 'I'm still standing' a song that was personal to all three of them in some shape or form but they knew this was the perfect song for them all to sing.

After a few more Queen songs, with the allowance of their beloved Rock Angel since her set was about to come up after theirs, she allowed them to stay and be her band as she would perform her hit songs before the souls of Heaven.

Songs like 'Who I am', 'So good,' 'Bridge of light', 'Rock angel', her rendition of 'Somebody to love', 'We'll be together', and with her boys already up there with her they did a few more duets of Queen songs like 'Friends will be friends', 'Spread your wings', 'Fat Bottomed girls', and 'Jailhouse Rock'.

Finally their time was up and as 'God save the Queen' played through the speakers, all five of them stood side by side each other and bid the crowd a goodbye and thank you.

After watching several performances from backstage, and when the concert finally came to a close it was time for the after party. So just outside in the back a beautiful garden was set up with refreshments and plenty of drinks to fit everyone's needs and all the performers of the night came out to talk amongst one another and to celebrate another well-performed concert.

As well as to welcome their newest achievement.

*My POV*

Oh my god. That was a thrill rush, and now being here at the after party I saw literally everyone. Elvis, Janis, the Beatles, Little Richard, Elton, David, Hendrix, everyone in rock and roll big names were gathered around this beautiful garden.

As I went to go grab some water I felt a hand tap my shoulder and there stood John Lennon himself.

"So you are the famous Rock Angel?" I swallowed my water and was completely star-struck.

"Y-yeah I.....Mr. Lennon I....."

"Please call me John."

"Okay, John. Can I just say.....just between us that you were always my favorite Beatle out of the group."

"Coming from you that's a huge honor. And now I can finally rub it into Paul's face the bugger." I laughed and that's when I heard a female voice say.

"Alright let me at her, where is she?" And there donned with her famous fur coat, tall Russian-like hat and red circular shades was Janis Joplin herself. "And there she is. The one female rocker better than me." She spoke as she came up to me.

"Oh no Mrs. Jop—"

"Ah-ah. Mrs. Joplin is not my name. Call me Janis baby girl." I blushed and she wrapped an arm around me and said, "You know, you and I aren't so different kid."

"How so?"

"Well we both struggled in our families and personal lives, got together with some male rockstars to form a partnership before splitting off to have our freedom. The only difference is, is that I wish I had your strength. I decided to call it quits with heroin being my way to kick the bucket."

"You were someone I did look up to. I mean yeah you had your struggles, but hell you didn't take shit from no one. When conservative minds at the time wanted you to do it their way, you said....."

"'Fuck you. I'm doing it my own way!'" She finished off which made the two of us laugh. "Yah know something baby girl, I like you. Promise me for Lady's night you'll do a song with me?"

"It would be an honor Janis." She smiled and hugged me tightly.

"Alright my darlings, may we have everyone's attention?" Freddie's voice soon spoke up as he was now standing on top of a table. Everyone looked up and as the boys of Queen stood up front Freddie continued, "First of all magnificent show all of you. So cheers my lovely darlings." Everyone of us raised our glasses in the air saying 'cheers'.

"We'd also love to specifically say a wonderful show for our newest arrival," Brian spoke up. He turned to me and extended his hand out for mine. I took it and he gently pulled me up front so that everyone could see me.

"Our beloved Rock Angel herself, (Y/n) Kline." Roger spoke up as he smiled warmly down at me.

"To the Rock Angel!" Deacy stated as he raised his cocktail glass in the air.

"To the Rock Angel!" Everyone choired at me. I bashfully smiled and said.

"Thank you, it was an honor to see most of you perform tonight, and it was great to perform with someone of you once again after so many years. I hope I have the privilege to perform with every single soul here." I said.

We then raised our glasses once more and the mingling and partying continued long into the night.

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marlahey · 3 years

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under the same roof part one: a stickler for the rules

a harry styles rpf ratings/warnings: references to stalking behaviour by a peripheral character, too many longing looks in a space too small to contain them, she’s clueless sometimes but we love her notes: surprise surprise! it’s good to be back my friends. as far as OG openings go, part one of utsr probably underwent the least amount of rewrites. the most notable change is sylvia’s age: she’s four-ish, going on five. just makes our lives a little easier in terms of continuity and logic! (please visit the masterlist to find all our other writing because I forgot tumblr is a BITCH and hates external links now. ugh.) utsr masterlist | part 2 (7.12.2020)

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• tuesday, 1st february 7:48 pm • In spite of the biting chill outside, it’s about a million degrees in this lobby. You wonder if the heater is broken and if it’s always going to be like this here. The hair escaping your ponytail is pressed flat against the back of your neck, and you’re struggling to balance the crate between your chin and the massive box in your arms.

One of the corners is digging into your gut so you raise a knee to adjust it, but the box slips in your grip and you barely manage to hang on. There’s a faint meow from Chowder’s crate. The doors to the elevator whirr open with a ding and you shuffle inside. “Which floor is it again?” India grunts. The box that she’s carrying is lighter but larger—more cumbersome. It obscures half of her face and the way she’s leaning over can’t be any good for her back. “Eight,” you reply, strained. India stretches an arm out to the keypad, struggling to reach the right number. She misses. “Yeah,” you deadpan, “so press four twice.” The sound of a quiet, stifled chuckle turns your head to the back corner of the elevator. A young man leans against the hardwood of the elevator wall with his hands clasped in front of him. He is tall and lean; silver and gold rings adorn his fingers. His hair is wavy and cocoa brown, as though he used to have a businessman’s haircut but has let it grow out. He’s wearing grey tartan tweed pants and black ward lo Vans. Tattoos poke out of the sleeves of his sweater. It’s an arguably strange ensemble, but he pulls it off well. The man pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with a thumb, gaze trained on the floor. His lips are still pressed together against a smile that flirts with the corners of his mouth. Only then do you realize you’d been staring. You tear your eyes away as heat nips your cheeks and ears. In your tattered converse, mom jeans, and grubby moving flannel, you feel suddenly small. Chowder moews plaintively, like he needs to remind you of his current status in, on, and surrounded by boxes. “Is it just me,” India murmurs to you as the doors ding open on the second floor, “or did that take… is the lift broken?” “It’s the slowest bloody thing,” the man interjects, like it’s the bane of his existence. “You get used to it.” The elevator jolts to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors peel open in silence. Nobody moves. “Sorry, ” India murmurs. The man just shakes his head. The back of the door to the elevator is a mirror so you’re able to privately relish in the invisible threads of your curiosity that reach out to him. “S’ fine, ” he replies softly. By the time you’ve reached the sixth floor, you’re still peering at the man periodically from beneath your eyelashes. He looks up and holds your stare in the reflection of the doors moments before they part, and a ding sounds again through the small space. He smiles at you, poised, before pushing off the wall and stepping carefully between you and India to the hallway. The doors close once again and you are alone with your friend. She drops her box a few inches and bugs her eyes out at you from over the cardboard lid. “Dibs.” You step forward, laughing, and bump your box into hers. Finally, you reach level eight, pile the last two of your boxes by the front door, collapse on the mattress on your bedroom floor still covered in clear plastic packaging, and order pad thai. • friday, 30th march 7:23 am •

“Hold the elevator!” you call mid-jog, and immediately wince. You need to be better about calling it a lift. You make it through the doors of the lift before they close halfway, but not before noticing an arm outstretched to hold them open for you nonetheless. A cross tattoo and the bottom of an anchor poke out from the sleeve of his suit. It’s black velvet that has a navy lustor in the light. You’re in the same company now as virtually every other morning since you’d moved here—the man with the glasses who noticed you on that first day. You’re pretty sure his name is Harry, unless he’s pinning someone else’s name to his chest every day on a badge beneath red emboldened letters reading, The National Gallery, London. It’s surprising to see him as you get on, however, because he lives below you on the sixth floor. Perhaps he’d forgotten something today and needed to go back up… if this were the case, you’re glad to have caught him by chance. Every so often the cast of characters rotates. Sometimes a stout older man with an emerald green briefcase and a mustache rides down with you on weekdays. A slender woman who is almost always on her headset, hovering by the button pad occasionally makes an appearance. They both live above you. Most mornings, however, are like today. It’s just you and Harry together, without fail, if only for those few measured moments of quiet at sunrise. Perhaps you two are on the same tube schedule. For someone you see so often, you know remarkably little about Harry apart from the observable; he’s not one for small talk, has poor eyesight, and boasts impeccable taste in suits. It occurs to you that you still haven’t had a full conversation with him. You absently wonder if he’s single. You’ve even made progress from polite nods of acknowledgment to a consistent “Good morning,” from him and a nearly unflustered, “Morning,” from you (though realistically speaking, a smile before you’ve had your first cup of coffee is only manageable because India would disown you if she knew that you weren’t taking every opportunity to talk to this stupidly handsome stranger). “Thanks,” you murmur, stepping through the doors Harry’s held open for you. “Sure.” The ride down passes in silence. You can’t work up the nerve to speak until the doors part and Harry gestures for you to exit first, and by then it’s too late. You offer a faint parting smile. But, you reason, there’s always tomorrow. • sunday, 8th april 2:42 pm • The lift stops on the sixth floor in its descent as you look up from your phone. Harry’s voice is audible from the hall as the doors open and it startles you because he’s usually alone. You take a sip of your iced coffee as Harry steps inside, wearing a black knit sweater with pink and orange planets across the front, black jeans, worn leather boots, and wayfarers. In one of his hands, he carries an umbrella and rolled-up reusable grocery bag. In the other—most surprisingly—he holds the tiny hand of a little girl. She’s wearing frog rain boots, rainbow leggings, and a t-shirt that proclaims the future is female. Her dense curls are a shade darker than Harry’s, her eyes are closer to brown than hazel, and her skin is a warmer golden hue—but her smile presses a dimple into her cheek, identical to the one you’ve been staring at for months. He has a kid? Harry pulls her gently inside and she seems disappointed that the button for the ground floor is already lit. “This one pumpkin,” he whispers, pointing at the close doors symbol just beneath. She presses it with a firm clack and beams when the familiar mirrors slide across. “Daddy, can we please, please get bananas?” You almost choke on your cold brew. He has a kid. Is there a ring? Do you see a ring? You’d never noticed him in a wedding band before and he certainly isn’t wearing one now. “Shh, we won’t forget bananas… I wrote it down, remember?” With his free hand, Harry fishes out a folded piece of Hello Kitty paper from his back pocket and holds out her, more than happy to let his child snatch it from him. “Daddy, look at the pretty star!” You almost choke on your coffee again as Harry’s gaze follows his daughter’s waving hand, still gripping the pink, polka-dot paper with cat ears, all the way to the golden star dangling from your neck. “Yes, it’s very nice,” Harry nods down at her, agreeing in a voice that could only be used with a child. “Don’t point, angel… s’not very polite.” He smiles at you, almost apologetic, and gently wraps his hand around hers to lower her outstretched arm. “You have a million stars at home.” The lift stops on the ground floor. You gesture for Harry to exit first, a courtesy he always seems to extend to you, and you melt into a smile as he lifts one corner of his mouth in timid gratitude. He hesitates in the doorway on his way out. “Say goodbye, Sylvia,” he says. He has a dad voice. It makes your stomach flip. Sylvia flashes you those sparkling brown eyes once more and waves, suddenly shy. You wiggle your fingers and she buries her face into her father’s leg. “We’re workin’ on it,” Harry says, like it needs an explanation of some kind. He keeps his tender smile when he glances at you over his shoulder before he and Sylvia disappear out the lobby doors and into the rain, hand in hand. • thursday, 7th june 8:24 am • You’re pinning an earring in as you step into the lift. It stops on the sixth floor and then it’s silent as usual between you, Harry, and the mustached emerald briefcase man. You still haven’t had a complete conversation with either of them, but you hardly mind. It’s gratifying to have a few moments of peace before the triathlon that is your final exams, the gym, then straight into your evening shifts at work. Even though you’re looking forward to drinks tonight with India to celebrate the end of term, you’re weary and your body is stiff. Another sleepless night had come and gone and you’d struggled to cover the bags beneath your eyes with makeup this morning. You frown in your recollection of the nightmare, the same icy stare tormenting you. There is an older man with nearly translucent blue eyes, who you see so often around London that you’re beginning to wonder if he’s a figment of your imagination. Yesterday you’d caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of a shop window on your daily walk home from the tube station. He was staring straight at you, but when you’d spun around to look closer, he had vanished. It had unnerved you so much that you hurried straight home without stopping at the shops for kitty litter. London is a crammed metropolis; at this point it’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop you from losing sleep over it. “My daughter has that book,” the man with the emerald briefcase says, pulling you back to earth. You let go of your now fastened earring and hold up the book that was pinned under your arm so that the cover is on display. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. “This one?” The man hums, continuing, "I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what it’s about.” “It’s sweet.” Harry’s eyes flash to the book and then your face as you speak. You flip it over and consider the blurb on the back. “A girl sort of accidentally starts working for this catering company one summer while she’s dealing with the loss of her dad.” The stout man brushes over his mustache with his thumb and index finger. “I never knew you were American!” “Oh, yeah,” you laugh softly through a shrug. Harry looks down to the floor and you catch the last second of his smile. “I am.” “What brings you to London then?” asks the older man. “I’m a student at UCL.” “Impressive. What do you study?” “I’m a third year in Law... um, I have a minor in Art History, though.” You peer over at Harry through the reflection of the doors, but he simply pushes his glasses up his nose. You’re startled by the lift’s ding at the ground floor. “Cheers.” The old man nods at you before exiting. “Cheers,” Harry adds like a reflex, stealing a side glance at you before brushing past into the lobby. You could have sworn you’d seen the dimple forming on his cheek to mask a smile. • thursday, 27th september 8:51 pm • You knead the back of your neck with your fingertips and frown toward the ground as you wait for the lift. You don’t usually get home this late but your research advisor needed you to come in a little earlier to your shift this afternoon, and you hadn’t been able to get in a workout until an hour ago. What’s more, readjusting to London’s time zone after spending the month of August back home is taking a toll on your sleep. You sigh and try to relax your shoulders. The first term in your final year at university seems determined to bury you early. You press the auto-lock button on the set of car keys India had loaned you, then once more for good measure. You managed to finagle a guest spot in the garage beneath the building, though it’s your first time using it. It’s eerie and poorly lit down here; you tread lightly into the lift. You’d seen him again today—the blue-eyed man—and by this point it had just been… too often. You had convinced India to let you borrow her car to pick up some archives for your advisor in Ilford forty-five minutes out of your way. It was the first time you’d been to that part of London, and you were still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, so you were already on edge. You remember crossing the street over to a small brook beside the road and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was there in your wake, watching you. It was the middle of the day but you were alone, so you faked a phone call and took an indirect route to the Ilford Historical Society. It was enough to solidify your suspicions that something more serious is happening. On the drive home, you had mentally worked out a time in your schedule to visit the police department and file a report. The lift stops in the lobby on your way up, and your worries from the day promptly evaporate. You smile at your feet as Harry creeps inside the tiny corridor with a very measured, and even gate. Sylvia is passed out, her arms draped loosely around his neck. He’s in a charcoal grey tuxedo tonight and his usual glasses are switched out for contacts. You reach out to press the sixth-floor button, and Harry thanks you with the beginning of a smile. The two of you are stood at the back of the lift together, shoulder to shoulder facing the mirror, so it’s easy to indulge in your gaze toward the small child in his arms. You don’t try to hide the fact that you’re staring the way you might have a few months ago. Even in sleep, Sylvia’s tiny hand clings to the fabric of Harry’s collar. She nuzzles into his neck when the lift jolts upward. Her cheeks are rosy, and she wears a pyjama set covered in primary-colored dinosaurs. Her dark bob of curls—which have grown longer since you’d seen them last—are spread out across his shoulder, and her bloated toddler belly rises and falls against his chest. You smile absently at the short trail of memories you have of Sylvia, but your reverie is interrupted when you notice that Harry is looking directly into your eyes. It makes you do a double take. Could you have imagined it? Is that a blush? Had you embarrassed him? You’re still staring at each other in the reflection when the lift reaches the sixth floor. Your eyes dart to the floor, and you only allow yourself to look up once Harry is stepping out into the hall, well in front of you. He pauses in the doorway to turn around. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Night.” You hesitate before adding, “Goodnight, Sylvia.” Harry’s smile only grows wider, as though the two of you had shared some fond inside joke. Something catches your eye when you arrive at your floor. You crouch down and pick up a plush kangaroo toy in the corner, flipping it over in your hands. It’s ratty, and has been washed so many times that the pink cotton on its ears is beading. One of the miniature black buttons for its eyes dangles loose, and the synthetic fur is matted. What was once chestnut has faded into a dull, tawny copper. “S.S.,” you read curiously. The initials are stitched in red to the bottom of the kangaroo’s long feet. The sound of the doors closing catches you off guard. You jump to your feet, tucking the small stuffed animal into your purse as you hurry down the hall and fish around in your bag for your keys. • saturday, 6th october 2:31 pm • You step into the lift, fasten in your earbuds, and tap the button on the keypad for the eighth floor. Today marks your third trip to the Ilford Historical Society this week. Soon you’re going to need to ask your advisor for reimbursement to fill India’s tank, but on the bright side you hadn’t seen the man with blue eyes since the first time you’d made the trip…You just hope that this means he’s retreating and not that he’s getting stealthier. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and increase the volume of your classical playlist by a few notches. A flash of purple, white, and green bolts into the lift as the doors part at the lobby. Sylvia is in a Buzz Lightyear costume today. Harry’s tattooed arm swings through the half-open doors immediately behind her, going for the jet pack wings, but she squeals and escapes his hold. You watch the scene play out like a Tom and Jerry skit with La Traviata in the background as Sylvia darts around the corners of the lift and her father fails to corral her. Harry lunges for her, misses, lunges, misses again, then catches her by the elbow as she screams in laughter, squirming out of his grip. You silently pause your music and press the button for the sixth floor as Harry spreads his feet apart, catching Sylvia in his arms like a goalie as she tries to bowl through the closing doors. It’s fortunate that nobody else is trying to get in. She kicks her legs before adopting that pose children do when they don’t want to be held, and makes a rigid plank with her body. Hair disheveled and glasses sliding down his nose, Harry lurches for the keypad with his daughter wedged under his arm a few seconds after the doors close. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks once he sees the button for his floor is already illuminated. “Thanks.” You flash a quick smile. Harry sets Sylvia down breathlessly and she finds a hiding place behind him, her little arms wrapped around one of his knees. He leans against the back wall of the lift, the smallest backpack you’ve ever seen swinging from one hand with the initials, S.S. reappearing stitched onto one of the straps. You swallow and tug your earbuds out by their chord before slowly crouching down to eye-level with Sylvia. For a moment you look up at Harry because you feel the instinct to ask for permission for some reason, certain your expression is more serious than necessary. He’s frowning but he’s also smiling at you as though to gauge your next move—so are you, to some degree. You shift your eyes back to Sylvia, and reach cautiously into your purse. Sylvia’s eyes widen at the sight of the small kangaroo you retrieve from your bag, her mouth gaping in a tiny, square-toothed grin. It might just as well be Harry beaming at you himself with such a striking resemblance. Both of the kangaroo’s black button eyes are fastened tightly in place now. You make your voice light and ask, “Is this yours?” The sound of a zipper comes from above your head; you glance up to catch Harry pulling another kangaroo out of the backpack. How many kangaroos does she have? He passes the stuffed animal to Sylvia and you see now that it’s quite a bit larger than the one you’d found last week. It’s also different from yours because it has a long white stripe along its front with a wide, empty pouch halfway down its belly. Oh… perhaps it’s just the two. She cautiously approaches you with the larger toy in tow, until you’re close enough to snuggle the joey back into its mother’s pouch. She stumbles backward into Harry’s legs. You sigh in relief before rising to your feet. “Sylvia, can you say thank you?” Harry folds his arms behind his back and leans over to whisper against the top of his daughter’s head, but loud enough for you to hear. Her curls bounce as she bobbles her head in a bashful nod, wrapping an arm around dad’s leg again. “Thank you.” This child, you have to admit, is devastatingly cute. “We tore the flat apart looking for him this weekend,” Harry intones, shaking his head. “Where did you find him?” “In here,” you reply. He makes a noise, like the possibility had only just occurred to him. “Thank you.” “It was the least I could do.” You lean back against the wall opposite them as the lift reaches the sixth floor with a ding and you wave to the two of them on their way out. “Cheers.” Harry nods to you. “Say goodbye, Sylvia.” She gives you a small wave. Harry gently nudges her forward into the hallway with his foot. There is an interim of about ten seconds of quiet before Sylvia is hurtling back into the lift, making a beeline to you, and wrapping her arms around your legs. She beams up at you for the second time with a smile cut-and-pasted from her father. Bubbling laughter overcomes her, and you uncross your legs, unable to help yourself from joining in her smile. “Hello again!” you say, before it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. “Vi,” Harry calls from outside the lift. She just giggles and buries her face into your knee. He appears in the quickly closing doorway, one hand keeping it open as he narrows his eyes. There’s something playful in it though, a practiced pretend serious. Your gazes catch and Harry winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Uh oh,” he says, “I think I hear a tickle monster!” Sylvia shrieks, but she’s not faster than her father, who’s crouched low to catch her by the sides, merciless fingers at work until the child instinctively releases you. She laughs and laughs and laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. “So sorry.” Harry’s apology is much less flustered than you would have expected. Sylvia wiggles in his grip, cracking up, euphorically naughty. You simply let out a breathy laugh as they finally both make it out of the lift together. Down the hall, you hear Sylvia’s giggle melt into a screech against gravity; you lean over to catch a glimpse of Harry flipping her upside down on his chest with her belly out, legs flailing back and forward over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re bad. You’re bad.” He does not show his daughter the mercy of waiting until they’re in the privacy of their apartment before the second round of tickling begins. “You’re gonna get Daddy in trouble.” • monday, 8th october 8:23 am • Riding in the lift alone is nice because you don’t have a full-length mirror in your apartment. You brush the cat hair off of the front of your sweater and fix one of the sleeves that had bunched up beneath all your layers. The yarn is a warm, autumnal bay that compliments your thick scarf and the gold buttons of your roomy black overcoat. You hear a ding and your eyes flash up to the floor indicator above the entrance. You almost lose your balance jumping back from your reflection when you see the illuminated number six. The doors separate and Harry steps in beside you, closer than usual. Today he’s in a forest green, double-breasted jumpsuit with faint pinstripes, and you can’t help but find it fitting that he works in an art museum. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Good morning.” You feel something tense pinned to the air between you two. “Did you fix Jojo’s eyes?” Harry asks after a beat, almost accusatory. Your eyes narrow at his reflection in the doors. It takes you a minute to summon to mind what he’s referring to. “Jojo?” He flushes a little, just enough to warm the tips of his ears. “The um—” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “He’s… the baby kangaroo.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was embarrassed. But as you’ve come to learn, Harry just loves his daughter immensely. “It was nothing,” you reply evenly. Harry lets out a light, almost defensive scoff. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” Part of you wonders if he’s the type to make a fuss over what you’d consider an innocuous gesture. You could see how an unsolicited favor from a stranger might come off as undermining to a young, single parent, come to think of it. The thought that you’d been the cause of Harry’s ire—or even his mild annoyance—makes your chest feel tight. The lift stops on the second floor. A group of three enters in staccato laughter, pulling your attention forward. Harry’s eyes meet yours in the reflection of the doors—just two seconds that maybe you could pretend were an accident—before you both glance away as though you’d been caught. The group leaves ahead of you into the lobby. “I just wanted to do a nice thing, you know. For her.” You’d been staring resolutely ahead in your admission, but dare yourself to glance sideways and look directly at Harry. “And for you, honestly.” You brush past Harry into the lobby without waiting for his usual beckoning you to go ahead, but sense him turn toward you at the last second. You do not look back. • wednesday, 7th november 8:23 am • “Ouch, shit―” You jerk your hand from your pocket, staring in disbelief at the tiny pinprick of blood welled on the tip of your pinky. Returning your hand carefully into your coat, you pull out the red paper flower just as the lift doors ding on the sixth floor and Harry walks in. Sucking on your finger is helping your wound, but consequently draws his smiling, vaguely concerned eyes. “Alright?” he asks. You nod with a little hapless shrug, holding up the offending fake petals with a black button center and protruding silver pin out the back. “Forgot I had this.” It’s only a slightly embarrassing admission. Commonwealth countries mark the day of the Armistice, November eleventh, in a particular, unfamiliar way; India had explained the Poppy Appeal briefly to you last week when the pins had begun to appear all over the city, and you finally had a spare pound coin for the volunteer offering you one yesterday after class. You have a scant three seconds to look at the poppy pinned smartly to the left lapel of Harry’s trench coat before he turns to face forward, but in looking down at the one in your hand, you realize you have no idea how he’s done it. Surely it can’t be that difficult? You frown down at your own jacket. A tentative stab of the pin into the fabric is met with an audible chuckle from the other side of the lift. You flush; Harry’s smiling gently with one corner of his mouth. You try a second time, going at it from a different angle. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” You haven’t had enough coffee yet to justify how warm you’re getting. You shake your head, accepting defeat. “Best let me help you before you hurt yourself again.” Despite his offer, he makes no move to take the poppy until you sheepishly hold it out to him. Neither the mustached, emerald briefcase man nor the headset lady have appeared today, but the space of the lift seems remarkably smaller when Harry gently takes the flower and shuffles forward to get a grip on your coat. An impressive array of rings on each of his hands catches the light. You have no idea what to do besides stand ramrod straight. “Trick is to put the pin through twice so you’re not poking yourself on it all the time,” he explains, his eyebrows pulling together in focus. You watch his chest move as he breathes; the scent of Harry’s cologne wraps around you like an invisible shroud. It occurs to you that this is the longest interaction you’ve had since he noticed your careful restoration of Sylvia’s tiny treasured kangaroo. You wonder how long she’s had the pair of them. You also wonder if Jojo’s eye had been falling loose for a reason―if perhaps Sylvia preferred him a little rough around the edges, and it leads you again down a strange rabbit hole of is Harry upset that you did that? “I hope it’s okay that I fixed Jojo’s eye,” you venture. Harry pauses a moment, then laughs once, which draws you inadvertently closer together. “You’re funny. Which you shouldn’t be when I’m holding something sharp.” You almost stop breathing altogether. “Course it’s okay,” Harry continues without looking up. His nose is now scrunched as he pinches the tough wool. “She loves that thing, and I’m shit with sewing.” His eyes finally flick up to yours, a self-deprecating tilt to his mouth, and you smile tentatively. “Glad I could help.” With that, you’re quiet until he’s done and his concentrated frown relaxes into satisfaction. You watch Harry consider his handiwork, tracing the side of a petal with one of his fingers. “That should do it,” he says, stepping back. Your eyes meet again. You’ve reached the ground floor, but the doors simply sit open. “Looks nice.” He’s talking about the poppy. Your cheeks warm anyway. “Thank you.” Harry smiles slowly, as though he’s trying to pace the expression. “That’s alright.” He turns and ushers you out of the lift. “Have a good day.” “Same to you.” The edges of your poppy flutter as you turn the corner out of the lobby. Don’t turn around. Don’t ruin the moment. Who are you kidding? A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Harry loitering outside the lift, watching you. He starts a little, lifting a hand like he’s going to wave and dragging it over his hair instead. Harry turns abruptly. You almost feel bad for catching him out. You’re too busy walking faster and failing to smother a stupid grin all the way to campus. • thursday, 20th december. 4:11 pm • You’re thankful that everyone else in the parking garage has ruddy cheeks and runny noses from the storm—nobody would be able to tell by looking at you that you’d been crying all afternoon. Just when you thought you’d never see those blue eyes ever again, you’d felt a hand brush against yours on the crowded tube just hours ago. You turned to see whose pinky was resting atop your knuckles as he clutched onto the pole directly above your hand. The fear was immediate and visceral; every follicle of hair above your shoulders prickled, your lips went cold, and you couldn’t get yourself to start breathing again before stumbling back into the chest of some other unsuspecting passenger. How long had he been standing there? You bolted out of the doors the first chance you got, a good seven stops from home. You didn’t think you were followed but of course you couldn’t be sure, so you ducked into a coffee shop instead of jumping straight onto the next train. You used up all your data to call your parents, hardly able to hold your cell phone steady with the sheen of sweat on your palms. The police had no record of such a man you described. He was middle-aged, taller than you could have imagined so close up, and had a deformity or some sort of scarring on his upper lip. You would have recognized him if you stumbled across his photograph, but you’d gone through every headshot on the books within a ten-kilometer radius of London at the police station. You’d lost sleep combing through the online database of sex offenders in your area without any luck. And since you didn’t have a name or a concrete instance of harassment, they could only add the encounter to the file you’d started in October. Once you’d managed to get a hold of India, she immediately came to rescue you from the coffee shop and dropped you off at home. You insisted she pull into the gated underground garage rather than letting you off by the front doors. With a hand on your shoulder, she offered to stay the night. You had declined. There were some days when you swore you were going crazy, but all it took was one last look into his eyes on the tube today for you to know in your gut that he was real, he was watching you, and you were right to be afraid. You hadn’t heard the ding of the lift but you notice when the people around you begin to huddle on. It’s a tight squeeze inside. You sigh when you see that nearly every floor up to ten is illuminated on the keypad. You sneak into a corner by the doors and try to distract yourself by focusing on the overwhelming smell of rain carried into the lift on everyone’s rubber boots. A faint buzzing noise thrums overhead, and the light seems dimmer than usual—one of the bulbs in here must need replacing. The lift comes to a stop at the lobby. Your eyes are on the carpet, but you recognize a familiar pair of black leather boots ambling through the doors. You look up to catch Harry shaking the rain out of his curls with one hand. He licks his lips and scans the lift briefly, only moving from the entrance once he sees you by the keypad. His eyes change, the corner of his lips quirking up. Harry parts a few people to stand in front of you, chest to chest, carrying a box of Legos almost as tall as you, covered in fire trucks and construction vehicles. They’re the bigger, softer type of plastic blocks that come in lighter shades made for toddlers. You didn’t even know they made sets with so many pieces. It doesn’t seem necessary. The thing could be a column. Harry rests the box on the floor against his hip and even more people pack inside behind him, so many that you have to give up your corner spot which was already tight, and sandwich yourself in between Harry and the wall. And why is the person standing directly behind Harry trying to leave a voicemail? The two of you share a small laugh, looking down at your feet and shifting to get comfortable as the lift vibrates into motion against your back. Ding. Level two. Someone to the rear of the lift needs to get to the entrance. In order to let them through, Harry actually has to press up against you and prop his hand on the wall behind your head to avoid crushing you completely. “Sorry,” he says, strained. “It’s fine.” Ding. Level three. The last thing you need is for your heart to race like this after the mess of a day you’ve endured. To make matters worse (or better), Harry is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. You’re struck by the most staggering urge to just… lean forward a few inches. It would be so nice to bury your face in his sweatshirt, to be engulfed in the embrace of his arms, and to let yourself cry about your afternoon until you feel empty and full at the same time. Ding. Level four. You choose a button on his open black overcoat to stare at, flustered and humiliated by your own sensitivity. If it were any other afternoon you’d be having a field day with this but you’re too much of a coward to look anywhere near his face in your state. A single drop of rain falls from the end of Harry’s chin and lands on your collar. Ding. Level five. Your eyes are dry and puffy, your breathing is still ragged, and you seriously consider holding your breath altogether until you reach the sixth floor. You’d known since the coffee shop that you were going to cry the moment you stepped foot into your apartment tonight, but you hadn’t considered the possibility that it might happen sooner than that. You shake your head. Ridiculous. You look up idly to find that Harry is watching you. His expression seems serious now, oddly focused. You tilt your chin up incrementally. Harry licks his lips. Is anyone looking? How is nobody looking? You take a small breath and Harry’s gaze flashes again to your lips. Your palm brushes the back of his hand, hidden by the toy box, and he tilts his wrist toward you, spreading his fingers just enough to fit the tips of yours between his knuckles. His hand is cool from the rain and yours is warm from the car. How is someone still leaving the same voicemail? There’s space enough now in the lift for him to give you a few inches of distance so why is Harry drawing closer to you? Why is he leaning in? Ding. “It’s you,” you blurt, and swallow before adding more quietly, “This is your floor.” A few people stuff their cellphones back into their pockets, making their way into the hall. Harry clears his throat and leans over to lift the toy box. Your hands fall apart but he reaches out to gently brush the side of your arm in goodbye—unable, it seems, to meet your eyes. You watch him as he turns on his heel to shuffle out behind someone else, carding a hand through his hair. You close your eyes and exhale without a sound. You only open them in time to catch him glancing over his shoulder at you before rounding the corner. Neither of you had smiled. When the lift reaches the eighth floor, you almost forget to step off. You lean on the back of your door and sigh once you’re in your apartment, dropping your keys to the hardwood with a clatter. Alone in the dark, after one of the single most distressing days of your life, you press two clammy palms to your face and laugh—giddy—like a fool. • tuesday, 1st january 2:33 am • You swing your leg inelegantly out of the cab. Your foot slips on the road’s thin polish of ice. The ankle strap of your stiletto comes undone at the clasp as you only just remember that you began taking them off in the back seat. You laugh at yourself, nearly dropping your half-empty bottle of Prosecco, hobbling to the sidewalk through the rain with one shoe in hand. “Thanks—thank you, goodnight!” You wave your shoe in the air as the cab speeds away after having left a fifty-percent tip—it’s half past two on New Year’s Eve for Christ sake—and turn toward your building. Have the doors to the lobby always been this heavy? Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to try and hop back into your shoe while shouldering through the doorway, because you bang your head against one of the large, protruding handles with a metallic thud. “Fuck.” It hurts a little but the jello shots and bottle of Sangiovese you’d guzzled with India earlier are helping. You squint up because the lobby is spinning, and spy the outline of a man facing away from you with his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he waits for the lift, lackadaisical. It’s a familiar profile. The half of his face visible to you is in shadow apart from the crescent moon-shaped hollow of his dimple sinking in as he smiles. “Hi,” Harry drawls with a chuckle. You step into your shoe without bothering to fix the ankle strap and wobble over to the lift. All night you had glided so effortlessly in your four additional inches. Now, you feel as though you’re walking a tightrope in flippers. “Hello.” You enunciate too much in your efforts to sound sober. You and Harry look at each other and smile until you laugh, at absolutely nothing at all. There’s no sign of his specs tonight; his hair is sopping, and the shoulders of his burgundy suit are damp. Harry gives you a once over. “You alright?” He’s slurring a little. You bob your head in a nod. “M’good.” The lift dings and you both lurch forward to step between the doors before Harry stumbles backward and gestures for you to go first. You almost fall forward again in your shoes and have to grip the wall on the way in to steady yourself. These need to come off. Harry moves to his usual corner, leaning against the back wall with a hand on either railing and you do the same in the next corner over. You shimmy off your heels to hold them in one hand while balancing your half empty bottle of Prosecco against your hip with the other. The carpet is coarse beneath your bare feet. You take a gulp of wine and the curled silver ribbon around its neck tickles your chin. You and Harry glance sideways at each other at the exact same moment, both of your heads leaning against the back wall of the lift. You have to lean forward and cover your mouth with the hand holding your shoes so you don’t spit out your drink in laughter. It’s not even funny, really. How many times had you both accidentally caught the other staring over the past year in this very room Harry’s chuckle builds into a laugh and the echo of it reminds you of Sylvia the day she’d clung to your legs. You’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes crinkle like hers, too, if he finds something especially funny. The laughter melts and you stretch the arm holding the bottle out to Harry. He looks down at it, then back up at you before taking it gently from your grasp and helping himself to a swig. “You know wha’s not fair? I’ve—” he hiccups. “I’ve got to wear a badge t’work. With my name on it. And I see you everyday—” “Almost,” you correct automatically. “Almost everyday… so you probably know my name.” Harry’s eyes narrow. “Do you know my name?” You nod, a bit delayed. He passes the bottle back to you and you admire the intricate embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” “What’s your name?” Harry asks after a beat, rolling his back off the wall to lean on his shoulder and face you. “Charles doesn’t know either.” You tilt your head, frowning a little. “Who’s that?” Harry rests his pointer finger on top of his upper lip. You grin slowly before answering his question. Harry echoes you with an equally slow smile, his voice italicizing the sound of your name. It sounds like he’s saying someone else’s name—a person you’ve never even met. He says it again, like he needs to introduce himself to each letter. Your heart is about the only part of your body able to move quickly. Harry smiles widely. It’s as though every other one he’s given you before had just been practicing for this moment. “Nice to meet you.” You wedge your shoes and Prosecco beneath one arm, taking a step forward with your free hand outstretched. Harry shuffles to meet you halfway in a handshake and the height difference between you feels staggering barefoot. You remember the feeling of his hand in yours when it was hidden by the Lego box. It would be so easy to just shift a little and clasp them together the way you had before. You can smell the memory of whiskey on his breath and see the flush of his cheeks close up. “You look like a disco ball.” You laugh and he releases you, like the sound had awoken his sense of propriety. His eyes take you in again, almost reflecting the shimmer of sequins scattered across the fabric of your dress before he looks back up at you. “Yeah,” you agree, tugging the hem an inch down your bare legs. “My best friend dragged me to some formal thing the other American students were trying to throw together. Really random.” Harry nods so you go on after a pause. “You’re handcuffed to someone and have to finish a bottle of wine, but India and I didn’t coordinate beforehand so we both brought one.” “Seems like fun.” “It certainly was.” You raise the Prosecco and it sloshes up against the neck of the bottle in tiny waves. “And you,” you raise your eyebrows, “look like a Turkish rug.” Harry grins, inclining his head as if that were the highest compliment. “Where’s Sylvia tonight?” His face is full of mock surprise. Harry pats the breast pocket of his jacket before running his hands over the front and back of his trousers. He looks over his shoulders, comically frantic, scanning each corner of the lift until you begin to laugh. Harry smiles wider, a little too pleased with himself. “She’s with her mum and her mum’s fiancé this week—so I guess her, um… soon-to-be other mum… They were having a little gathering at their new place tonight and we did the countdown a few hours early for her.” “How sweet.” Without a second thought, you inch closer and begin reaching for a stray piece of confetti in his hair. You can tell you’re drunk because you indulge a little in combing your fingertips through one of Harry’s curls, though it’s probably subtle enough for him not to notice. He goes very still. “Did—did you press the thing?” Harry stammers, his attention jerking to the keypad. “I didn’ press the thing.” “Oops,” you laugh, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors as you turn to watch Harry hit the sixth and eighth floor buttons. Though the rain has offset India’s efforts to tame your hair, what surprises you more is the bright-eyed expression on your face. It’s out of character for you to feel this exhilarated over a simple drunken conversation. But something delightedly nervous hums beneath your skin all the same. “Why are you so wet?” you ask as Harry returns from the keypad. A tad closer, you note, than where he’d been standing before. You lean on your shoulder to face him and he slouches a little to meet your height. “Walked home,” Harry replies. Your jaw drops. “In the pouring rain?” “S’like ten minutes—really not bad.” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mean to get so pissed tonight. My New Year’s resolution was to go a little easy on the booze.” He shakes his head in a chuckle. “I can’t really handle what I used to since the little one came along. M’not much of a drinker anymore.” The lift jumps as you reach the sixth floor and your arm flies out to balance yourself in the same moment that Harry offers both hands to catch you. You clutch his forearm and then immediately let go. “Sorry,” you murmur, taking one last look at him. “Well, goodnight Harry. Happy New Year’s.” The look he is giving you is peculiar—on the verge of resignation, but not quite letting go of all hope. As though the last sober part of him is leaning forward on its elbows, asking if you agree without telling you first what it wants. Harry cranes his neck around to look down the stretch of hallway, his head falling back against the wall with a gentle thump. “You know, New Year’s isn’t really over until you finish all the champagne,” he declares, and you laugh a little in surprise. “Prosecco.” He waves away the correction. “Fine, all the Prosecco.” “New Year’s isn’t over until you get every last piece of confetti out of your hair,” you challenge. Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back to you. If he doesn’t get off soon, the doors are going to close. “New Year’s isn’t over until your shoes come off in the lift,” he shoots back. You burst out in a laugh. “New Year’s isn’t over until you’ve broken your resolution two hours into January.” Harry rolls his eyes. He smirks a little and it’s annoyingly charming in the dim, golden glow of the lift’s broken light. He’s stalling. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the lingering smell of rain and the faint hum of the light fixture overhead. You swear you can hear the echo of that never-ending voicemail from the day you’d slotted your fingers into his like it was a secret, just an arm’s length away from where the two of you stand now. He had tried to kiss you once before and you had stopped him. But now, in this moment, with your heart in your throat, you desperately want him to try again. Harry starts to speak and you don’t wait for him to finish. “Well, New Year’s isn’t over—” “—until you kiss someone at midnight.” You’re hyper aware of your own breathing in the daunting silence that follows. The lift doors seal closed. Harry is close enough for you to see the flecks of hazel in his eyes like sea glass. He floats his hand up as though he’s going to cup your jaw, but traces the tip of his middle finger in a line up your cheek to push back your hair so lightly it tickles. His jaw flexes and just when you swear he isn’t going to, Harry leans in. It’s gradual, as though he’s waiting for you to change your mind, but your heads are tilting and then the tips of your noses brush. If you turn, even minutely, the corner of your mouth will meet his. You can feel your pulse thumping in the side of your neck. It dawns on you that you’re both simply waiting to see who is going to do it. “It’s not midnight,” Harry breathes. “Don’t tell me you’re a stickler for the rules.” The warmth and dew of his laugh grazes your cheek. With that, Harry brushes his mouth against yours. It feels painstakingly tender, like he’s never kissed anybody before. You’re so spellbound that you’re hardly even sure how to reciprocate something so soft. Harry’s bottom lip hovers over the very tip of your cupid’s bow just before he pulls away. Was that even a kiss? The very edges of your mouths had met, but only just. You still feel the tingle of where his lips had been moments ago. You open your eyes and Harry is a few inches away now, looking down at you. His hand is still ghosting the side of your face, like he’s afraid he might break you. When had your own hand slid flat against his chest beneath the lapel of his suit? “Is this a good idea?” you whisper, sliding your hand out to trace one of the round, fabric buttons with your fingertip. He swallows roughly. “Maybe not.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he yields. But neither of you move away. “Maybe this should just stay between us,” you suggest after a beat, heart sinking in your chest. “Well then if it’s just staying between us…” Before you have the chance to inhale, Harry presses his mouth against yours, harder, like he means it this time. His lips are warm and soft as they move with yours. You’re on your toes as one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist to pull you into him. It still isn’t close enough. It’s surreal to be kissing him after a year. How much time had lapsed in total since you’d seen him that first day you moved in? How many mornings had been spent beside each other in silence? You’d spoken through side glances and subdued smiles from opposite corners of a crowded lift more than you ever truly had with words. But this… this feels like threads made up of every intimacy you’ve ever shared in this tiny room pulling you together at last. You pull apart just before the lift dings on the eighth floor. You’re both somewhat winded as you rest your foreheads together, and you release two unintended fistfuls of his jacket. Harry slides his hands down your bare arms to cup your elbows, his thumbs stroking circles in the soft crook of your forearm. “Have some water before you go to sleep.” “I will,” you chuckle. You’re unsure why either of you are speaking so softly, there’s no need. “Goodnight, Harry.” “Goodnight.” He says your name like a promise—like he’s determined to make up for all the days he didn’t get the chance to use it. You didn’t know it could sound like that. “Happy New Year’s.” You smile over your shoulder before padding barefoot into the hall as he reaches out to push the sixth-floor button for the second time. The last thing you’re able to see through the closing doors of the lift is Harry rubbing a thoughtful hand over his stubble, smiling down at his feet. (part two)

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #utsr redux

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ratherbefangirling · 2 years

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Hi 🤍 Can I request a BTS ship? 😇 I am not sure if I have already sent you this.

My name is Jana and I‘m an ‘01 liner. My sun sign is Virgo, my moon sign is Capricorn and Libra is my rising sign. I am more of an extrovert, but I‘m still pretty calm. Appearance: 5“3/160 cm, wavy/long/dark brown hair, big brown/greenish eyes.

I‘m pretty much into beauty and fashion. I like everything what is aesthetically pleasing. In my free time I spent my time at the museum, opera/theater, library (bookworm here!) or spa - I simply prefer to stay inside. I like to hangout with my loved ones and having fun or deep conversations about god and the world. I need music like you need air - I've been in the choir for half my life. My favorite season is fall, so I‘m sooo happy rn and I‘m looking forward for HALLOWEEN, because I LOVE spooky stuff. Also I am a proud cat mom…meow. What else can I tell about me, let me think…I am currently studying criminal psychology and I want to really help people, and make a difference in their lives.

Thank you and HAGD 😽

Hello Jana,

I hope you have a nice day and like it. And just in time for Halloween.

The person I ship you with is Jimin.

You walk down the streets enjoying the lovely weather. Today has been wonderful so far, you had a spa appointment and then you got discount at the book store (not that it does anything to reduce spending).

You walk into your favourite local cafe to try out their Halloween specials. After eating a sandwich. You pick the interesting choices of the menu and Two hot drinks to go.

It's time to meet your cat who's been baby sat by your boyfriend, who is a vet. A perfect person to take care of your beautiful baby.

You remember the time your cat had gotten sick. You had rushed her to the hospital almost sick with worry yourself.

Jimin had seen your cat and at once performed the necessary treatment. He had told you your baby needed to stay at hospital for a night.

You had been close to tears. He made sure to assure you even making you meet his partner Taehyung who would care for your pet.

He then asked you to coffee. "It's a rule to not date your patient but lucky for me I want to ask her mom out."

Famous words. You ofcourse still bring them up and he hides behind his hands when you do it.

That night you didn't want to be alone so you take his offer. Of course halfway through you suspect him trying to con you.

Surprisingly he offers you a discount next morning when you go pick up. Also asking if he could have your personal use.

To be honest it was weird but you forgave him because he took good care of your cat and also because he was cute.

Maybe they didn't have time to learn how to flirt in veterinary schools.

Ofcourse you'd realise later how wrong you were. Park Jimin was an indiscriminate flirt.

You wait in the waiting room as Jimin completes last of his check up.

Taehyung comes in smiling his boxy smile when he sees you and latches on to the food you got for Jimin in a true best friend fashion.

Soon enough Jimin comes out happy to see you but then spots Taehyung. Jimin kicks him.

" Stay away from the food my girlfriend brought me." Jimin warns.

"What will you do." Taehyung says unbothered

"You are officially not invited to the party tonight." Jimin says.

"Ha ! Like you can stop me."

You've learnt by now not to interfere between the two.

You take your cat into your arms, stroking her carefully.

The night falls and you've set up your house for a Halloween feast. It's a small event with close friends and neighbours and members of your choir group obviously.

Your place looks perfect with handmade decor including a carved pumpkin even if it's a bit umm unique. You've set up fairy lights and spiders. The food is on the table and a big thermos of pumpkin spiced latte. Most of the things are set to the theme.

You would be drained if nor for the excitement because you truly love the holiday to the core.

Also when else do you get to dress up with all the eccentric finds and sales deals. All the aesthetics you can't try because it will be too strange for your usual. This was the perfect season to spice it up.

Luckily in Jimin you find someone equally open to change and fashionable. Somebody you can freely have fun with.

Jimin comes out dressed like a student from hogwarts. You on the other side have decided to be a goddess.

A snap of the camera makes you turn as you fix last of your makeup.

"Jimin."

"Jana." He imitates your tone.

You huff. He laughs.

Then he brings out a box.

"What's that?"

"Open and find out." He says barely repressing his glee as he feigns carelessness.

You open the packaging to reveal a customs necklace with double 'j' in cursive inside a heart.

"Oh my god did you have to make me cry after I completed my make up." You say.

"I love you." He replies his sappy mode on.

"I love you... so much."

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts au #bts angst #park jimin #kim taehyung #jimin x you #jimin x reader #jimin x oc #park jimin x y/n #park jimin x you #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts ships #bts ship game

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callmezero0 · 2 years

Text

He Has Beautiful Bones… Part 2

(Jake Kiszka x Echo Winter)

Summery: Echo and Jake haven’t been talking outside of class as much as they would’ve hoped. But it was because Jake would practice with his brothers and Echo would read his chapter books indoors. It wasn’t until Jake finally had the courage to ask Echo to come over to help him on the assignment. But will they work on the assignment? Or will Jake flirt with Echo the whole time?

Warnings: none, maybe some light cursing?

Inspiration: Georgia + Punisher (Phoebe Bridgers)

For people that know me irl: I hope you enjoy this part because all the flirting in it is all me bby ;)

A/N: somebody, I can’t remember the @, said something so sweet that I had to write another chapter. So I will :)))

Let the story CONTINUE:

It had been a few days since Echo really talked to Jake. The only time he’d seen him was in his literature class. But Jake didn’t exactly talk much. He just asked Echo short and easy questions that sounded like ice breakers, but the ice never really broke.

September twenty-fifth, Echo finished his poem last night. That poem about ‘love’. When he had finished, he read it aloud to to Ruby while she was eating her cat food on the porch.

“How does that sound, Ruby? Not too bad?” Echo asked her, knowing that she’ll only meow at him. Even though she was a cat, Echo genuinely believed that she could understand him. Maybe even speak English as well. Just like the cat from ‘Coraline’.

Echo’s phone vibrated on his bed from beside him, the vibration being a text message.

He checked the ID and noticed it was from the one and only Jake Kiszka.

Jake: hey O, I was wondering if you wanted to come over? To work on the assignment for lit? It’s my only opening right now so lemme know

Echo read the first question over and over again in his head. Jake wanted him to come over? If he was coming over, he needed to get ready.

So he sent Jake a reply, not wanting to leave him hanging.

Echo: of course I can, you know where I live :)

He put his phone face down on the blankets of his bed, he got up and walked over to his dark dresser made from wood, and he picked out an outfit that matched the days vibe.

A forest green long sleeve shirt with a small mushroom in the centre, a pair of black baggy jeans, a pair of frog socks, and his infamous black Doc Martin’s.

He walked over to his closet and grabbed a grey denim jacket from its hanger. Putting the denim on, his phone vibrated again.

Echo nearly jumped to the phone, and saw it was a text from Jake again.

Jake: sounds good, I’ll be outside your place in five :)

Echo put his phone in his right side pocket, and he made his way over to the bathroom that was on the left side of his bedroom. He checked his mid length, wavy, light brown hair in the mirror, and saw that the best he could do was put it in a bun, but he decided against it.

He made his way downstairs, walking past his aunt, Frankie, who was getting ready for her shift at the hospital. She wore dark purple scrubs with pink and blue butterflies fluttered all around the cloth.

“Where are you going?” Frankie asked her nephew.

“I have to meet up with a classmate of mine, we’re working on this poem for Literature class, and it’s due next Friday.” Echo replied, making his way to the kitchen to check for any snacks he could bring, only to see that there was none.

“I’ll get snacks tomorrow. Is this person picking you up?” Frankie asked, seeing her nephew become a little red in the face from the thought of Jake picking him up from his home alone.

“Yeah. He should be here right now.” Echo replied shyly and made his way to the door. As he opened it, he stood corrected, Jake was parked outside of his house.

“Hey, just be back before dark, I won’t be back until two. Dinner is whatever you want.” Frankie said from the kitchen.

Echo shut the door in response, and made his way to Jake’s vehicle.

“Look at you! You’re looking very good today, all dressed up for me?” Jake asked. Over the span of time that Echo knew Jake, he knew that Jake had the BIGGEST flirt game.

“Only you, Jacob.” Echo replied, getting in the passenger side. He placed his backpack filled with literature work on his feet, and he buckled up before Jake could pull out of the parking spot.

“So, warning.” Jake said in the tone that Echo could only describe as slight embarrassment.

“Uh oh.” Echo teased and Jake smiled his million dollar smile, stopping at a stop sign.

“The guys are over, but Ronnie and Josie are travelling for volleyball. My dad is at work, my mother stayed home, called in sick. Which I call bullshit on because she’s a hard worker and she’s my mom.” Jake explained to Echo, who played with his fingernails out of habit when meeting someone, or many people, for the first time.

“Okay. Sounds good.” Echo replied.

“Also, if you wanna stay for dinner, we’re having Chinese, sense my mom likes to think that homemade Chinese is always better.” Jake chuckled softly.

Echo wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, only Jake’s voice. He focused on his voice so closely that before he knew it, the two were outside of Jake’s home.

“Don’t let my family scare you away. They’re loud.” Jake begged, half heartedly joking, yet meaning it.

Echo nodded to assure Jake that he would stay.

The two get out of the vehicle, the weather went from cold to freezing since the car ride.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous. Follow me.” Jake scoffed at himself and made Echo follow his footsteps into his home.

Echo’s grip on his backpack straps grew tighter, his anxiety going nearly over the edge. His chest was tight, his breathing was ragged, and he didn’t have a clear thought in his mind.

The two young men entered the house, which seemed a lot quieter than it should, according to Jake’s description of the family.

Jake lead Echo towards the stairs so he didn’t have to talk to anybody, but of course, the youngest Kiszka called them out.

“Echo-location? What’s up man?” Sam asked.

“His name is Echo, shut up and leave us alone, Samuel.” Jake defended the male next to him.

“Jeez, what pissed you off?” Sam mumbled and turned to watch the TV.

“I’m sorry.” Jake whispered an apology to Echo, who only smiled shyly in response.

When the two climbed the stairs, they arrived in front of Jake’s bedroom door.

Echo’s eyes darted everywhere around Jake’s bedroom, seeing posters from old rock bands, notebooks from different brands scattered along a desk, some were open to a page filled with words.

The next think Echo saw was three electric guitars, and two acoustic guitars.

“Is this what you mean by practicing?” Echo asked Jake, who shut and locked the door to prevent annoying siblings from coming in.

Jake looked up and saw Echo admiring his guitars, which made his heart swell up with happiness.

“Yeah, actually. I’m in a band.” Jake replied.

“A band, huh? That sounds pretty fun. I’m guessing you sing?” Echo teased and Jake chuckled.

“I can’t sing. I just play. I’m in a band with my brothers, and Danny… he’s the drummer.” Jake replied shyly. He became shy when it came to talking about his interests, especially with somebody he didn’t know how to feel for.

“What about Sam and Josh?” Echo asked, engaging into the conversation.

“Sam is the bassist, and he’s really good too. I didn’t think he’d be that good but he’s like, really really good. And Josh is the vocalist. And sense he’s loud, you wouldn’t believe how loud his voice could get.” Jake smiled as he spoke kindly about his brothers skills.

“What kind of genre do you guys have?” Echo asked, and he placed his backpack down by Jake’s navy blue and castle grey sheeted bed.

“We play rock, mainly. We don’t really have a style. It’s very uh… it’s very all over the place, y’know?” Jake asked him, expecting him to understand even slightly.

“Oh totally. I understand. My buddy Mikey is actually an aspiring… well, he doesn’t know. He wants to be a rapper, but he’s really good at R&B and Soul music. I help him write his lyrics most the time, and usually what he has in an idea of a song is just beautiful.” Echo replied.

Jake nodded and plopped down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He gestured for Echo to sit beside him, which the latter did soon after.

“You write music for yourself?” Jake asked the young man.

“If that’s what you call it. I usually think of them as poetic stories rather than a song. I’ve never actually sat down and written a whole, like, song.” Echo replied with a shy smile and an awkward laugh.

“Well, you should try sometime. I have a guitar library, what’s your poison?” Jake joked. No way would he let anybody but him touch his guitars.

“I’m more of an electric person. But I could settle for an acoustic. I actually have a cheap Yamaha acoustic guitar at home, sitting in its case. Along with my Sawtooth Electric guitar, except that one is hung up on the wall.” Echo spilled some information about himself to Jake, who actually looked surprised that a small and soft looking person would have an ELECTRIC guitar.

“What genre do you play?” Jake asked.

“Rock, alternative, soul, and country. It’s what I was raised on, really.” Echo shrugged, and he found himself playing with a loose string from Jake’s blanket.

“That’s really cool. Do you play often?” Jake asked, getting excited about the subject of the conversation. But Echo needed to keep their time on track, so he changed the subject.

“We need to work on that paper. Did you finish your poem?” Echo asked, he leaned down and unzipped his backpack to retrieve his own poem.

“I did actually.” Jake sat up and walked over to the desk of notebooks.

Echo pulled out his notebook and waited for Jake to start first.

“You want me to start?” Jake asked without looking at him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I wanna see your perception on love.” Echo replied.

Jake hummed and sat back down on his bed beside Echo, and he flipped to the page that the poem was hiding on.

“Okay… don’t laugh.” Jake said jokingly, making Echo scoff and playfully slap Jake’s knee.

“Never. Let’s see it.” Echo said and Jake nodded. The next words falling out of his mouth were nothing but poetic verses.

“Darlin’, chase me

Into the garden.

With you I am free,

With you I feel golden.

As the sun glows golden on your skin,

As your breaths begin to heavy,

Together we lay in our sins,

Trying to keep the noise low and steady.

So chase me, my lover.

Into our garden.

Oh won’t you love me rougher?

Treat me like I’m rotten,

You can be prey, I’ll be the hunter,

Let me breathe in your toxins,

My lover, my darling, my drug, my poison,

With me let us

Run away,

Run far away,

To our sacred gardens gate.”

Echo was too stunned to speak. The poem was damn near a masterpiece. Jake sat there quietly as Echo processed every word that Jake had spoke.

“Jacob I can’t even look you in the eyes right now, that was beautiful. You wrote that?” Echo asked in shock, staring at the paper in Jake’s hands.

“Yeah, I got high with my brothers and Danny the other day and um… I told them about the assignment. They told me to write about someone I loved. And I did…” Jake spoke shyly, a blush rising to his tan cheeks.

“Wait you were intoxicated when you wrote this?! That makes it even better! Oh my god. Jake… whoever this person is that you love is lucky to have you. I couldn’t imagine someone writing a love poem about me. Wow… I’m literally speechless. It’s better than mine.” Echo said with gentle enthusiasm, careful to not break the gentle silence that surrounded the two young men.

“Read yours.” Jake challenged and leaned on his bed, looking up at Echo.

“Okay… you better not laugh, Jake.” Echo teased and Jake laughed.

“I said don’t laugh!”

“You made me!” Jake giggled and eventually calmed down enough for Echo to speak the words written on his paper.

“As the leaves turn brown,

I look up past the trees and the fog that rests upon the ground,

I see you there, smiling and unaware.

I love you.

And your eyes,

Warm as brown sugar and honey skies.

Your smile is as sweet as honey,

You make me want to be your somebody,

Let me feel the drum in your chest,

The skipping of your heartbeat.

Your lips taste like honey, my love.

Did you get into my honey, my love?

As long as you share the bitter sweetness from your lips to mine,

All is well,

All as one.” Echo finished and Jake gave him a bright smile of approval.

“That was really good. I love that you put honey and love into one theme. Unlike me, I just used sex. I’m a bad man! I’m sorry!” Jake whined jokingly.

“Jacob, oh my god.” Echo laughed.

Jake placed a gentle warm hand on Echo’s knee and sat up, resting it there. He looked at the younger senior, and he saw nothing but innocence and purity in his eyes.

“What?” Echo asked.

“Nothing, just looking at you. Anyways, we should work on that combined poem, right? Or should we wait a little longer? We have until next Friday.” Jake reminded and Echo shrugged and felt Jake use the pad of his thumb to rub gentle little circles on his knee, eventually and slowly making its way to the middle of his thigh.

“Um… we can wait a little longer. We were both pretty quick to write our own poems. We’ll have time. Uh… erm-“ Echo was cut off by a sudden loud knock on Jake’s door.

Jake immediately and swiftly retracted his hand away from Echo’s thigh as soon as he heard the knocks.

“Come in?” Jake coughed out nervously.

“Mom wants to meet your boyfriend!” Sam teased and tan downstairs before Jake could mouth him off.

“I’m so sorry about Sam, he’s annoying.” Jake blushed red with embarrassment from the youngest Kiszka.

“Don’t even worry about it. I’d like to meet your mother.” Echo smiled assuringly. Jake nodded, the two of them placing their notebooks on his bed, and making their way downstairs.

“Any warnings I need to know about?” Echo teased, and Jake let out a soft chuckle.

“Not that I’m aware of, O.” Jake replied, the two of them now in the kitchen, where mama Kiszka resided in.

“Mom, this is Echo, he’s my partner for literature.” Jake introduced shyly.

When the woman turned around, Echo saw a kind smile already on her face, paired with kind eyes.

“Echo! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Sam would tease Jake about you and Jake would just get so defensive about you. I’m Karen but you can call me Mama Kiszka, Are you staying for dinner? Im gunna make some homemade Chinese.” Karen asked enthusiastically, her personality almost exactly like Josh’s.

“Defensive? I’ve heard people usually join in on the teasing. That’s something I guess I might have to get used to.” Echo replied shyly.

Suddenly he was engulfed in a big mama bear hug by Karen, and when she let him go after a moment, Echo gave a shy smile.

“I would love to stay for dinner, but I gotta get home to my cat.” Echo replied. He wouldn’t dare let her or any Kiszka know that he had anxiety about eating in front of people.

“Oh alright, Jake, honey, are you driving him home?” Karen asked, turning around and working her magic on the rice cooker.

“Yeah. Do you wanna go home now? Or?” Jake asked Echo.

“Uh… yeah I think that’s a good idea.” Echo replied.

Jake nodded, and out of the blue, he was hesitant about holding Echo’s hand to lead him back upstairs to get his things. Instead, he just turned towards the direction of the stairs, and expected Echo to follow, with the latter did.

In Jake’s car…

The drive to Echo’s home was quiet, the only noice being the rock music turned down enough to have a conversation over, but not a word was said.

“Hey Jake?” Echo asked, looking over at the man in the drivers seat.

“Whats up?” Jake asked in wonder, one hand on the wheel while his arm was rested on the middle consul. He glanced at Echo, who conjured up the courage to speak again.

“Your hand was on my thigh in your bedroom earlier… why?” Echo asked innocently.

Jake became nervous. He felt his hands become sweaty and he tried keeping his focus on the road.

“I won’t do it anymore if it made you uncomfortable.” Jake stated and Echo shook his head softly,

“No, no, I liked it. I just wanted to know why you did it.” Echo explained in a quiet tone, his eyes never leaving Jake’s figure.

‘Jake has a beautiful side profile. His hair frames his face perfectly. His skin looks flawless in this lighting… Wait what? Don’t think that, Echo. Shame. Shame. Shame.’ Echo thought to himself, digging his nails into his palm as a form of punishment for thinking that way.

“I dunno… I guess I just, felt like touching you?” Jake said confused, the drive almost coming to an end with only three blocks to go.

“If you want… you could touch me again. On my thigh.” Echo replied awkwardly and Jake glanced over to the young man.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna make-“ Echo cut him off.

“I’m sure. Go ahead.” Echo assured. Jake lifted his free hand that wasn’t steering the wheel, and he gently placed it on top of Echo’s left thigh. His fingers grazing the seat between Echo’s legs, and his thumb doing that same assuring little circle from before.

Echo didn’t know why he let Jake touch him again. Maybe it’s because he was warm. He didn’t really know what to think.

Echo’s entire body had goosebumps and he focused on the heat coming from Jake’s hand onto his cold thigh.

Jake eventually parked the vehicle in front of Echo’s house, and he gave his thigh a gentle squeeze before putting his hand back in his lap.

“So um… sense it’s a new quarter soon, we have Literature, PE, and Home Ec. Together… so I’ll see you there.” Jake told the young man shyly, though there was a hint of something in his tone.

“Yeah, we do. And we will. Uh… are you by any chance gunna continue to drive me to school and back or will I have to take the stinky old bus? My car should be all fixed soon-“

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Go ahead and love on Ruby for me.” Jake smiled. Echo nodded and lifted his backpack off his feet and sat in the seat for a moment, silence still in the air: he then unbuckled and got out of Jake’s car. He shut the door carefully and put his straps over his shoulders.

Echo walked onto the sidewalk and leaned on Jake’s door, making Jake lower his window.

“What’s on your mind? You’re stalling yourself.” Jake asked the man in front of him.

Echo shrugged and stood up straight, giving a deep sigh.

“It’s nothing. I just like staring at you. I’ll see you on Monday.” Echo turned on his heel and walked up to the gate of his house.

“See you Monday.” Jake replied before rolling his window up, and driving off in the direction of his house.

Echo opened the gate, walked into his yard, and closed it. Turning back towards the house, he saw Ruby sitting on the porch.

“Hi Ruby girl, how was your day? I got to hang out with Jake.” Echo smiled as gave Ruby a gentle pet on the head before walking past her and into his home.

Jake made Echo feel a certain way… and although Echo craved the feeling, he pushed it deep down, because that’s what he was taught.

~~~~~~

A/N: YOU GUYS THIS STORY IS CUTE SO FAR. I will most DEFINITELY be making a chapter three to this. How many chapters should this story have?

I’m also in the process of making a story about Danny, a story about Sam, and of course our little hobbit Joshua. So don’t worry, I’m not gunna leave anybody out!

I hope you took your meds today, drank some water, took a deep breath, and if you haven’t, you definitely should! I care for your health and well being!

Peace and Love ✌🏻🖤

-Biggs

#hiraeth #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagines #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fic #oc #80’s rockstar aesthetic #rockstar aesthetic

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spideyanakin · 3 years

Text

Far From Home - Part 1

Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis; Coming from another reality yourself, what will happen when you see straight through the lies of the mysterious Quentin Beck.

Part of the dialogue inspired by @thekamiiiworld //idk if you’ve seen the disney hercules movie but there’s a scene where hercules meets meg and meg says “i’m a damsel, i’m in distress, i can handle it. have a nice day!” maybe spiderman finds the reader in a bad situation and she says those lines cuz she’s a badass? do whatever with the rest of the plot. thanks!

Series Masterlist 🍒

Normal Masterlist 🧚🏻‍♀️

Your thoughts lingered to the day you had arrived in Peter's reality as you stared at the clouds from above. The memories slowly coming back up and you felt like the day you had failed your mission was happening all over again.

Your earth had been destroyed to pieces when a monster that thirsted for everything that lived had come from nowhere turning everything into bits.

You didn't even know how you managed to survive. You were holding on tight to your last piece of your lost family wishing that the storm ready to take you would go away and let you live. You used the last bit of strength inside your veins to create a dome of branches and vines, trying your best to protect the last survivors.

The last thing you remembered seeing on your earth was a skyscraper crashing. You watched from the small gaps in your dome of protection as it tumbled to the ground tears falling as you realized it was the end for you.

But suddenly some light sparks of orange came right near your face. The circle opened to reveal Kayland. You watched the familiar face and a smile had forced its way to your lips as hope lightened your chest seeing that a friendly face had survived.

"They've accepted." Was all he said before holding onto the portal, signing for the people who you had protected to jump through it.

You felt the tears about to come down more than they currently were. You sobbed as you felt the weight of dying coming off your shoulders, the few 20 people or so you were protecting slowly fading into a new reality.

"And they couldn't have earlier." You sobbed almost falling as you let go of using your powers, the branches shielding you from the chaos that rained slowly disappearing back into the ground.

"C'mon." Kayland took you in his arms as you limped your way to the portal, your body crashing to the floor in pain as you watched the fumes from the closing portal.

As the portal fully closed, the only thing you could feel from your new home in the universe was the hard wooden floor. You let out a large sob as you realized it meant the end of everything you had ever known.

You stayed on the floor, a voice was talking with the rest of the survivors but you seemed to completely block it out as all you could think of was how you failed to save your reality. The one that was currently crumbling to pieces by the hands of a mad creature.

"Y/n! Hey!" Peter snapped his fingers in front of your face, giving you a light smile as your eyes focused on him.

"Sorry." You shook your head swallowing hard as your eyes slowly reddened. "I got lost in my thoughts again." You rubbed your eyes slowly coming back to Peter, looking at him with your tight smile. Everything about that day seemed like a distant memory that was still fresh in your mind. Even tho it had been a while, and even more than a while for others. The traumas were still here and fully engraved in your memory.

"It's alright." Peter smiled as he placed a strand of hair behind your ear. "This year hasn't been the kindest to us." He chuckled trying to make you feel better as he held on tight to your hand. Placing his head on your shoulder as he heard your heartbeat quicken.

Peter knew how much those events had broken you. Fighting Thanos and losing most of your new friends barely above a year after you had lost your planet had pilled up in your mind, scaring you even more than you had been. The only thing that Peter thanked was the fact that you had blipped together.

"Yeah." You scrunched up your face in order to push away the tears that were fighting to fall. "I really need a break." You sighed flopping your head down onto the plane seat.

"I think you mean we" He chuckled "We finally are..." You opened your eyes and met with Peter's brown orbs smiling at the contact.

"Finally." You smiled before pecking his lips and bringing him into a warmful hug, glad you finally had some time to relax.

You closed your eyes and took in his scent, never thinking you could get tired of Peter's hugs.

"Peter?" You questioned opening your eyes just to look at him. "Could you tell me a story...?" You eyed everywhere but his eyes as you told him your peculiar request. "I want to sleep before we get to Venice... And I don't think I would be able to on my own." You played with the strings of his stolen hoodie that you were wearing a little ashamed of your request. You dodge his eyes as he stayed quiet, Peter thinking of how cute your question was.

A smile crept its way to Peter's lips as he watched your shy body fumbling around the cramped seat.

"Yes," He smiled. "But let's get comfortable so you can sleep first." He made grabby hands towards you as he took you into a new hug all your worries slipping away. You snuggled into his side, Peter placing his arm tight around you.

"Alright." He chuckled as a smile formed on your lips as you lightly pushed your body even more against his, sighing in content when you were settled in.

"A story," Peter clicked his tongue as he tried to think of something to tell you. "A long ago in a Galax-"

"And it better not be Star Wars related or im going to push you in a canal once we get there." You grumbled and felt Peter's body vibrate as he let out a puff of soft laughter.

"Alright. You got me..." He paused for a second wondering what he could possibly say next. "So." He smirked as the perfect story came to his mind. "Once Upon A Time, two soulmates from completely different earths met..." He went on and you let the sound of his voice guide you into peaceful sleep. "Some say it was yesterday, but someday it was years ago. " He lingered the words as he looked down to you, your closed eyes showing no sign of dislike to his story.

"It was a quiet night in the streets of New York," Peter recalled as the words that fell out of his mouth faded into images flashing in both your minds.

The streets of the stretched out city couldn't have been quieter. It was rare for Queens Peter told himself as he swung across the streets for his nightly patrol.

He eyed one cat who made a soft noise as he jumped on the ground, barely audible even for Peter. A soft meow rang through into into his ears as he jumped from a building to another, landing on the edge of an apartment complex.

Suddenly he heard a strong door, the sound making it seem as though it was built in strong bulletproof metal. It made a loud squeak and a large boom as it closed again, followed by the knocking of heels ringing on the pavement floor. He watched closely his sharp eyes scanning the figure that walked out.

A girl had come out, shivering as she made her way towards the bridge leading into Manhattan, pocketing her gloved hands before letting out a sharp breath, the cold air sending a new shiver down her spine.

Peter could have sworn her gloves were shining in four different colors before they disappeared into her empty pockets. Her large boots looked similar to Black Widow's but Peter didn't let that thought linger too much in his mind.

You sighed as you walked a little faster, feeling multiple pairs of eyes on you. The rhythm of your heeled boots made faster sounds as you felt the air around you change, feeling a presence a few meters away. You thought once again about what you had to do before snapping your head around, now facing a tall thin man, his long shoulder-length red hair waving in front of his face as he pushed you inside an empty alley, knocking you against a wall.

He pushed his large gun to your temple, leaving a non-permantent mark as he did. You felt the cold of the gun on you as he stared at you with a wicked smile, grinning as he pushed you even more into the wall.

"You think you can outsmart me? Freak." He spat in your face, pushing his elbow into your side.

"You underestimate me." You said focusing part of your energy on the bullet of the gun, placing a puff of stong air and a coat of unbreakable ice inside making the gun unusable.

"It was your little friend who I underestimated. Your nothing but a pray." He harshly whispered making you smile.

"Well, that's exactly what I mean. You underestima-" You pushed him with a blast of wind, dropping your coat on the floor revealing your jet black suit, bright neon lines of blue, white, red, and green darting through your shoulders down to the tip of your fingers. Your timing being at the same time as a flash of white darted across you sending the man against the wall.

You stayed baffled for a second as you turned your head towards who had knocked your target unconscious. You saw a man awkwardly standing in front of your, your mouth still wide open as though you were trying to catch flies.

"What did you just do?" You pointed to the knocked down guy you were desperate to get information from as you looked at the person all dressed in red.

"Aren't you... A- A damsel in distress?" Peter asked his voice a little wavy as he watched your pretty traits.

"I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, I can handle this. have a nice day!" You waved as you approached the guy glued to the wall, trying to reach for his pocket.

Peter watched you a little dumbfounded as you minded your own business.

You clicked a button near your neck sending a strick of neon colors flashing through your neck just to reach your eyes, a mask melting on around them, leaving the bottom of your face bare.

"Meg do you know anything about this white thing?" You asked your AI as you turned around the guy.

"Yes. These are web fluids used by a Super Hero called Spider-Man." An image of the man who was standing behind you popped into your eyes. "Would you like me to tell you about its chemical properties?"

"No that's alright. Ice or Heat if I want to break this?"

"Ice."

"Alright." You nodded Peter still watching you with a shocked expression on his face as you formed ice on every part of the webs, turning it so cold it snaped into million pieces, making the man fall to the floor.

You turned around and fumbled through his pockets, catching a few pieces of paper with your fingers.

"How did you do that?" Peter asked dumbfounded as he watched you scan the content of the pages, a content smile painted on your face.

"Well, how can you stick to walls and swing around town Spider-Man?" You asked looking up to the bright white eyes of his mask, who opened even more in surprise as he thought of something to say to you.

"Radioactive Spider-" He said barely above a whisper.

"Well, I was born with it." You let out a sarcastic smile; your smile making Peter blush under the bright red spandex that covered his face. "Now move it, Junior, I don't need your help. I got this." You shook your head and waved for him to move away. "Can you believe it? The man is dumb enough to have stolen the wrong pages." You chuckled mainly to your AI not expecting a response from the boy standing behind you.

"Hey, how do you know im not older than you?" Peter defended as you touched the man's hand, slowly making his body freeze.

"Because your not." You chuckled eyeing him before looking back to your target. "You're my age. Everything about you screams my age. Your voice, the way you stand, talk." You rolled your eyes as you slowly watched the men that was on the ground slowly turning blue. Peter looked at the men in panic as your face stayed neutral, a smile even forming on your lips.

"Don't worry." You chuckled. "He's just going to be frozen for a few years. Nothing to worry about." You smiled as you stood back up, Peter being frozen to his feet as he scanned your figure once again. "Now. You've seen me without my mask, and I know you have night vision and your AI probably films everything you see. So hear me out Spider-guy, if you see me in the streets don't talk to me I don't need trouble. Ok?"

Peter nodded hanging on to every word you spoke. You kept eye contact nodding towards Peter as a way to seal the deal. Once you were content with the situation you took a few steps back to grab your coat that was still scattered on the floor.

"Wait. Before you go can I at least get your name?" He wondered, liking the way you made him feel a little too much for him to let you slip away without a name.

"They call me Nymph." You smiled as you tied your coat, hiding your suit from the rest of the world

"Why aren't you with the Avengers Nymph. I mean look at what you can do!?" Peter raised his voice in amazement.

"I don't know..." You realized. "I don't think they know who I am." You frowned as you folded the pages that you held tight between your fingers. You delicately stuffed them in your pocket and clicked the little button on your neck, making the mask that hid your eyes fall back.

As Peter's eyes focused on yours a shiver tumbled down his spine making him blush as he took in every feature of your face, not even caring if he didn't know your real name.

"Well, Nymph. Im sure I could introduce you!" His high-pitched voice rang through your ears and a slight smile formed on your lips.

"You know the Avengers?"

-TagList-

#peter parker #peter #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x y/n #spider man #spiderman x reader #spider man x y/n #spider man x you #spider man x reader #series #far from ome #spiderman #spider man far from home

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jebazzled · 4 years

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Level Up! Beginner/Intermediate/Advanced RP and You

Hello there! Coming to you again with tips & tricks for a top-notch roleplay experience! Today we're going to talk about writing levels and what they mean for your roleplay experience. We'll cover what these levels mean, how to gauge where you're at, and how you can improve your roleplay writing specifically!

WRITING LEVELS

"Writing levels" are often a descriptor sites will use in their advertising and site buzzes. They might be "semi-literate," "intermediate," "literate," "advanced," or any other sort of buzzword. The key here is that these descriptors are used by site staff both to advertise what type of writing is most common on their site and what type of writing they want to see on their site.

What writing levels are not is a value indicator. There's nothing wrong with being an intermediate writer or a beginner writer; advanced sites are not inherently better than intermediate ones, beginner sites are nothing to be ashamed of! Think of writing levels as an umbrella within the rp community. The same way a forum rp-er might narrow their search to jcink sites, a writer might narrow their search to sites which cater to their style of writing.

That said, it is good to define what each of these levels look like so you can figure out where your writing might fit.

BEGINNER Beginner writing is often very short and direct, without much in the way of literary flourish. Characters might be fairly undeveloped (or developed around one trait, for example, "goth" or "prep") and there's usually more discussion of their appearance than you see in advanced writing.

Examples:

Susie was short and very skinny, with big eyes and long mermaid-wavy hair dyed blue at the ends. She was sitting outside Firefly High in blue skinny jeans, silver Converse, and a black t-shirt. "I hope someone can give me a ride home," she said.

Raven sneered at Susie. She didn't like blue because she liked black, because she was a goth. "Are you listening to popular music? What a phony."

Bramblepaw sat down in the clearing. "Hello" he meowed.

Some guides will also give an example like

patty threw a pom pom at susie! "take that u nerd!"

But I am choosing to believe that you're past that if you're deep enough in this hobby to be seeking out resources - I certainly never had that self-awareness until I was more in intermediate territory!

Beginner-level writing gets the job done, and can certainly move a story along. But if you've been writing a while, you might be ready to build more multifaceted characters, and to invest more effort in your writing.

INTERMEDIATE/SEMI-LITERATE WRITING Intermediate writing tends to be longer than beginner writing, with more variety in sentence structure and with more advanced word choices. There are likely more "beats" per post, by which I mean that instead of just answering a question or getting on the bus or etc, a character will likely do more actions in each turn writing. Characters are less likely to be a stereotype (see: Raven the goth who only wears black, Patty the popular cheerleader who is blonde and brainless, etc) but applications likely reveal one-dimensional characters. Common application styles I see from intermediate writers are "interviews" and "journals," as well as listicles (10 Things Raven Likes, 9 People Raven Hates, etc); this likely means a character is told rather than shown.

(Wondering what's so intermediate about interviews and journals? See my guides to interviews and journals!)

Examples:

Susie was born on March 20, 2003 in Farmville, Iowa. She didn't like how similar her classmates all were - they all listened to the same music, read the same books (none!) and had the most fun when drinking on a tractor. Susie was more deep, and liked to write poetry and sketch the animals that lived on her family's farm. Today she was sitting outside Firefly High, twirling the ends of her blue-dyed hair and waiting for a ride home.

Raven wasn't like most girls. She didn't like horses or rabbits, but only liked goats, because they represented the devil. Raven also wasn't like most girls, at least in Farmville, because she worshipped the devil. She wore a lot of black to represent this, and when she saw Susie, she sneered. Blue! Susie must be a normie. "Are you listening to popular music?" She asked. "What a phony."

Bramblepaw had spent all morning hunting and was feeling lonely. All he wanted was to share a squirrel with a friend, and maybe have someone groom the tricky spot behind his ears. He padded from the apprentice den to the warriors', to the elders and no one was home. He sat forlorn in the middle of the clearing. "Hello?" He meowed.

Another common trait of both beginner and intermediate writing is that posts might not leave much for a partner to reply to. The whole point of this weird hobby is to collaborate with a partner - if you're finding that it is hard to keep writing partners, you might take a look at my guide for writing posts that beg a response.

Intermediate writing is stronger than beginner writing, but still sometimes falls flat when it comes to collaboration with a partner, and is almost never beautiful to read. Intermediate writing is when advanced writing is just over the next hill - and that hill comes with a fair amount of work.

ADVANCED/LITERATE WRITING Advanced writing can be long or short, but the writing in either case packs a punch. Advanced writers use a variety of sentence structures, words, and literary devices. They might have specific imagery they use for specific characters, specific literary constructions for different characters, and there is a strong character voice in each post. Advanced writers write multifaceted characters with genuine flaws and fears, and advanced writers produce writing that is enjoyable to read, elegant and emotive. Applications will usually be anecdotal - will demonstrate key moments in a character's life, allowing the writer to show them in action rather than tell the reader what they are like. (A guide to anecdotal freestyle applications is available here.

Examples:

Everything felt the same in Farmville: identical rows of corn stretching endlessly over the horizon, pockmarked by the occasional farmhouse, white clapboard and falling shutters. Every person felt the same - Susie and Mary and Sarah and Joseph, strong peasant names living strong peasant lives, and never straying more than twenty miles from the town in which they were born.

Even Susie knew she had her place in the sameness: the once-every-generation girl who fancies herself to be more, as though her sketches of the sheep and pigs are any better than her grandmother's before her. As though dying her hair blue were enough to make her different when she knew she belonged here as sure as the hogs in the barn.

The only difference between Susie and her classmates was that she didn't have a car to get her to her evening job at the Road Ranger gas station, and her bike had disassembled itself after she'd pedaled it into a gopher hole, so here she was, sitting pathetically outside Firefly High, waiting for a ride. She'd almost rather be fired than beg for one.

It’s the principle of the thing, Raven had told her mother that morning. Yes, it was 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity; yes, there was not a cloud in the sky and the fields absorbed heat like a winter sweater; yes, she was aware that her white makeup and Wet n' Wild eyeliner was falling off her face like The Scream. But it was the principle of the thing, wearing the long-sleeved black shirt with the hand-cut thumbholes, a long dark skirt; her only concession to the heat, a pair of thin gray flip-flops instead of her beloved Docs. She listens to Death Wish; she doesn't have one.

But nothing makes a Satantic rebel feel more a phony than feeling it drip off of them in the rural Iowa heat, and Raven wanted to take it out on someone. Fair? No, but life isn't fair; she's got that on a sticker on the electric guitar she saved up her Hy-Vee salary for and never learned to play. Maybe pretending to be an asshole has turned Raven into one.

She has no real problem with Susie - Susie Q., from math, or Susie C., from human geo; who knows, they're all the same - but she scoffs at her anyway, loud enough to catch Susie's attention. "What top-40 garbage are you listening to?"

Hunting is something they do together, or they're supposed to. But in the whole time he'd been out in the woods, Bramblepaw hadn't seen a single other cat - not playing at the stream, not waiting in a tree for the finches to return, not sitting along the RiverClan border to taunt their neighbors. If he'd been a Loner, just passing through, he would have thought the entire territory abandoned.

It was unsettling, and when he returned to the Camp, it was more of the same: everyone gone, without a trace; had he imagined them being here at all? Was it all in his head?

His mew sounded small and pitiful to even him, the mewl of a lost kitten. "Hello?"

Advanced writing makes more time for descriptions, scene-setting, and other narration. It doesn't feel "cringey," by which I mean if you read it 10 years from now you're probably not going to want to drown yourself. Please do not ask me about the 2005 Proboards forum I adminned and referenced for this tutorial.

So now that we can recognize what writing our level might be at - how do we shop for a site?

FINDING YOUR FIT

Now that you have a sense of where your writing sits, it's time to use that data point in searching for a new site to call home. Some sites make it easy for you by self-identifying as beginner, intermediate, or advanced; some sites may use "semi-literate" and "literate," but I know I stray from those labels because it feels like a value judgment, and as I said before:

there is nothing wrong with being part of a beginner or intermediate community, if that is what makes the most sense for your writing and for what you aim to get out of your roleplay experience!

Before applying to a new site, you should do a little bit of digging around to see if it's a good fit for you:

Look at accepted character applications. How do these compare to your own writing?

Skim some threads from top posters. How does this community write and structure their threads? Could you see yourself regularly keeping up with their speed, length, literary quality?

To the above point - does it seem like the community has a tendency towards your personal writing pet peeves? (For example, I personally cannot stand purple prose, and if the site community is prone to it, I am OUT.)

This is in addition to all standard due-diligence site-hunting routines, e.g. not diving into the world of Southern Gothic supernatural if you're looking for, say, urban fantasy.

It's also worth thinking about how the community behaves on the server, if you join it:

Is there a thread shoutout/compliments/etc channel? What passages are members calling out in there as exceptional writing?

Do the members strike you as open-minded and friendly or as more of a closed group? If you choose to shoot for a level above your standard writing as a growth exercise, this will be easier to achieve with an open-minded and friendly group than with a group of snobs.

Do you enjoy the vibe? Something frequently overlooked, I think. If you don't like the energy of the community, just don't join the site - that is going to be much more productive for everyone than you joining and then trying to get the staff to fully re-engineer their community.

Be honest with yourself! Regardless of how much you like a site's plot, lore, and community, joining a site that sits above your writing proficiency is challenging. You might find your characters routinely pended for lacking the development of other characters onsite. Other members may not be enthusiastic to write with you - not necessarily out of snobbishness or elitism, but because it's not fun to feel like you're not getting equal effort or quality from a writing partner. And you might find yourself feeling insecure about how your writing stacks up to others (I've been writing on advanced sites for 10 years and I feel insecure about my own writing sometimes!) which might sap your muse.

If you are looking for a minimal-effort, minimal-stress rp experience, stick to sites that are at or below your writing level. Writing with people of similar skillset will help take the edge off any insecurity, and because writing will be lower-pressure and lower-effort, you will be better positioned to juggle multiple characters and more big plots. "Lower effort" doesn't mean "lazy" - it just means that you free up headspace that otherwise you might spend on the mechanics of writing versus the excitement of plotting.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to take a much more deliberate approach.

One thing I see often is intermediate writers applying multiple characters to an advanced site at once. This is a losing proposition. While staff might be willing to pend an app and work with you on revisions, if they see you submitting multiple applications that require major revisions and overhauls, they see a pattern. While staff might be willing to help you develop one character to their site's standard, if they anticipate you needing that level of coaching on every character, they will question your ability to keep up with their members in threads. Staff cannot be expected to assist members on writing each thread post - at that point, it becomes easier to decline all of the intermediate writer's applications.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to treat this as a "quality, not quantity" project.

When I was 13 I was writing very much at a beginner and intermediate level, just little Neopets rps with my friends. Then I joined a horse rp - an advanced rp - with a 1000 word minimum per post. While I am beyond thankful ridiculous word count minimums aren't common anymore, I can credit this rp with much of my growth as a writer.

I wrote one (1) character. And I only plotted her with a couple of others. I was very active in the OOC community, and was eventually made a mod - but when it came to IC activity, I focused all my energy on one character and just a couple of plots, because I spent hours on each post, making sure that I was matching my writing partners as best I could. It was much more work than the beginner & intermediate forums I was on with my friends, and much more work for much less action. But stretching like that is what made advanced writing get easier and easier - until I could balance two characters on an advanced site, then four, until now, when I write 12 characters on multiple advanced sites with relative ease. The real challenge is in keeping up with threads - not in matching quality anymore.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to improve your writing, joining an advanced site is a great option for growth, but you need to adjust your expectations.

Here are my best tips for intermediate writers looking to make the jump to advanced - or, for that matter, for beginners to make the jump to intermediate:

Focus, focus, focus. Choose one (1) character to write - no matter how tempted you are by want ads, no matter how many other ideas you get, no matter what your muse is throwing at you. Use all those on sites at your current level. For your reach site, pick one character.

Be receptive. Your one (1) character might take a revision or two to get out of a pend. Remember that staff don't pend apps to be assholes - they do it because they believe in you and think you have it in you to do the necessary revisions! If they thought you were a lost cause they wouldn't have wasted their own time with a pend. Be open to the idea that they know what works and is expected in their community. After all, if your character and your writing aren't appealing to the site community... you're not going to have anyone to write with!

Focus, focus, focus, part 2. You should not choose this character based on the volume of plots they can attract. Choose a character who has one or two very close plots for you to focus on. You might consider identifying a particularly kind member of the community and filling one of their want ads, so that this close plot is ready-made for you, and so this person can be a friendly face on your writing journey.

Be realistic. You might think: well, if I focus on one character for a few weeks, then I'll be ready to take on another, right? You might be or you might not. Don't rush it. This entire journey is about deliberation and intentionality. Don't take on a second character on an advanced site until writing the first to the same standard is noticeably easier.

Be kind to yourself. This is a lot of work! If you have the time for it, you might consider also staying active on a site that is at your writing level, so you have a place for easy writing, indulging your plot bunnies, etc.

I hope this tutorial has been a helpful resource to you, both in identifying how to find the right rp for you and in figuring out how to improve your writing, if you so choose. Happy writing!

#rp guides #resources #writing resources #rp writing

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

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glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part four

summary: carmen actually steps foot inside her own house after discovering her daughter isn’t the only teenager living there. the hurricane hurtling toward the island matches the tempest in sailor’s heart as she finally gets some long-overdue words off her chest that her mom isn’t very happy to hear and two friends inch closer and closer to crossing that metaphorical line.

word count: 6.6k+ (oops, i did it again 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings n stuff: mentions of abuse/neglect, gambling addiction, child abandonment, being kicked out of home, fluff, swearing, underage drinking, flirting, having shitty dads, mentions of weed, star wars, and sailor’s unhealthy addiction to nutella, mention and direct quote of the percy jackson and the olympians series (again), subtle nod to new girl (i love seeing how many references i can make lmao)

a/n: first off, i just want to thank each and every one of you for your likes, reblogs, and especially your wonderful comments! they mean to world to me, seriously ❤ now, here comes the dramaaaaa! we get to dive into sailor’s complicated, turbulent relationship with her mother (sailor, like john b, has a very big, very real fear of being abandoned by people she loves because of her dad) before heading toward the canon timeline of the show. the quote about the sea near the beginning is from jaques cousteau, legendary french naval officer, marine explorer and filmmaker who co-created the aqua-lung and paved the way for modern scuba diving. he also pioneered marine conservation and discovered the wreck of the hmhs britannic, sister ship of the rms titanic! so overall, he was a pretty cool dude and i feel that he’d be a personal hero to ocean-loving sailor (maybe even kiara as well, considering her love of the environment/conservation).

unbetaed as usual so all mistakes are my b.

gif credit to @toesure (who has the most beautiful gifs, ngl)

~Masterlist~

part four: high tide

The sun’s just peeking its rays over the horizon, painting the deep blue sky the softest shades of pink and orange. Calm, steady waves lap against the shore and over Sailor’s bare feet as she stands alone on an empty and desolate beach, the only signs of life coming from the seagulls squawking overhead. The air is thick and sticky with early morning humidity, the type that makes it hard to breathe and frizzes the hell out of her wavy hair, and she can already feel moisture starting to collect on her skin.

Why’s she here again? She can’t remember a reason and come to think of it, she can’t remember exactly how she got here, either. Did she drive? She turns her back to the ocean and its entrancing pull to look for her truck but finds the surf shop is the only thing she can see clearly, the world surrounding it blurred in an incomprehensible mess of color; the sight should’ve caused anxiety to take root in her chest but somehow she finds herself unbothered, relaxed. Somehow, she feels at home.

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”

Sailor’s head snaps to the left at the sound of a painfully familiar voice. A tall, redheaded man now stands in what was only a few seconds ago an empty space, smiling out over the water with the brilliant colors of the sky reflecting in his green eyes.

“Dad?”

Ryan doesn’t seem to hear the incredulous tone in her voice or even the fact that she spoke at all as he turns to face her and asks a question of his own, “It’s true, don’t you think?”

Of course she does. The sea has had her under its captivating, magnetic spell ever since she first laid eyes on it when she was a toddler, a baby, even. Her parents always said she wanted to spend every waking moment at the beach, combing the sand for shells and staring out at the water, imagining what new discoveries were waiting for her in its depths. Her mouth moves on it’s own as she replies, “You know I do.”

It’s not what she wants to say at all. She wants so badly to yell at him, let out her frustrations and hurt and pain ‘how dare you leave us’ ‘what did I do wrong’ ‘why haven’t you come back yet’ but finds that she can’t form the words. It’s like she’s watching a video, or maybe reliving a memory -oh. It feels like a memory because it is one, she recognizes with a start, of the week before he took off and abandoned them for the very first time, leaving behind a gaping, bleeding wound that neither Sailor nor her mother ever managed to properly stitch back together.

Ryan’s smile widens. “Always got your eyes on the horizon, Starfish. Just like your old man.”

Her heart clenches at the old, familiar nickname that she hasn’t heard in years, like she’s looking at a favorite pair of childhood shoes or an old t-shirt from a family vacation long past and realizing she doesn’t fit in them anymore, that she’s moved on, and surprisingly, it doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would.

“Come on,” Her father says and when he reaches out to her, Sailor finds herself reaching back with a much smaller, eight-year old sized hand that’s swallowed by Ryan’s larger, calloused palm. “Think you can go fifteen feet today?”

“Fifteen? I’m gonna go twenty!” She declares confidently in her most grown-up voice, giggling when her dad beams and hoists her little body up into his arms, the stubble on his face tickling her skin as he plants a kiss on her cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

He runs into the surf, tossing a laughing Sailor into the ocean when it’s waist deep before they wade out, further and further until the sandy floor drops away from their feet and they’re left treading water.

“Ready, Starfish?”

“Ready!”

The sun breaks over the horizon and casts its golden light on the pair, turning their hair an identical shade of fiery red just as they dive below. She has to work harder to keep up with her father’s longer strokes but she does it and reaches the bottom the same time he does; he smiles widely and reaches out to quickly cup her cheek, pride shining clearly in his eyes and she beams back before turning away to scan the floor for any worthy shells. Finding a knobbed whelk a few feet away, she swims over to grab it before pushing off toward the surface, Ryan following close behind. The sun becomes brighter and brighter the closer she gets and just when her head breaks through the waves-

Sailor wakes.

The early morning sun shines across her eyes through the curtains as she stares up at the surfboard above her bed, the very shelf were the whelk from that day still sits, proudly displayed with her other finds. Yawning, she runs her hands over her face and blinks away the last threads of sleep still clinging to her lashes, along with the memory of her dream. Moments like that with her father were rare. Ryan was a blast to be around when he was happy doing something he wanted to do, like diving for shells, hitting up the bowling alley for a few games, or taking his old, beat up boat out into the marsh to fish for hours on end (never something mundane as doing the dishes or folding the laundry, no, those were children’s jobs and being an only kid, those responsibilities fell to Sailor.). Moments like that were when she felt that -naively, foolishly- her dad was actually proud of her, that he wasn’t horribly inconvenienced by her having the audacity to be his daughter, to be born, that maybe he loved her as much as she loved him.

Cold from a sudden shiver that runs through her body, she rolls onto her side to seek out the best human space heater she knows but her arm only finds empty sheets lacking warmth, her hand reaching for someone who’s no longer there. She frowns and sits up, fingers automatically running through her sleep mussed waves in a semi-futile attempt to fix them into something less resembling a bird’s nest. A quick check of the phone she doesn’t remember plugging in to charge reveals its just before 7 in the morning and her confusion over her missing bedmate only grows; JJ’s rarely ever conscious before 9 AM at the absolute earliest and almost never by his own volition unless surfing’s involved. Even Binx is gone from his usual spot at the end of the bed, leaving her truly alone in the tiny room.

On the floor alongside his boots, the backpack she never noticed him having yesterday is still where he dropped it with its zipper open wide, while his phone rests next to hers on the bedside table and Sailor feels an almost embarrassing wave of relief wash over her knowing he’s still here, that he didn’t just up and disappear in the middle of the night, that he stayed (of all the times he’s come to her before, only once did he leave before dawn and, after she’d frantically tracked him down at John B’s place, tears in her eyes and streaming down her face at the thought of him returning to the lion’s den that he called home, he held her close and promised to never do it again.). She pulls herself out of bed and crosses the room to pull on a random hoodie from the closet before pocketing her phone and padding into the hall, the wooden floor cool under her bare feet.

A demanding meow comes from the kitchen followed immediately by a vexed, “Binx, my dude. For the last time, you can’t have this.” JJ’s bright laugh echoes throughout the room when Binx meows again, this one more insistent than the last and the redhead smiles, quietly shuffling forward to lean against the wall. He doesn’t notice, instead holding a finger to his lips as he shushes the cat sitting on the counter beside him, then turns back to whatever he’s doing. “Be quiet, dumbass! You don’t wanna wake your mom up, do you?”

“I don’t know, sounds to me like he might need my help.”

He startles at her teasing voice, nearly dropping the butter knife in his hand as she steps forward and scoops Binx into her arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy cheek. “Is mean old J not feeding you, Binxy? That just won’t do!”

He rolls his eyes but the grin tugging the corners of his mouth upward betrays his amusement as he says sarcastically, “Yeah, I’m the bad guy for not giving the brat Nutella. Great.”

With a laugh, Sailor gives the cat another loving scratch behind the ears before gently setting him on the floor and hoisting herself onto the counter beside JJ, her legs swinging back and forth and lightly brushing against his side. “So...you’re up early.” She says, watching him scrape the last bit of Nutella out of the jar and smear it on some toast, another piece already made on the plate at his elbow.

“Yeah, I woke up and couldn’t go back to bed.” He shrugs, tossing the knife in the sink and the empty container into the trash; her stomach does a little flip when he brings his hand to his mouth and licks away the chocolate left behind on his thumb, then continues, “Sorry if I woke you up. I tried to be quiet but that shithead over there wouldn’t shut up.”

He nods his chin in the direction of a lounging Binx, stretched out on the back of the couch in the sun and she shakes her head. “Don’t worry, you didn’t. I-” She shrugs, too, and meets his blue-eyed gaze. “I guess I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Bad dream?” JJ asks, holding the plate of toast out to her and she takes a piece with a grateful smile as she replies, “I’d call it more of a bittersweet memory.”

They both fall into a comfortable silence while they eat until he suddenly asks another question around a mouthful of breakfast, “About your dad?”

Sailor freezes mid-chew, her father’s green eyes flicking away from her best friend’s face toward the floor as she swallows thickly, her free hand anxiously clenching the fabric of her shorts. After a long, pregnant pause in which they finish their food and he puts the dirty plate in the sink, she finally says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

She apologizes again, staring down at the floor and swinging her legs back and forth, her bare feet hitting the cabinet with dull thuds.

“For what?” His brow furrows in confusion while he takes a step forward to stand between her legs, one hand reaching to hook a finger under her chin and lift her head so he can look her in the eye, the other resting on her knee. “Seriously, help me out here ‘cause I’m confused as fuck.”

“Because I feel guilty, okay?” She starts, eyelids briefly closing as she takes a deep breath before snapping open again and continuing before he can interrupt, “Here I am, getting upset over a stupid dream I had about my gambling addict dad that ditched me when your dad does that,” -she points to his bruised ribs- “and this,” -her palm rests on his cheek, thumb skimming over his scabbed lip- “and God, I just-”

“Whoa, hold up there, Sail.” JJ cuts her off, his free hand joining the other in cupping her face, “Just because your dad never hit you doesn’t mean you don’t have something to be pissed about. He abandoned you, stole your mom’s money, and made you feel like shit! You have a right to be mad as fuck about it.”

“But-”

“But nothing! We’re not having a fucking competition about who has the shittiest dad,” -He smirks devilishly, brushing a wayward red curl off her forehead- “because they both suck major dick. End of story.”

In spite of herself, Sailor snickers as she winds her arms around his neck and pulls him close, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder while his own arms slide around her waist. “We should start a club.” She jokes lightly and feels his snort of laughter against her ear in response.

“‘Shitty Dad Society,’” He declares proudly, “I call being president.”

“Well, I’m your VP! Binx’s our secretary- shit, I’ll be treasurer, too ‘cause I don’t trust you with any type of financial situation at all.”

He laughs again, hand tightening its grip on her waist and she smiles into his neck as he says, “That’s fair. We should make shirts.”

They settle into another comfortable silence after that, both more than happy to relax in the other’s arms and just be. It’s one of her favorite things about..whatever they are, the ease, the contentment, the familiarity felt when they’re together are sentiments she never, ever wants to lose and a thought, an exciting, dangerous thought pops into her head: what if he never has to leave?

“Come live with me.”

“...what?”

Oh, fuck, she just said that out loud, didn’t she? Brain, enter panic mode. The redhead abruptly pulls out of his embrace and buries her already blushing face into shaking hands, closing her eyes tight for good measure, stammering between her fingers, “Nothing, nothing! I said nothing!”

“Pretty sure you said something,” His hands encircle her wrists and gently pull them down to her lap. “And it wasn’t ‘nothing.’”

She stares down at their entwined fingers resting on her thighs, the backs of his hands deliriously warm against her exposed skin and grounding her to this (scary, exciting, vulnerable) moment, and blurts out in a rush, “I said, come live here. With me.”

JJ doesn’t speak, but the way his hands almost imperceptibly tighten their hold on hers -she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t already been looking- compels her to raise her head and meet his eyes; the indescribable depth of the ocean is behind his gaze, as well as the barest hint of pure, brazen hope, and it says everything his mouth won’t.

“Remember yesterday, when you said you don’t know how much more you can take?” She asks. At his tight nod, she weaves her fingers even more intricately with his and admits softly, “Well, I’m not sure how much more I can take, either.”

Sailor’s eyes sweep over the cuts on his face with all the gentleness of a lover, his lip first, followed by the one on his cheekbone before meeting his again. “I can’t...I can’t see you hurt like this anymore.”

Blue stares into green for an insurmountable stretch of time, long enough that she starts to think that she should’ve just kept her big mouth shut, until he finally whispers, “Seriously?”

“J, I’ve never been more serious about something in my entire life. I can’t let him do this to you anymore.” She finishes with a shrug, “My mom’s never here, anyway. It’d be, uh, really nice to not be alone all the time ‘cause as much as I love him, Binx doesn’t count.”

His eyes become stormy at that casual admission of loneliness for just a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment before brightening into their natural blue, the same color of the sky on a clear day as he says simply, “Okay.”

“Seriously?” It’s her turn to ask it now and the smile that breaks over her face when he nods is one of unabashed relief; without thinking, she leans closer and presses her forehead to his. “Good.”

He smiles, too, and briefly lets his eyes fall shut at the contact as he jokes, “Just so you know, Flynn, I’m probably not gonna be the best roommate.”

“Please,” She giggles, freeing one of her hands to playfully push at his shoulder, “I live with the most spoiled, demanding cat in the world. I think I can handle you, Maybank.”

The teasing smirk on his face makes her heart beat a little faster. “We’ll see about that.”

Sailor decides to pretend she didn’t hear his loaded comment (she’s not quite ready to open up that particular can of worms just yet), instead pulling her phone from her hoodie pocket to check the time. “Alright, here’s the deal: in one,” -she glances at the time again because holy shit does she have the short-term memory of a fucking chimp- “two hours, we’re going shopping and, hey, don’t give me that look!” She laughs at the pained expression that crosses his face, “If you’re gonna live here, get ready to put in the work.”

JJ offers her a lazy salute with his free hand and she rolls her eyes, trying her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as he says coyly (again, damn him!), “Yes, ma’am.”

“Until then, though,” The redhead continues, hopping off the counter to grab his hand and starts pulling him toward the hall to her room, “We have a book to read and you have some Greek to mispronounce.”

“Fuck, you’re bossy.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

It goes like this: for nearly three weeks, life for the pair is pretty damn good. The summer days pass the same as they had been, either spent lazing around with the rest of the pogues or working their variety of jobs -Sailor at the ice cream parlor, along with her weekly shell dives and the beginner surf classes she teaches for The Sandbar, JJ at the country club and doing whatever odd jobs he can find around the island- as June slowly bleeds into July. They find themselves doing everything together: shopping, cooking dinner, sharing her tiny room, and it’s so painfully domestic, so natural and so right that it hurts to wrap her head around it.

If their friends notice, none of them comment on it, even though she sees the looks sent their way whenever they both hop out of Sailor’s truck together (most are curtesy of eagle-eyed Kiara, but Pope and even the ever oblivious John B raise their eyebrows a few times). At night they continue to read through the Percy Jackson series, taking turns reading aloud each evening and for a short, blissful time, they let go of the burdens weighing heavy on their shoulders. For a while, everything is close to perfect.

Typically, predictably, it doesn’t last and when shit finally hits the fan, it happens in epic fashion because nothing is ever easy when they’re involved.

It happens a few days after the Fourth of July. It’s late-afternoon, Hurricane Agatha brewing off the coast causing the clouds to streak faster through the sky and, with the rest of their friends working or otherwise occupied, the two teenagers decide to spend a day lounging at home, getting in a few more chapters of The Battle of the Labyrinth and drinking the beer left over from a night of partying at John B’s house.

“’Jumping out a window five hundred feet above ground is not usually my idea of fun,’“ Sailor reads as she relaxes on the couch, book in one hand and can of PBR in the other, the wind blowing in through the open window ruffling her hair, “‘Especially when I’m wearing bronze wings and flapping my arms like a duck.’“

“I’ll drink to that,” JJ says, briefly lifting his head from her lap to chug the rest of his beer before settling back down, feet propped up on the couch’s arm. They’re both a little buzzed, having lost count of how many drinks they’ve downed but she’s had enough to make her start giggling at his comment as she struggles to keep reading while Binx, fed up with the noise, jumps down from his spot behind her and slinks down the hall to find some peace and quiet.

“Damn you, stop it!” She laughs harder as he pulls a ridiculous face at her pronunciation of Daedalus, then shoots her an impish grin and she responds by ‘accidentally’ dropping the paperback on his face. Both are so caught up in hysterics that they don’t notice the sound of a car pulling into the driveway or a key unlocking the front door.

“Sailor!”

The girl freezes at her name, green eyes widening at the sharp tone of her mother’s voice. Slowly, she turns her head to look over her shoulder where she stands, arms crossed, and she’s so shocked Carmen’s actually looking her in the eye that nothing comes out of her open mouth but an oh so eloquent “huh?”

“What the hell is going on here?” The older woman demands, moving around the couch before either teenager can react, and her eyes narrow when she catches sight of JJ’s head on her daughter’s thigh and the empty beer cans on the end table. “Are you two drunk? Get up, now.”

He hastily does as she asks, eyes downcast to the floor and shaking hands clenched at his sides; ignoring her mother’s glare, Sailor deliberately reaches over and rests one palm on top of his as she says tightly, “Nice to see you home for once, I’m surprised you remembered where it is.”

It’s a low blow and she knows it but she can’t find it in her fuzzy, alcohol-numbed brain to care when Carmen reels back like she’s been slapped before she seems to compose herself, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Sailor Giselle, don’t you dare talk to your mother like that!”

The redhead feels something inside her snap and she glares up at the only parent she has left, all but spitting her next words, “Then start acting like my mother! This is the first time I’ve seen you here in four months!”

“I had to come home after Rachel told me you were shacking up with some boy! Do you have any idea-”

“Rachel?!” Sailor explodes at the mention of their obnoxiously invasive old biddy of a neighbor whose sole mission in life is knowing everyone’s business, “God, that hag just can’t keep her nose out of anything can she?”

Carmen crosses her arms once again and glowers at her daughter. “You know how hard it is for me to be in here, Sailor. I asked her to keep an eye on you for me and I’m glad I did.”

The teenager stares at her in disbelief before barking a loud, humorless laugh. “Let me get this straight: you asked our neighbor to spy on me so you didn’t have to come home...so you didn’t have to actually put in some effort?” Carmen opens her mouth to defend herself but before any words can come out, Sailor continues, throwing her free hand in the air, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“This is my house!” Her mother thunders, not noticing the way the silent blond boy flinches at her yell and how her daughter tightens her grip on his hand. “This is my house and I can do whatever I damn well please, including having someone look out for you when I can’t.”

“When you won’t, you mean.” She scoffs, shaking her head in thinly-veiled disgust, “I’m doing just fine on my own, no thanks to you, Mom.”

“Does ‘doing just fine’ mean living alone with this kid?” Carmen spits and when she glances at JJ like he’s gum on the bottom of her shoe, Sailor’s finally had enough and takes a step toward the older woman with a furious glare.

“Will you just let that go? God! He’s my best friend and he needed somewhere to stay, that’s it!”

“I don’t care.” Turning to JJ, she demands coldly, “Go pack your shit and get out.”

“No.” Green eyes hardening into chips of emerald, the redhead grabs his other hand as he goes to leave the room and steps in front of him protectively. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Carmen pinches the bridge of her nose, her voice low as she threatens, “I swear to God, Sailor, either he leaves or I’ll make him leave.”

When she feels his whole body go rigid behind her, she knows her mom’s won this particular battle and before she can even turn to face him he’s disappeared down the hall to her room without a word. Sailor whirls to face her like the wind outside, red hair flying over her shoulder like a whip as she seethes, “How dare you.”

The older woman sighs like she’s the one hurting and crosses to the window before closing it with a firm hand. “Drop it, I’m done arguing.”

“I care about him, Mom, you can’t just kick him out!”

“I said drop it! I don’t give a shit how you feel about him, I’m not having your homeless boyfriend mooching-”

“Jesus Christ -his dad beats the shit out of him!”

The words ring out like a bell, loud and clear and impossible to ignore. Carmen freezes in the middle of picking up a discarded can, tan skin turning pale as she stares, mouth slightly agape, at her daughter; the girl stares back unflinching, and despite her heart’s rapid staccato in her chest, her next words cut like a knife.

“He’s not homeless, okay? But his dad hits him, all the damn time. You’re not gonna stand by and let that happen, are you?”

Her mother’s eyes soften -for a fleeting moment, she looks like her old, caring self again- before they harden to steel, the open expression on her face slamming closed with all the force of a screen door in a hurricane.

“I’m sorry -really, I am- but that’s not my problem.”

Sailor flinches at the icy edge in her voice and looks down at the floor, jaw clenched tight as she tries to blink away the sudden burning behind her eyes. “I...I don’t know you anymore. My mother would never say that.”

She hears Carmen heave another deep sigh as her footsteps slowly head toward the front entry, “You and I have a lot to talk about when I get back from work, Sailor.” She says, followed by the snatching of keys and the door handle turning. “And that boy had better be gone when I do.”

The redhead looks up from her feet, watching the door slam behind her mother’s retreating form before hastily making her way down the hall to her room and like that morning, the wave of relief that she feels when she sees JJ still sitting on her bed, realizing he’s still here, is downright embarrassing but she’s well past the point of caring. In a flash, Sailor’s in his arms, face pressed against his neck as she cries, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Sail, you’ve gotta stop apologizing for things you can’t control.” He whispers when she eventually falls silent and she can’t stop the rough laughter bubbling in her chest, even as her whole world feels like it’s falling apart around her.

“Sorry.”

His own laugh is short and low in her ear, and then he’s pulling her closer as his hand draws soothing circles on her back. She lets herself relax for a brief moment, eyelids fluttering closed at his touch, before she takes a deep breath and pulls back to look him in the eye, hands carelessly wiping away the tears on her cheeks, “Help me pack.”

“...what?”

“When she kicked you out, she kicked me out, too.” She says matter-of-factly at JJ’s confused look while she abruptly kneels, pulling her old suitcase from under the bed and heaving it up onto the mattress.

“Okay, so she didn’t actually kick me out but she might as well have!” The redhead strides to her closet and starts picking out her favorite clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the bed as she fumes, “God, I even told her about your dad -I’m sorry, shit I did it again- and she said she didn’t care! Not to mention she had our neighbor spy-”

“Sail!” She’s so caught up in her rant that she doesn’t notice when JJ moves to stand beside her, and only when he puts his hands on her shoulders does she stop short, a Kildare County High School sweatshirt dangling from her fingers; she can feel him watching her and when she flicks her gaze up to meet his, she’s not at all prepared for the tempest of emotions -admiration, pride, empathy, something else she can’t name- all crashing like the surf behind his eyes.

Blue. Oh so blue. It’s been her favorite color ever since she knew what colors were and she thinks her favorite shade has to be the one she finds in his eyes: bright, clear, and ever easy to drown in if she’s not careful.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He says it in such a casual way that it’s impossible to think it’s not as intentional as the fingers that slowly tuck a stray curl behind her ear and the thumb that brushes along her flushed cheek.

She just shakes her head with a tiny, bashful smile and her words are an echo of a quiet, rainy night all those weeks ago, “I’m just doing what feels right.”

They fall into an easy rhythm after that, one that helps them both sober up as they fill her suitcase to the brim with everything Sailor thinks she’ll need for a long stay, wherever she ends up. The Chateau makes the most sense of course, but with the DCS breathing down John B’s neck recently, she’s not sure how viable of an option that is but there’s one thing she knows for sure: there’s no way in hell she’s coming back here any time soon. It hurts to leave her shell collection behind -for a brief, dark moment she toys with the idea of tearing the shelf down and smashing them all until they’re turned to dust but she pushes that thought away- so she takes her favorite, the lightning whelk that reminds her of JJ and that day on the beach, and gently tucks it away in her backpack to ease the sting, as a promise to one day return for the rest.

“Jackpot!” JJ exclaims and she looks up to find him on the floor by her chair, pulling up the loose wood board that hides her secret stash of booze and money and reaching in to snag a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels, holding it above his head with a triumphant smile.

“Shit, I forgot that was even in there,” She replies as she kneels beside him and snatches the whiskey from his hand before he can take a swig, slipping it into her backpack, “Not yet.”

“Oh, come on,” He laughs when she rolls her eyes at his pout and reaches into the dark space to pull out an old plastic lunchbox, along with a small flask that gets thrown in her bag without a second glance. “Boooo.”

“Patience,” She teases, opening the cracked lid to take all of the cash inside and stuffs it into the ziploc bag that doubles as a purse (“it’s cheap and waterproof, what more do I need?” was her argument when Kiara asked her why she didn’t have an actual handbag), which she then stuffs in her backpack. “We can get drunk after we get out of here.”

“You had me at ‘drunk,’“ He slides the floorboard back into place after Sailor tosses the empty lunchbox inside and then stands, pulling her up alongside him with his hand in hers, the other reaching out to grab the handle of her suitcase. “Ready when you are.”

The redhead takes one last look around her room, from the assortment of shells and pictures on one wall to her poster of Bethany Hamilton on the other and everything in between -her sanctuary for the longest time- before turning away from the familiar comfort of the old to face the enticing uncertainty of the new. “Let’s go.”

After a quick stop in the bathroom to grab her shampoo, conditioner, and toothbrush -no way in hell is she gonna share any of those with the boys- then the kitchen to grab some food for Binx and the cat himself from the back of the couch (surprisingly, he doesn’t put up much of a fight), they head outside and throw her suitcase and their backpacks in the bed of the truck along with her surfboard.

“John B’s probably gonna be pissed about the cat,” JJ says, leaning against the passenger door with his arms crossed, smirking as she gives him a flat look and unceremoniously dumps Binx onto the bench seat through the driver’s side window.

“Well, John B’s just gonna -stay, Binxy!- have to get used to it. I’m not leaving him behind.”

Across the street, Rachel perches on her porch as she watches the two teenagers with her beady little eyes and Sailor, feeling particularly defiant, grins wickedly. “J, watch this.” Waving to the woman to catch her attention she calls over the wind, “Hey, Rachel!” before slowly extending both middle fingers toward her, one at a time. “That one’s for my mom and this one’s for you, you nosy bitch!”

He instantly joins in and both hold their hands high, cackling with laughter, until the old crone scowls and slithers back into her house like the snake she is. “Good riddance,” the redhead says, opening the truck’s door and sliding behind the wheel, “Let’s blow this joint.”

“Joint?” JJ asks, climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him, Binx instantly curling up on his lap, “Did you say joint?”

“You and weed, I swear...” She laughs and goes to start the engine before she realizes she’s grasping at an empty ignition and lets her head fall against the steering wheel with a thunk, “Son of a bitch, I forgot my keys. I’ll be right back.”

Going back inside isn’t as hard as Sailor thought it would be, but leaving is a whole other ball game. She snatches her keys from the bathroom sink where she left them and heads back toward the front door; she’s just passing by their family portrait when it hits her: this is it, the last time in who knows how long she’ll be here. It’s now or never. She thinks of it as a weight on her shoulders, one that’s been dragging her down for far too long, like Atlas holding up the sky, but unlike him, she’s going to break the chains and set herself free.

In one final, sudden burst of years of anger and hurt and frustration, she rips the picture from the hook and smashes it to the floor, sending pieces of glass and wood skittering down the hall before striding from the house and all its memories without a backwards glance, slamming the door behind her with a resolute bang.

Surprisingly, John B doesn’t give a shit about the cat when they show up at the Chateau but he does give a shit about Sailor and her well-being after they give him a quick rundown of the afternoon’s happenings.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sail?” He asks as he and JJ carry her bags into the house and deposit them in the spare room, the redhead trailing behind with Binx in her arms.

“That’s the age old question, bro,” She deflects with a shrug, taking a seat on the bed and setting the cat down beside her; he instantly takes off to explore his new home as she continues, “Who actually knows if they’re okay? What’s okay to one person can be completely different to another-”

“Sailor, seriously.”

She glances back and forth between the two boys -two sweet, caring boys- watching her with twin looks of understanding and relents. “Look, I’m still kind of...processing everything, alright? I’m not exactly sure what I’m feeling and I don’t know how long it’s gonna take for me to find out but I promise you,” She says softly, looking them both in the eye, “I’ll let you know if I’m not okay. Deal?”

JJ shoots her an enthusiastic thumbs up while John B opts for a simple nod and she grins before pulling the bottle of Jack Daniels from her backpack with a flourish. “Good. Now, I think we could all use a drink.”

The trio (and Binx, house thoroughly explored) bums around the living room while the afternoon slowly turns to evening, the wind outside getting worse with each passing hour the storm moves closer, passing the bottle back and forth until none of them are anywhere close to sober. What started as a game of truth or dare quickly dissolves into straight up truth as they get remarkably philosophical about what animal they’d want to be (an eagle for John B, a wolf for JJ, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, a dolphin for Sailor) and then have a deep, animated discussion about the best Star Wars movie and why it’s The Empire Strikes Back. Later, when the whiskey’s down to a few sips left and their collective demons have retreated to the very back of their minds, JJ drunkenly suggests playing strip poker and both Sailor and John B have to remind him that none of them a.) know how to play poker or b.) even own a deck of cards.

“Damn it!” The sly grin falls from his face when he realizes they’re right and he dejectedly sinks back into the couch, head coming to rest on the redhead’s shoulder. “I wanna see you take your clothes off, Flynn.”

She laughs loudly and grabs the bottle from his hand before taking a big sip and passing it to John B. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, Maybank.” Whiskey, she found out few months ago, hits her hard: her filter? Gone. Blushing? Aside from the flush in her cheeks from the alcohol, gone. Self-consciousness? As long gone as her father. She’ll flirt her heart out without giving a single shit and it’s both a blessing and a curse, as well as an endless source of secondhand embarrassment in the morning.

“That’s okay, you know I like a challenge.” He declares with a wink, cracking up when she plants her hand directly on his face and pushes him off her shoulder as John B snorts and downs the last of the liquor without either of them noticing.

“Jesus, get a room,” He uses the empty bottle to point down the hall, then sets it on the side table with a hollow thunk as he leans back and stretches his arms above his head. “There’s one right there.”

Sailor gives him a swift kick in the shin with her bare foot for that, plus the shit-eating grin on his face. The trio lounges around for a little while longer, relaxing in a whiskey-induced haze; the redhead finds herself nodding off every so often, slipping back further and further until her head finds a place to rest on JJ’s lap and her legs end up on John B’s. The feel of fingers running through her hair is so feather light that she can barely keep her eyes open and before she knows it, she’s down for the count.

When she wakes some indefinite amount of time later the room is dark, the only light coming from the moon shining through the windows and John B’s gone from his spot by her feet, Binx curled up in a ball on the cushion instead. JJ’s dead asleep, hand stalled in her curls and the sight of his head tipped back against the couch with his mouth slightly open is so damn endearing that she can’t help but smile, even as she reaches a hand up to gently shake his shoulder.

“J, wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” He groans, free hand sluggishly pushing her arm away. Sailor sits up and swivels to face him before shaking him again, giggling quietly at the way his head lolls from side to side.

“Come on, the bed’s way comfier than this.”

Sleepy blue eyes open to give her a heavy look that screams both gratification and longing and so much hope as he quips, “You just want me in your bed again, don’t you?”

She reverently rolls her eyes but reaches to grab his hands anyway and pulls him to his feet, both swaying in place before they find their balance. “And if I do?”

The corner of his mouth rises in a small, adorable smile as his fingers entwine with hers. “I’d say that’s right where I want to be.”

“Well, you’re in luck ‘cause that’s where I want you to be, too.” Still a little bit tipsy, her words are honest, sincere, and as she leads him down the hall, she realizes that old saying is true: drunk words are sober thoughts. After three weeks sharing a home, a room, a bed, she just doesn’t think she can sleep without him anymore and that belief doesn’t quite scare her as much as she thought it would.

Lying wrapped up in his arms in the dark, Sailor finds herself dreaming of a future -as much of a future an impoverished, quasi-homeless, not-quite alright, not-quite-seventeen year old can dream of- with the damaged boy that holds oceans in his eyes.

A few miles away, Carmen Flynn sits on her daughter’s bed with a broken picture frame in her hands as she cries, all alone in an empty house with no idea how to make things okay again.

let me know what you think! also, fun fact: sailor compares her short-term memory to a chimp because studies have shown that chimpanzees are the absolute worst at remembering things, not goldfish as we previously thought (they can remember things for at least five months, compared to chimps who, despite their similarities to humans, forget things in about twenty seconds). sailor, being a zoology nerd, would definitely find that fascinating and make it her mission to educate the masses that goldfish aren’t that stupid jj finds it both adorable and kind of hot

taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @obxsummer @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy @jjmaybanky @ethereallust

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Wondrous Creature, Part Two (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Brooke and Vanessa enjoy their relationship together.

A/N: Back by (somewhat) popular demand, I added a part two on to this! Thank you to everyone that commented and wanted to read more, because this wouldn’t have happened without you. It’s pretty short and sweet, but I really hope you enjoy, and I’d appreciate any feedback you have! Thanks Writ for all your support!

Read parts one and two on ao3.

“Excuse you, Alex, I lived through World War II, how dare you say my answer’s wrong–”

Vanessa snorts as Brooke continues yelling at Jeopardy!, threatening to go on the show and teach everyone a thing or two.

Dating a vampire isn’t something she ever thought she’d do, but when it’s Brooke—well, that’s something else entirely. There’s a gentleness in her, in the way she warms her hands before taking Vanessa’s and helps Vanessa at the dog shelter, letting dogs lick her when Vanessa knows she’s more of a cat person. She even braves the daylight sometimes if there’s something Vanessa really wants to do, and Vanessa’s hands roam across Brooke’s smooth skin to get her special sunscreen all over her.

“Okay, Brooke, we get it,” Vanessa says, laying a hand on Brooke’s thigh.

Brooke immediately silences herself at the touch, nestling closer to Vanessa. “I’m right, though. These Jeopardy! people are wrong.” Her lips curl into a pout.

“I believe you,” Vanessa says, and she kisses the pout away.

No, dating a vampire isn’t something she ever thought she’d do. But Brooke tugs her closer and slips her icy hand inside Vanessa’s shirt, and Vanessa knows there’s no one else she’d rather be with.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Brooke raises an eyebrow as Vanessa assumes a fighting stance in the doorway.

“I’m sure. I just wanna say hi to them. My allergies won’t be too bad if I don’t touch ‘em.”

Brooke shrugs, bringing Henry and Apollo over to Vanessa, who sneezes immediately.

“H-Hi there, little guys,” Vanessa wheezes. “Me and your mama are together now, so I wanted”–another body-shaking sneeze– “to introduce myself.”

The cats meow in response, and Brooke brings them back in before Vanessa can sneeze again. If this was mild, she doesn’t want to see how bad Vanessa’s allergies can be. She’s always careful to keep the cats in her room and make sure she’s cat hair-free before being around Vanessa.

“I think they like you,” Brooke says to cheer Vanessa up. She hands her a tissue and doesn’t even flinch when Vanessa blows her nose like a foghorn. “Maybe cats can like dogs after all.”

“I’m a wolf, not a dog!” Vanessa yells, but she starts laughing, and pretty soon Brooke starts too.

—

“I think you should stay here for the full moon tonight,” Brooke says, glancing out the window at the storm. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Vanessa shrugs.

“I’d feel better if you were here,” Brooke admits, eyes on the floor because she doesn’t want Vanessa to see the worry shining in them. Almost doesn’t want to admit to herself that she’s this worried about Vanessa, now that she knows the truth about Vanessa and about her feelings toward her.

Vanessa’s face softens, and she nods.

Brooke grins. “I’ve always wanted to see a wolf up close.”

Vanessa swats at her. “I ain’t some cute little puppy, Brooke! I’m a wolf. I’m a fearsome beast, okay!”

“Sure you are.”

“I am!”

When the shaggy brown wolf emerges from Vanessa’s room that night, Brooke actually gasps. Any lingering fear she had about a wolf in the house vanish at wolf-Vanessa’s sharp grin, just as big as her human one, at the brown fur that looks as soft as Vanessa’s hair.

“You’re just a giant puppy!” Brooke yells.

Brooke swears wolf-Vanessa rolls her eyes before she growls, but the sound turns into a low, rumbling purr as Brooke scratches behind wolf-Vanessa’s ears. The wolf follows her into the living room and they snuggle up on the couch together, the TV playing some Animal Planet show that Vanessa likes in both human and wolf forms.

Brooke falls asleep with a face full of fur and wakes up with a face full of wavy brown hair. She presses a kiss to Vanessa’s neck and drifts off again.

—

It’s nice to have things out in the open, to not have to hide what she does at the full moon, or her feelings for Brooke.

Sure, it’s gross when Vanessa blindly reaches into the freezer and comes out with a bag of blood instead of the waffles she wanted. Or when they have to spend an hour vacuuming fur off the living room rug after Vanessa stays home for a full moon. But it also means that Vanessa can kiss Brooke whenever she wants, doesn’t have to jump back and worry about Brooke returning her feelings whenever they bump into each other when they cook.

“Miss Brooke turning you into a domesticated wolf,” Silky says at the salon. “You missed the last full moon with us.”

“Will you quiet down?” Vanessa hisses, even though the salon is empty at the moment. Her, Silky, and A’keria had opened the salon together, combining all their skills on makeup, hair, and nails to help people look and feel their best. Vanessa loves working with her two best friends, and loves helping people treat themselves as well.

“I wanna meet her,” A’keria says. She cocks her head and puts on a dreamy expression. “The vampire that stole Vanessa’s heart–”

“Even though she doesn’t have her own heart,” Silky says, and the both of them cackle.

“She has a heart!” Vanessa protests. “It just doesn’t beat. But she don’t need a beating heart to be nice. Or to love me.”

Her friends recoil into twin expressions of disgust, and Vanessa lets out a triumphant laugh.

“We really do want to meet her, though,” A’keria says.

Silky nods. “You talk about her so much, we want to see if she lives up to the hype. And make sure she won’t do you wrong.”

Vanessa’s heart warms at their concern, and she reaches out a grabby hand to both of them.

“Maybe we can do dinner or something,” Vanessa says, wondering how she’ll ask Brooke to invite two werewolves over for dinner.

—-

“Is that Brooke?” Priyanka calls as Brooke walks over to their usual table in the bar. “I forgot what you look like!”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s true she missed the last few nights with her friends. Vanessa was exhausted and sore after her transformation, and Brooke was reluctant to leave her side, even if Vanessa insisted that she’s dealt with it for years. Brooke didn’t want her to do it alone when she didn’t have to. She set Vanessa up with her heating pad and tucked her underneath a heap of blankets, made her tea, and watched every rom-com she wanted. Leave it to dating a werewolf to turn her into a mother hen.

“You do seem a little different,” Nina says. “Happier.”

Brooke smiles, because she really does feel happier than she has in decades. All the tiny lies that her secret caused are gone, and she can go out after Vanessa falls asleep without hiding behind a fake job, without having to leave out so much about herself and what she does. Stories about herself and her life pour out around Vanessa, and Brooke tells stories about Woodstock in exchange for hearing about Vanessa’s first night as a wolf when she was thirteen and got attacked by an owl. Brooke loves getting to be with Vanessa, and it’s nice to know it’s powerful enough to show on her.

“I am happier,” Brooke says. “I’m doing the whole ‘be in love’ thing, like you told me.”

Nina smiles, and Brooke thinks her eyes look damp. “I’m happy for you, Brooke.”

“Now you know why I was all sunshine and rainbows when I met Asia,” Kameron says. “Welcome to the club, B.”

“We should meet Vanessa!” Priyanka says suddenly, the thought no doubt spurred by the empty wine glasses in front of her.

“Yeah, we should,” Nina agreed. “Anyone that’s making you this happy must be quite the person.”

“She is,” Brooke says softly. Vanessa is more than anything she dreamt of. From when Vanessa answered Brooke’s message about being her roommate, Brooke never thought she’d be with Vanessa, getting to cuddle with her and love her. She never even thought she’d be in love, period.

Part of her selfishly wants to keep their life and relationship secret, not let her friends meet Vanessa. But she’s known her friends for decades, and after all they’ve been through together, they deserve to meet someone Brooke loves. Maybe they can have dinner soon, though Brooke doesn’t know how she’ll ask Vanessa to invite three vampires over for dinner.

—-

It turns out the only food vampires and werewolves can agree on is pizza, and Brooke and Vanessa decide that’s their best bet for the party–better than Silky’s suggestion of rare steaks or Nina’s insistence on French delicacies, picked up from her time in Paris right after the first world war.

Vanessa sets the boxes down with a sigh, turning to Brooke and stopping in her tracks.

Brooke’s wearing red tonight. The sharp blazer and matching pants are deep and dark against her pale skin, and Vanessa’s mouth falls open.

“Thought I’d wear a little color tonight,” Brooke explains. “I picked your favorite.”

Vanessa just kisses her, because even Brooke’s pajamas are black, for crying out loud. For her to do this, she must really love Vanessa.

The doorbell rings with the first of their guests.

“Let’s do this,” Vanessa says. She remembers how panicked she’d been when she told Brooke that her friends wanted to meet her, only for Brooke to sigh in relief and say that her friends wanted to meet Vanessa too. Still, her stomach twists nervously at the thought of Brooke’s friends meeting her. One vampire is one thing, but a whole room of them judging her? That’s a lot, even though she knows Brooke wouldn’t be friends with anyone bad.

Vanessa opens the door to see Brooke’s friends, all matching the descriptions Brooke gave her: quiet Kameron with her pretty red curls, Nina as the spokesperson of the group shaking Vanessa’s hand, Priyanka announcing that the apartment smells like dog before saying she’s just kidding.

They’re barely in the door before Vanessa’s friends arrive, and then everyone stands awkwardly in the kitchen.

The questions erupt on both sides, back and forth like a tennis match.

“Does garlic really kill y’all?” Silky asks.

Nina shakes her head. “What about silver for you?”

“It burns,” A’keria answers. “Only kills us if it’s a bullet to the heart.”

Kameron nods. “Stake in the heart for us.”

“You can only change at the full moon, right?” Priyanka asks. “‘Cause I dated this girl once–”

“For the last time, she wasn’t a real werewolf, she was a furry!” Brooke yells across the kitchen.

Everyone bursts into laughter and heads into the dining room, chowing down pizza like they’re best friends.

“Well,” Brooke says to Vanessa as they join the others, “I think that went okay.”

—

They’re wrapped up in bed together after a successful dinner party, and Brooke breathes in as much of Vanessa as she can. The sweet citrus lotion on her skin and apple shampoo in her hair. The faint scent of hairspray leftover from today that Brooke’s vampire senses can just pick up. The lingering minty taste of toothpaste from their kiss earlier. They had survived dinner, and Brooke had survived the burning stares of two werewolves who’ve known Vanessa for years. Her friends had loved Vanessa too, and Brooke squeezes Vanessa a little tighter.

Vanessa’s head is on Brooke’s chest, wrapped safe inside Brooke’s arms. It’s easier to do it this way, since Brooke is taller, but Brooke can’t help but wonder if it’s weird for Vanessa to lay on her ice-cold chest and hear nothing beneath her, no signs of life thrumming from Brooke’s rib cage. And she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to lay on Vanessa’s chest, to hear her heartbeat, to feel a pulse again.

“What’s up with you?” Vanessa asks, stroking Brooke’s hair, because she always knows when Brooke is upset or lost in thought, even before they were dating.

“I just…” Brooke sighs. “Can I listen to your heartbeat?” She buries her face in the pillow, wanting it to swallow her up after such an embarrassing question.

“Of course,” Vanessa says simply, opening her arms up to Brooke.

Brooke gently lays her head on Vanessa’s chest, letting the sounds burst below her ears. Thump thump. Thump thump. Vanessa’s heart speeds up when Brooke caresses her cheek, and Brooke smiles to herself. Vanessa is real and here and human, her body filled with sounds of life Brooke hasn’t heard in her own body in nearly a century. Vanessa is here, and Brooke loves her.

“I love you,” she whispers. It’s the first time she’s said it to Vanessa, and Vanessa’s heart leap in response.

“I love you too.” The words wash over Brooke, and she thinks her heart beats for that one moment.

She nestles closer to Vanessa’s body, and they drift off together.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #kameron michaels #priyanka #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #lesbian au #supernatural au #fluff #wondrous creature #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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