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bookshelf-in-progress · 2 years

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A Day Late: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Beatrice scrambled through the rose garden, tripping over the deep gold skirts she'd worn specifically to look nice for her host. Where was Beast? He wasn't in the library, dining room, conservatory, aviary, music room, ballroom, study, parlor, billiard room, or any of the castle towers. She'd thought she'd find him brooding in a melancholy corner, awaiting her return, but she was running out of melancholy corners and beginning to get frustrated. Where could an eight-foot-tall dog-tiger-monkey man possibly hide?

The garden had changed. The usual balmy summer had become oppressively hot and humid. The roses drooped. The damp air clung to Beatrice's skin and red curls escaped her hairpins and frizzed around her face. Where were the sparkling sunshowers that kept the gardens moist? Where were the playful breezes that kept the air fresh and cool? Beatrice hadn't seen so much as a fluttering curtain to indicate the presence of an invisible servant. Everything was silent. Still. Dead.

Half-mad with anxiety, she raced down cobbled paths and across the wide lawns where she and her Beast had played so many games of croquet. Past fountains where they'd splashed each other in ferocious water battles. She trampled beds of pansies and tore holes in hedges and prayed the invisible gardener would forgive her. If Beast meant to get revenge for her delay in returning, he was doing an excellent job of it, but when--yes, when--she found him, they would have words about how a single day of waiting did not justify throwing your guest into a blind panic.

She checked every bench in the garden, navigated the entire hedge maze, and even took a raft to check the bottom of the lily pond. When she came ashore, she leapt a short hedge and found herself at the far end of the south lawn, where the lush grass gave way to rougher scrub as the palace grounds approached the surrounding woods. A creek babbled over stones, separating forest from palace, and not far from its bank, Beatrice saw a lump of tawny-striped fur covered in a familiar blue cloak.

Beatrice raced to Beast's side and found him barely conscious. His fur was dull, his eyes were glassy, and he panted in the heat. The sharp teeth sticking out of his pointed muzzle were as dry as his black nose.

Beatrice struggled to catch her breath, then gasped, "Beast! What happened?"

Beast lay curled up on his right side, legs bent to his chest like a newborn babe, while he clutched his long tail in one monkey-like hand. Softly, he said, "You broke your promise."

How could he be so maddening? "It was one extra day! I haven't seen my family in nearly two years! I thought you could manage without falling into a melancholic decline!"

Beast squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw against some internal pain. "I told you. Three days only. Or I waste away and die."

"I thought it was a metaphor! You know how dramatic you get!"

He shook his head. "Rules of this place."

Beatrice's stomach sank. Though the sun shone hot as ever, it seemed to Beatrice as though a cloud had blocked all the light. She didn't...he couldn't...

Had she killed him for one extra day at home?

She clenched her jaw to hold back tears, furious that she was even considering wasting time by crying.

Beatrice pulled off the Beast's cloak, revealing that he was clad in the loose white shirt and rough brown trousers he typically wore in the gardens. She knelt beside him and snarled, "You can tell whoever runs this place, from me, that I am sick to death of their rules." She started loosening the shirt's laces, grinding out words with each piece of the string she yanked from the bindings. "Life imprisonment because my father stole a rose. Required daily marriage proposals. No dessert unless you eat the vegetables first. And now this!" She pulled out the entire string and threw it aside in a huff. "And worst of all, you follow those rules. You call yourself a beast, but you're just a fluffy little chicken."

Beast grimaced, and sounded apologetic as he rasped, "Not like...those rules. Law...like gravity."

Oh, was he really going to lecture over semantics when he was dying? "And that one's breakable! Haven't you heard? There are men in the south who fly in balloons. You can break any rule you want if you've got enough gumption." She grasped his muzzle in her hands and turned his head so he met her eyes. "Do you understand? You are not going to die on me."

Even though he could barely hold open his eyes, a corner of his wide mouth twitched upward. Good. He had enough life in him to laugh at her. "I'll try."

"You will do more than try." She stood and looked around wildly, desperate for something that could help. Where were those servants?

"You're just overheated," she said, willing it to be true. "Nothing to do with me. You're the one who came out here covered in fur in this eternal July."

Water. She needed water. She rushed to the creek and cupped what she could in her hands. She brought it back to him and he lapped at the scant film of droplets that she managed to hold through her mad flight. It barely dampened the tip of his tongue, yet Beatrice rushed back to the creek again, again, again, not knowing what else to do and thinking that any water was better than leaving him here to fetch other tools. Knowing him, he'd die the minute she walked away.

She babbled as she worked. He couldn't die so long as she kept him distracted, right? "It was one extra day. I didn't think you'd mind. My eldest sister has a new baby. The smiling-est thing you've ever seen. Four months old. I nearly stuck her in my bag and brought her with me. I couldn't leave so soon when there were babies."

Beast lapped weakly at the water in her hands, his eyes shut, as if merely moving his tongue was exhausting.

"My father begged me to stay," she said, desperate for him to understand. "He's gotten so old since I last saw him. I was afraid he'd be dead before I got leave for another visit."

Now Beast lay dying, and all she could do was bring sips of water. There had to be a better way to help him.

Her eyes fell on the cloak and inspiration struck. She gathered it up in deep blue folds, carried it to the bank of the stream and dunked it beneath the water. She fumbled it, dripping, into a ball against her chest, then staggered back to where Beast lay and squeezed as much water as she could over his body.

That woke him up. All his limbs jolted and his eyes opened wide.

"Good," she said with triumph, mercilessly squeezing more water from the saturated cloak. "You wake up and pull yourself together."

She squeezed the last of the water onto his tongue, then carried the cloak back to the river, shouting back to him, "You're the only dog-tiger-monkey-man thing in existence, you know. If you die, you'll be responsible for the extinction of an entire race, and you don't want that on your conscience, do you?"

She dunked the cloak back in the stream, shivering from more than the cold shock of the water. I don't want it on mine.

What if this didn't work? What if he died? Would she be set free? Could she even call such a life freedom? What would her life be without his morning grumbling and his terrible jokes? Who would listen to her ramble about the books she never finished? Or try the bread recipes she burned? How could her life have any joy, without him there to ramble through the gardens with her, or trounce her at billiards, or put up new curtains in her room, or talk about...well, everything, in a way she could with no one else?

It didn't matter because he wouldn't die. She couldn't let him.

But there were things she had to tell him.

She hefted the water-soaked cloth, struggling to gather it in her arms. "You know what I decided, in that extra day at home? It wasn't home anymore. Oh, it's nice. My family's there. Good memories. But I was homesick that fourth day. For the palace. For you." She gathered a heavy fold of the cloak against her chest while another one slipped from her grasp. "It seems that I love you. And the very next time you propose, I plan to marry you."

If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Beatrice would have looked back to see Beast's reaction. After she’d refused him five-hundred and twenty-eight times, her acceptance would be a shock. It had shocked her, that night at home, to realize how much she missed the nightly proposals, and how slim her reasons for refusal were getting.

Behind her, Beast said weakly. "You'll...marry me?"

The cloak slipped from Beatrice's arms, and she cursed under her breath. "Yes, you overgrown throw rug, but first you have to live long enough to do it."

That was unfair. He deserved an explanation. She reached under the water for the cloak, but the current pulled bits of it just beyond her grasp. "You’re as much a prisoner here as I am, so I can’t blame you for that anymore. Your face is kind of endearing, now that I’m used to it. And marriage doesn’t seem so terrible now, not if it’s with you. You’re much smarter and kinder and more fun than any of the human-looking men I know. And you’re much more patient with my temper and my tongue.”

"Beatrice."

Beast's voice, filled with awe, sounded stronger. The dousing must have done him good.

She sprawled across the bank and flailed an arm beneath the water, catching a corner of the cloak. "You’re too good of a man inside to really be a beast. You said once you had human parents, didn't you?"

"Beatrice."

The cloak slipped away again. She stuck her arm in the current, almost up to the shoulder, and snapped, "Will you quit distracting me?"

At last, she snagged one edge in her left hand and continued, "Not that I mind if you naturally look like that. You can’t help the way you were born. But have you ever considered that it could be an enchantment? Maybe we could find a way to break it, after we’re married.”

"Beatrice, look at me."

Beatrice was offended at the hint of laughter in Beast's voice. Enchantment wasn't a completely ridiculous idea, not in a place like this.

"I know what you look like," she snapped. She rose to her knees and pulled the wet cloak halfway out of the water. "Doesn't mean you always looked like that. Maybe you're enchanted and just forgot about it."

A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. A human hand. A male hand.

Beatrice shrieked and pushed the hand away, scrambling backward along the bank like a crab. A tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man stood over her, grinning like a madman.

Beatrice glanced wildly around. How had he gotten here? Had he come from the forest? He looked rough enough, wearing nothing but a long white nightshirt. Someone's escaped lunatic relative? Or maybe he was the true master of this place, the one who'd made all those maddening rules.

She looked to Beast for answers--except that Beast was nowhere in sight. No sign of him save the matted grass where he'd been laying a minute ago. Beast had been weak. Vulnerable. Had this stranger finished him off? Perhaps she’d run out of time, and the rules of this place had dissolved what was left of him.

She reached further up the bank and seized a fallen branch with a thick shaft and a spray of branching twigs. Madman or mad fairy, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She hefted her weapon, pitiful as it was, with all the menace she could muster in her small form. "Stay back!"

The stranger backed away, hands held protectively before him, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. "Beatrice, don't you recognize me?"

There was something familiar in his voice, which might explain how he knew her name. Cautiously, she rose, the branch still held protectively before her, to examine him more closely. Recognition flashed like a lightning bolt. "The narcissist!"

The stranger gaped. "Excuse me?"

Beatrice examined the features. She was right. She was sure of it. She'd know those green eyes and sharp cheekbones anywhere. The clothes were different and the hair was longer, but the face was identical. "The man with all the portraits!"

How she and Beast had laughed over those portraits, which seemed to haunt every corner of the palace, far outnumbering any other faces in the artwork. The sitter could be seen wearing military dress in the foyer, riding clothes in the library, and evening dress in the ballroom. He had posed in summer, winter, and spring, and had been painted with hunting dogs in autumn. A child version of him had even posed, sulking, next to a standing globe in a portrait hung in a back hallway. She had privately dubbed the subject a narcissist–a man with so many portraits was far too in love with his own face.

Now the vast array of portraits made sense. He was the master of the castle, maker of the magical rules, come to deal with her now that Beast was...no, he wasn't dead.

She brandished the branch again. "What did you do with Beast?"

"Nothing. You--"

She whacked him with the branch. "I did not kill him!"

He pushed the twigs out of his face and backed away. "Beatrice, my love, please!"

She whacked him in the stomach for that one. "I am not your love."

"Then why," he gasped, doubled over and wheezing, "did you just agree to marry me?"

Beatrice froze. What did he mean? Had he overheard...?

She was missing something here.

She discarded her theories and looked at the evidence afresh. Beast dying. Beast missing. Portrait man here. Wearing shirt a lot like Beast's that was far too big for him. Talking, now that she thought of it, in a voice remarkably similar to her Beast’s.

She threw the branch aside. "I am the biggest idiot alive!"

The man caught his breath and stood upright, grinning ear to ear. Even his smile looked a bit like Beast's. "I'd agree," he said, in Beast's velvet, teasing tones, "except that I'm still living."

Beatrice leaped toward him, flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and mud and rotting fur. She’d never smelled anything sweeter. "I told you that you were enchanted."

Beatrice sat with her Beast on the riverbank as the sun sank toward the horizon. The enchanted high summer had given way to the mellow autumn of the outside world. A castle full of servants, now visible, roamed the grounds behind them, greeting each other with joy as they celebrated the end of the enchantment, but Beatrice had yet to move from the river’s edge. She had too much to discuss with her prince.

Her prince. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. His Royal Highness Prince Matteo Adriano Edmondo Nicolo, twelfth son of King Inocenzo of Bellarosa, had rejected a fairy’s marriage proposal, and consequently found himself cursed into the form of a beast until a woman accepted his hand in marriage.

“Was that all it took?” Beatrice exclaimed. “You could have told me sooner!”

Matteo laughed. “It wouldn’t have been much of a curse if I could have told you.”

“You could have hinted!”

“Daily marriage proposals weren’t hint enough?”

She laughed, acknowledging his point. “What a pair we make–a girl too dense to accept a prince’s proposal and a prince obnoxiously in love with his own beautiful face.”

Matteo raised one of his perfect dark brows. “Why do you insist I’m vain?”

“Your royal highness, no one needs that many portraits of himself.”

He threw his hands up in feigned distress. “I’m royal! My mother commissioned them!”

“You didn’t need to display them so ostentatiously.”

“You think I had a choice?” His manner suddenly became subdued. “The fae arranged that. Made it impossible to forget what I’d lost.”

Beatrice took his human hand in hers. “I’m sorry I delayed so long.”

He pulled her into an embrace. “I’d say you were right on time.”

Her stomach twisted with guilt. She hadn’t been on time.

She rested her head on his shoulder, still barely able to believe he was alive and well. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of his dying beastly form. “What if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked. “Would you truly have died?”

She felt the rumble of his answer in her own chest. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Under the terms of the curse, I would remain a beast until you accepted my hand in marriage, or until you left and doomed me to death.”

She looked up and gaped at him in amazement. “And yet you let me leave.”

“I wouldn’t die immediately,” Matteo said, “and I couldn’t deny you the chance for happiness. So long as you returned before three days were over, neither of us would come to harm.”

Despite the risk to himself, he had taken the chance. He had trusted her.

And she’d returned after four days.

“I nearly killed you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I still should have come back when I promised.”

He ran his thumb along her face. “Under the circumstances,” he said with a laugh. “I think I can forgive you for being a single day late.”

She put her hands and his shoulders and met his gaze straight-on. “You really are far too forgiving.”

“You saved me from my curse! I’d be worse than a beast if I refused to forgive you after that.”

He’d left her such an easy opening. She couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. “You’re worse than a beast now, your highness. You’re not nearly so lovable without the tail."

He became strangely subdued at that.

“Beatrice,” he said at last. “Do you truly wish to marry me?”

A natural question, perhaps, given her number of refusals. But she really wished he’d quit asking. "Of course I do. It broke your curse. What more proof do you need?"

He looked down, suddenly shy and earnest as a schoolboy. "Do you still wish it? You agreed to marry a beast, not a prince with too many portraits."

Beatrice laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. “How shallow do you think I am? If I agreed to marry you as a beast, I'm certainly not going to refuse you just because you have a little less fur."

His face eased. She was glad. She'd seen him in enough distress today.

Another thought struck her. "Did you mean it? Do you really wish to marry me, or did you just propose to get your pretty face back?"

Matteo threw back his head and laughed. "Beatrice, darling, I've loved you since the day you tied a knot in my tail for defeating you at billiards.”

Beatrice grinned, the last of her doubts flying away. "Then it’s settled. I'll marry you, you'll marry me, we both love each other. Does that sound right?"

Matteo pulled her in for a kiss. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

When they pulled apart, a cool wind came off of the river, and Beatrice shivered.

"I wish I had a cloak to offer you, but someone threw mine in the creek," Matteo said.

"You're terrible!" Beatrice said, but she accepted his arm and his escort back toward the palace.

As they crossed the south lawn, Beatrice said, "You know, I'll have to go back to my father's soon. Someone has to tell my family about the wedding."

Matteo nodded. "Of course. Under one condition."

She pulled away and looked up at him in exaggerated disgust. "More rules? I thought we were done with all that."

He waved a hand to dismiss her protests. "I think you'll find these conditions acceptable." He numbered his points on his fingers. "You may return if I can accompany you. And this time, you can stay as long as you like."

"That's two conditions."

"Do you object?"

Beatrice took his arm and continued walking toward the lighted palace. It was good to be home. "Not at all."

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #beauty and the beast #i finally figured out how to retell this fairy tale in a way that works for me #namely: skip over all the mystery-that's-not-really-a-mystery and just give us the ending #and make it a comedy #all my favorite beauties are the outspoken and loud ones #and beatrice came barging in an demanded that i tell this story #(and she refused to be named anything else so i'm sorry about the two very similar names)#i attempted to address some of my usual annoyances with beauty and the beast takes and with romances #not sure if i succeeded #especially since they got a bit too sappy at the end #but i couldn't figure out how to wrap this up and just kind of kept spinning off banter until i hit something semi-workable #so anyway i hope you like it #i found it fun anyway #oh by the way if you imagine thylacine beast you won't be terribly far off #tiger-dog kind of gives off that vibe but they don't know what a thylacine is #of course it's twisted with the monkey mixed in there #and there are prob some more tigery features that go beyond the coloring #i don't want to define it in too much detail i'm just sick of all beasts being some mix of bear-wolf-lion #and hope this comes off as semi-different

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killingitreservoirdogsstyle · 2 years

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Hey, it’s me, just stopping by with my Cute Freddy thoughts! I can seriously picture him and his SO setting up 4th of July decorations around their shared apartment and getting a bunch of snacks and alcohol and inviting the rest of the dogs over!

Bonus: Mr. White would definitely help with the decorating and getting everything together! And they would play cards against humanity!!!

🌸

Hi friendo! So sorry for my late reply! How have you been doing? These are seriously so cool, I love this idea! I haven't ever attended a 4th of July celebration if you can believe that, probably because I'm Canadian and our version of it is on the 1st. Oh my goodness, I can just picture the scene so well though! I have to write headcanons for this here, which I'll do, albeit short. But yes, this is a fantastic idea! I hope that's okay with you if I write your thoughts up as headcanons, please let me know if it isn't and I'll correct it!

Full credit goes to this wonderful anon with extras added on by yours truly!

FANDOM: Reservoir Dogs

GENRE: Romantic relationship, platonic friendship, and fluff headcanons!

SYNOPSIS: Freddy Newandyke and his gender neutral partner throw a great party with the ResDogs to celebrate the 4th of July!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing and drinking, but this is totally fluffy and cute!

Freddy is definitely excited to celebrate the 4th of July with you--as mundane as he thinks it is, he views it as an opportunity to have some quality time with you and the other Dogs. Thanks to multiple jobs, shifts at the station, and being too exhausted in the end, Orange hadn't been able to get that one on one time every couple needs, which he regretted. So even if it wasn't just the two of you, he was thrilled at the prospect of being able to have some time not weighed down by the ugliness of life.

He's getting ready for the big day a week beforehand, no question about that at all. You just come home from the grocery store one weekend to find him and White have busted out the decorations over a beer and K-Billy's Super Sounds of the Seventies: think streamers, colour-coordinated blues and reds, a massive American flag, the whole works, he goes big or goes home, literally. The excitement on the undercover cop's face was like a lightbulb, he was practically beaming. So you helped them out, laughing and catching up the whole time.

You invited all the Dogs over for a barbecue in the backyard of your apartment, the landlord on vacation and other tenants too busy to mind you guys out on the lawn cooking up ribs and getting drunk, so it worked out perfectly fine.

OKAY, ALL THE DOGS COME OVER IN OPEN HAWAIIAN SHIRTS AND SHORTS, YOU CAN'T TELL ME OTHERWISE. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE ON VACATION TO TAHITI OR SOMEWHERE LIKE THAT, BUT IT'S SO FUNNY. ( Imagine that though, all of them in printed summery shirts like that, somebody needs to draw this as soon as possible, XD )

Blonde comes carrying three big cases of Budweisers and vodkas, decked out in his cowboy boots and hat with a piece of grass between his teeth. Brown, bless his heart, brings his camcorder and projector so you guys can watch movies if you want. In gold chains and diamond rings, Eddie supplies the ingredients for margaritas and the ribs though he looks a little too fabulous for a barbecue. White takes along his guitar, ready to play in case of impromptu singing. And Pink, being the sarcastic God-awful shit he is, is more than happy to crack out Cards Against Humanity.

So after eating to your heart's content, getting a little too drunk and doing inebriated renditions of the American national anthem, you all sing along to some Stealer's Wheel and Bedlam before playing Cards Against Humanity and laughing your asses off like horrible people, XD.

WAIT I THOUGHT OF ANOTHER ONE! What if Orange inflated a kiddie pool for the party and pulled out water guns? CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT?! WATER-GUN WARS AND SPLASHING AROUND IN THIS WAY TOO SMALL POOL DRUNKENLY?! Holy shit, I'm freaking crying at this idea, ha ha. Eddie just steals the pool, and is like, " FUCK OFF, I'M THE KING OF THE CASTLE, BITCH!" in a slurred voice.

Anyways, the Dogs end up sleeping on your guys' floors and couch, poor Brown getting the worst lot and having to curl up in the bathtub. The next morning, they all make their way home, and you and Freddy spend a nice day together cuddling, playing video games, watching TV, and just being together.

UGH, SORRY FOR HOW BAD THESE WERE! I am drowning in my schoolwork, seriously, I have so much to catch up on but I'd much rather be writing here than doing assignments, ha ha. It looks like I might get a hiatus from my academics in August, so hopefully I can go back to writing regularly for you guys! I do promise that I have your requests drafted or ready, it's just finding time to get them out that is the issue. But anyways, have a great week everyone, and here's to what is hopefully a great summer!

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is-on-its-way · 3 months

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Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more - 3 But is was merry. Very.

Post-Episode: s06e06 How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Part of the Scully is a human Series

———

She walked outside expecting to see Mulder pulling out or already gone. Her heart fluttered when she saw him standing by his car leaning on the door. Seemingly waiting for her. She walked across the lawn to him and dropped her bags in the grass. She stepped off the curb and leaned on the car next to him, still holding the bottle of whiskey. They stood silently for a while before Mulder spoke.

“If I was a smoking man I'd be having one right about now.”

“Mulder I’m sorry.” She turned her head to look up at him.

“Don’t worry about it Scully.” He looked back at her “Its not Christmas in the Mulder household without someone screaming about repressed emotions. It was like home. You’ll have to excuse me for leaving I didn’t want to ruin the rest of your very normal family’s night.”

“Were not normal. We’re Irish. I could tell you a ton of stories just like this.” She sighed.

Mulder laughed “Well I think getting into a fight with your brother would’ve ruined the night for everyone.”

She laughed for a split second but it turned to tears. Mulder put an arm around her and squeezed her close. She wiped her tears and shook her head trying to smile.

He looked up at the stars. “You’re not responsible for Melissa’s death Scully.” He said quietly. “Krychek is, and I promise you one day, I’ll be there when he faces the consequences.”

Scully sighed and leaned into him.

“I left. Im going back with you.”

“No, you’re going to go back inside to work it out with your family.”

She pulled away and gave him a determined look. A look Mulder knew well and adored. “Mulder I’ve had enough of people telling me what I can and cant do for one night. Besides I told Bill I’m dead to him, I cant go back in there now.”

Mulder looked sheepish “I’m sorry Scully, I shouldn’t have come.”

She put a hand on his cheek. “Mulder this isn’t your fault. My brother takes after my father, he’s controlling and he thinks thats love.” She turned back to the car crossing her arms “But my dad was good-natured and cheery. Bill’s devoid of humour and has a mean streak like no other.”

Mulder played with a pebble in the road and nodded.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head.

“Drive to my place and I’ll make us some tea.” She held up the whiskey and Mulder laughed.

“We can watch a movie or I can tell you about the great Scully feud of ’83.” She didn’t want to let him alone after the things Bill had said. She didn’t want to be alone after the things Bill had said to her either.

Mulder smiled at this and looked up at the stars again.

“I rented Die Hard” She said in a sign song voice.

He smiled at this and met her eyes. “The answer was going to be yes anyway.”

“Good” She said smirking. She gathered her things, went to her car and got in.

She pulled up behind him and parked, he was leaning against his car again apple cake container on the trunk. She climbed out of her car and got all of her bags.

She walked up to him a smile on her face

He said “Beat you”

“I didn’t know we were in a race” she said playfully defensive.

He scooped up the apple cake.

“We’re always in a race” he smirked and took the bags from one side of her shoulders.

She laughed as they made their way inside.

“This is incredible” Mulder said his mouth full. “I completely renounce apple pie.”

“It's good isn’t it.” Scully smiled taking a bite of the piece in her hand.

They were sitting on her striped plush couch facing each other. Scully was cross legged, the bundt shaped cake between them a knife lying on the top. They had no plates and were eating with their hands.

“I hope your mom knows Ill be expecting one of these every Christmas.”

“Ill let her know” Scully smirked.

They washed the cake down with healthy pours of the whiskey. Mulder sipped. Scully downed hers in one. She drank whiskey like it was water, there was no trace of disgust on her face. It impressed and intrigued him.

Mulder raised his eyebrows. She shrugged back.

“What” she said

Mulder shook his head, “You’re impressive thats all. Where’d you learn to drink whiskey like that?”

“I think it started with whiskey on our gums when we were teething.”

Mulder blinked

“Cradle to grave” she said pouring another glass and setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

Mulder couldn’t help but find this version of Scully extremely attractive.

He finished his piece, put the cake on the coffee table, and put his knee up on the couch getting more comfortable.

“How was it growing up with that many cousins and siblings and aunts and uncles?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have much family growing up, I just want to know how you liked it I guess.”

“Well… it was a lot of fun. The was always someone to play with or to talk to, or someone coming over with food or games or something. I guess I never really thought about what it would be like not to have all that. Even when we moved to San Diego, there was always family coming to stay during summers, and school vacations.”

He nodded “What’s you favorite childhood memory?”

Scully thought for a moment “The summer before we moved to San Diego. We all went to a beach in Maryland as a sort of farewell. I don’t even remember where, it had cabins and barbecues. The grown ups set up hammocks and a campsite, and everyone played in the water and spent the whole week in swimsuits. We ran through the woods playing cowboys and Indians and Missy, Corinne, Connie, and I teamed up against the boys.” She smiled fondly “At the end we went out on boats and watched the 4th of July fireworks on the bay as the sun set.

“That sounds like heaven”

She nodded “A perfect summer memory. Whats you favorite childhood memory?” Scully faltered she hadn’t been thinking when she turned the question back around. Mulder hadn’t had the happy childhood she’d had, it had been marred by his sisters abduction.

Mulder saw her apprehension and said “Its okay, I do have happy memories from before Samantha was taken.” He looked off to his left, remembering. “She called me fennec when we weren’t fighting.” He smiled at the confusion on her face. “Because her favorite animal was the fennec fox, she’d seen one on some tv report about Algeria or something. She went to the library and checked out the one book they had on foxes and sent away for a poster."

Scully's eyebrows knit and she pressed her lips together in empathy. He looked at her quickly before continuing.

"We used to ride our bikes around the whole island in summer. We'd skip rocks in the ocean, and collect mussels, and sit on the bluffs and watch the sun rise. We had a tab at the local ice cream shop and we'd get some every day. She'd try every flavour by the end of every summer, but I just stuck to rocky road. I… That was when I was younger, I wasn’t so nice to her that last year, somehow she turned into my annoying little sister.” He looked down shamefaced.

Scully said "Mulder" quietly.

“I was horrible to her. I was impatient and mean.” His voice grew husky with emotion and he blinked his eyes rapidly. “The last thing I said to her was…” he shook his head, he couldn’t say it out loud. ‘Get out of my life’ he’d told her. And then she had.

“You sound like me and Charlie. You know, you remind me of Charlie sometimes. He was always getting me into some sort of trouble.” She said fondly and the edges of Mulder’s lips turned upward against his sorrow. She put her hand over his resting on the back of the couch. “Thats not mean Mulder. You sound like any two brother and sister with a bit of an age gap. You just never got the chance to grow out of it and get close again. You don’t have it in you to be truly terrible.”

Mulder looked like he was having trouble believing her. She said "I mean it. You're a good person, Mulder."

Mulder swallowed but didn't say anything. He didn't think he'd be able to if he tried. He settled for taking her hand from where it rested on his and giving her a squeeze.

Scully’s face fell slightly, pensive, then she said. “Bill liked to torture all of us, me especially. I think because he could tell I was our fathers favorite. He’d take pleasure in seeing me cry, he’d shove me to the ground any chance he got, and throw things at me." she gave a hallow laugh. "but only when we were playing in the woods, away from our parents.”

“He sounds like a great guy” Mulder said grimacing.

“I never tattled on him. I knew our dad would punish him for touching a girl. And I was one of the boys.” she said the last bit with a sarcastic smile.

Mulder squeezed her hand again.

She looked down and whispered “Do you know once I got this bunny from the yard. I spent days making friends with him, he’d hop right up to me. I called him Hops. One day it was raining and he hopped up to me soaking wet. So I bought him up to my room. Bill found out and was so enraged I had him.”

“But why?” Mulder asked enthralled.

“He… I don’t know” She looked ashamed. “He told me he’d cook him and turn him into stew and I’d seen him kill animals before, I knew he'd do it if he got the chance, so I hid him. I put him in my lunchbox and gave him water and a paper towel and I told him I’d be back to get him in a little while.”

“Oh no.” Mulder said looking stricken

She looked up at him chin quivering “Well I went back the next day. He was dead by then, suffocated.” Scully had tears streaming down her cheeks. Dripping on her collar bones.

“It had been a heat wave.” She whispered “I can still remember the smell.”

Mulder stroked her arm.

“That wasn’t your fault.” He said gently

“I guess I know that now, but I spent so many years after that praying for forgiveness. Knowing I was going to go to hell for it.” She took a deep steadying breath and shook her head “He’s always been horrible and Ive always excused it and forgiven without question. Always.” She looked at him with devastation on her face and whispered “Why did I do that?”

“He’s family." Mulder said gently. "It's hard when your family lets you down, you know what they’re supposed to be to you. Kind. Loving. A safe place to land when the world beats you up. So you see that idea of them, instead of what they actually are, because if you acknowledge the pain they cause…” He shook his head.

Scully nodded. “Yeah, thats it exactly.” She had an inkling he was speaking from personal experience.

She let go of his hand and leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She breathed a long sigh “Thank you for coming here Mulder” she said quietly

He was lost in thought. Of his parents and his childhood and his sister and Scully’s family and her childhood.

A while later he asked “Do you want to watch that movie now?”

Mulder looked down, she was asleep, mouth slightly parted. He chuckled softly. He loved this Scully. This wild out of control version of her that sometimes reared its head. She was a sight to behold when she was indignant and offended. When she let her guard down. She was normally so exquisitely controlled and sensible. He loved that about her as well.

He slid his other arm under her thighs and picked her up easily. she slept on, as he carried her to her bed. he placed her down and with trouble took her shoes off. He got her under the covers with some difficulty, pulling them out from under her. She turned over and muttered

“Don’t make the fish drink the whiskey.”

He chuckled again, they were going to be so hungover tomorrow. He returned to the living room. He was too drunk now to drive home. He flipped on the tv and played the movie. Wrapping himself up in a crocheted blanket.

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7r0773r · 1 year

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Poems by Elizabeth Bishop

The Fish

I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn't fight. He hadn't fought at all. He hung a grunting weight, battered and venerable and homely. Here and there his brown skin hung in strips like ancient wallpaper, and its pattern of darker brown was like wallpaper: shapes like full-blown roses stained and lost through age. He was speckled with barnacles, fine rosettes of lime, and infested with tiny white sea-lice, and underneath two or three rags of green weed hung down. While his gills were breathing in the terrible oxygen —the frightening gills, fresh and crisp with blood, that can cut so badly— I thought of the coarse white flesh packed in like feathers, the big bones and the little bones, the dramatic reds and blacks of his shiny entrails, and the pink swim-bladder like a big peony. I looked into his eyes which were far larger than mine but shallower, and yellowed, the irises backed and packed with tarnished tinfoil seen through the lenses of old scratched isinglass. They shifted a little, but not to return my stare. —It was more like the tipping of an object toward the light. I admired his sullen face, the mechanism of his jaw, and then I saw that from his lower lip —if you could call it a lip— grim, wet, and weaponlike, hung five old pieces of fish-line, or four and a wire leader with the swivel still attached, with all their five big hooks grown firmly in his mouth. A green line, frayed at the end where he broke it, two heavier lines, and a fine black thread still crimped from the strain and snap when it broke and he got away. Like medals with their ribbons frayed and wavering, a five-haired beard of wisdom trailing from his aching jaw. I stared and stared and victory filled up the little rented boat, from the pool of bilge where oil had spread a rainbow around the rusted engine to the bailer rusted orange, the sun-cracked thwarts, the oarlocks on their strings, the gunnels—until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.

***

A Cold Spring

for Jane Dewey, Maryland Nothing is so beautiful as spring —Hopkins

A cold spring: the violet was flawed on the lawn. For two weeks or more the trees hesitated; the little leaves waited, carefully indicating their characteristics. Finally a grave green dust settled over your big and aimless hills. One day, in a chill white blast of sunshine, on the side of one a calf was born. The mother stopped lowing and took a long time eating the after-birth, a wretched flag, but the calf got up promptly and seemed inclined to feel gay. The next day was much warmer. Greenish-white dogwood infiltrated the wood, each petal burned, apparently, by a cigarette-butt; and the blurred redbud stood beside it, motionless, but almost more like movement than any placeable color. Four deer practised leaping over your fences. The infant oak-leaves swung through the sober oak. Song-sparrows were wound up for the summer, and in the maple the complementary cardinal cracked a whip, and the sleeper awoke, stretching miles of green limbs from the south. In his cap the lilacs whitened, then one day they fell like snow. Now, in the evening, a new moon comes. The hills grow softer. Tufts of long grass show where each cow-flop lies. The bull-frogs are sounding, slack strings plucked by heavy thumbs.

Beneath the light, against your white front door, the smallest moths, like Chinese fans, flatten themselves, silver and silver-gilt over pale yellow, orange, or gray. Now, from the thick grass, the fireflies begin to rise: up, then down, then up again: lit on the ascending flight, drifting simultaneously to the same height, –exactly like the bubbles in champagne. –Later on they rise much higher. And your shadowy pastures will be able to offer these particular glowing tributes every evening now throughout the summer.

***

Insomnia

The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, but she never, never smiles) far and away beyond sleep, or perhaps she's a daytime sleeper. By the Universe deserted, she'd tell it to go to hell, and she'd find a body of water, or a mirror, on which to dwell. So wrap up care in a cobweb and drop it down the well into that world inverted where left is always right, where the shadows are really the body, where we stay awake all night, where the heavens are shallow as the sea is now deep, and you love me.

***

The Armadillo

for Robert Lowell

This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint still honored in these parts, the paper chambers flush and fill with light that comes and goes, like hearts. Once up against the sky it's hard to tell them from the stars— planets, that is—the tinted ones: Venus going down, or Mars, or the pale green one. With a wind, they flare and falter, wobble and toss; but if it's still they steer between the kite sticks of the Southern Cross, receding, dwindling, solemnly and steadily forsaking us, or, in the downdraft from a peak, suddenly turning dangerous. Last night another big one fell. It splattered like an egg of fire against the cliff behind the house. The flame ran down. We saw the pair of owls who nest there flying up and up, their whirling black-and-white stained bright pink underneath, until they shrieked up out of sight. The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down, and then a baby rabbit jumped out, short-eared, to our surprise. So soft!—a handful of intangible ash with fixed, ignited eyes. Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry! O falling fire and piercing cry and panic, and a weak mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky!

***

Sestina

September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac, laughing and talking to hide her tears. She thinks that her equinoctial tears and the rain that beats on the roof of the house were both foretold by the almanac, but only known to a grandmother. The iron kettle sings on the stove. She cuts some bread and says to the child, It's time for tea now; but the child is watching the teakettle's small hard tears dance like mad on the hot black stove, the way the rain must dance on the house. Tidying up, the old grandmother hangs up the clever almanac on its string. Birdlike, the almanac hovers half open above the child, hovers above the old grandmother and her teacup full of dark brown tears. She shivers and says she thinks the house feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove. It was to be, says the Marvel Stove. I know what I know, says the almanac. With crayons the child draws a rigid house and a winding pathway. Then the child puts in a man with buttons like tears and shows it proudly to the grandmother. But secretly, while the grandmother busies herself about the stove, the little moons fall down like tears from between the pages of the almanac into the flower bed the child has carefully placed in the front of the house. Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house.

***

In the Waiting Room

In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo to keep her dentist's appointment and sat and waited for her in the dentist's waiting room. It was winter. It got dark early. The waiting room was full of grown-up people, arctics and overcoats, lamps and magazines. My aunt was inside what seemed like a long time and while I waited I read the National Geographic (I could read) and carefully studied the photographs: the inside of a volcano, black, and full of ashes; then it was spilling over in rivulets of fire. Osa and Martin Johnson dressed in riding breeches, laced boots, and pith helmets. A dead man slung on a pole —"Long Pig," the caption said. Babies with pointed heads wound round and round with string; black, naked women with necks wound round and round with wire like the necks of light bulbs. Their breasts were horrifying. I read it right straight through. I was too shy to stop. And then I looked at the cover: the yellow margins, the date.

Suddenly, from inside, came an oh! of pain —Aunt Consuelo's voice— not very loud or long. I wasn't at all surprised; even then I knew she was a foolish, timid woman. I might have been embarrassed, but wasn't. What took me completely by surprise was that it was me: my voice, in my mouth. Without thinking at all I was my foolish aunt, I—we—were falling, falling, our eyes glued to the cover of the National Geographic, February, 1918.

I said to myself: three days and you'll be seven years old. I was saying it to stop the sensation of falling off the round, turning world. into cold, blue-black space. But I felt: you are an I, you are an Elizabeth, you are one of them. Why should you be one, too? I scarcely dared to look to see what it was I was. I gave a sidelong glance —I couldn't look any higher— at shadowy gray knees, trousers and skirts and boots and different pairs of hands lying under the lamps. I knew that nothing stranger had ever happened, that nothing stranger could ever happen.

Why should I be my aunt, or me, or anyone? What similarities— boots, hands, the family voice I felt in my throat, or even the National Geographic and those awful hanging breasts— held us all together or made us all just one? How—I didn't know any word for it—how "unlikely". . . How had I come to be here, like them, and overhear a cry of pain that could have got loud and worse but hadn't?

The waiting room was bright and too hot. It was sliding beneath a big black wave, another, and another.

Then I was back in it. The War was on. Outside, in Worcester, Massachusetts, were night and slush and cold, and it was still the fifth of February, 1918.

***

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

***

The End of March

for John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury

It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind numbed our faces on one side; disrupted the formation of a lone flight of Canada geese; and blew back the low, inaudible rollers in upright, steely mist. The sky was darker than the water —it was the color of mutton-fat jade. Along the wet sand, in rubber boots, we followed a track of big dog-prints (so big they were more like lion-prints). Then we came on lengths and lengths, endless, of wet white string, looping up to the tide-line, down to the water, over and over. Finally, they did end: a thick white snarl, man-size, awash, rising on every wave, a sodden ghost, falling back, sodden, giving up the ghost. . . . A kite string?—But no kite. I wanted to get as far as my proto-dream-house, my crypto-dream-house, that crooked box set up on pilings, shingled green, a sort of artichoke of a house, but greener (boiled with bicarbonate of soda?), protected from spring tides by a palisade of--are they railroad ties? (Many things about this place are dubious.) I'd like to retire there and do nothing, or nothing much, forever, in two bare rooms: look through binoculars, read boring books, old, long, long books, and write down useless notes, talk to myself, and, foggy days, watch the droplets slipping, heavy with light. At night, a grog à l'américaine. I'd blaze it with a kitchen match and lovely diaphanous blue flame would waver, doubled in the window. There must be a stove; there is a chimney, askew, but braced with wires, and electricity, possibly —at least, at the back another wire limply leashes the whole affair to something off behind the dunes. A light to read by—perfect! But—impossible. And that day the wind was much too cold even to get that far, and of course the house was boarded up. On the way back our faces froze on the other side. The sun came out for just a minute. For just a minute, set in their bezels of sand, the drab, damp, scattered stones were multi-colored, and all those high enough threw out long shadows, individual shadows, then pulled them in again. They could have been teasing the lion sun, except that now he was behind them —a sun who'd walked the beach the last low tide, making those big, majestic paw-prints, who perhaps had batted a kite out of the sky to play with.

***

Objects & Apparitions

for Joseph Cornell

Hexahedrons of wood and glass, scarcely bigger than a shoebox, with room in them for night and all its lights. Monuments to every moment, refuse of every moment, used: cages for infinity. Marbles, buttons, thimbles, dice, pins, stamps, and glass beads: tales of the time. Memory weaves, unweaves the echoes: in the four corners of the box shadowless ladies play at hide-and-seek. Fire buried in the mirror, water sleeping in the agate: solos of Jenny Colonne and Jenny Lind. "One has to commit a painting," said Degas, "the way one commits a crime." But you constructed boxes where things hurry away from their names. Slot machine of visions, condensation flask for conversations, hotel of crickets and constellations. Minimal, incoherent fragments the opposite of History, creator of ruins, out of your ruins you have made creations. Theater of the spirits: objects putting the laws of identity through hoops. "Grand Hotel de la Couronne": in a vial, the three of clubs and, very surprised, Thumbelina in gardens of reflection. A comb is a harp strummed by the glance of a little girl born dumb. The reflector of the inner eye scatters the spectacle: God all alone above an extinct world. The apparitions are manifest, their bodies weigh less than light, lasting as long as this phrase lasts. Joseph Cornell: inside your boxes my words became visible for a moment.

Translated from the Spanish of Octavio Paz

***

My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue. I kiss your funny face, your coffee-flavored mouth. Last night I slept with you. Today I love you so how can I bear to go (as soon I must, I know) to bed with ugly death in that cold, filthy place, to sleep there without you, without the easy breath and nightlong, limblong warmth I’ve grown accustomed to? —Nobody wants to die; tell me it is a lie! But no, I know it’s true. It’s just the common case; there’s nothing one can do. My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue early and instant blue.

Unpublished manuscript poem

#elizabeth bishop #book quotes

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martinedjohn · 1 year

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The Damned Dance at Night Part 2

PART I

TUESDAY

SEPTEMBER 1997

Chapter One: Joe’s Mixtape

How Bizarre – OMC

Joseph James regarded the pale blue sky while he ran his feet through the grass. He put his hands in the air and admired the coat of cobalt-blue polish on his nails with the paler background. They looked lovely.

It was the first day of school, but he didn’t care because he didn’t attend school; he was on his lunch break. He ate a piece of jerky and wished it were dried moose meat. It made him miss his Atsoo. She was soft and round, and she chewed tobacco and beaded moccasins. She had paid his way off the Rez.

His earbuds blasted Push It by Salt N Peppa. The drum machine hit hard, always on time, but the song pulsed with life.

He went over his plan one more time: work, save up money, leave the West Coast, fly out to New York and become a hairdresser. He planned to make the world more beautiful, one person at a time, starting with himself. The city had movie stars, musicians, artists, and professional basketball players. If everything went according to plan, he would have saved enough in a year to move out of his basement apartment and into a basement apartment in the city.

His lunch hour stretched out, and a fresh cool breeze blew across his shaved head. He clipped the one guard up the side to where his head rounded and then a two on top.

He daydreamed that he would work at the most beautiful salon and have designer clothes and shoes and a haircut other than what he’d done himself with a clipper. THE Madonna would phone, “Listen, Joseph,” she would say, “my regular hairdresser has come down with rheumatoid arthritis. I need your services. My roots are out of control, and my ends are a tragedy. Please! I need you.”

“Madonna, I’m busy,” he would say, “with Janet Jackson. I might be able to fit you in. But -- I’m so busy.”

“Name your price,” Madonna would say, “You’re the BEST.”

“A cool half million,” he would reply, “But you have to tell me the deets on Tupac and Dennis.”

“And Jean-Michel,” she would say, and Madonna would become his best friend.

He succumbed to the cushion of grass and looked up at the clouds. He picked out soft shapes and named them ‘dog-faced horse’ and ‘venomous spider monkey.’ There was a dreamlike quality to today, and it made Joseph feel beautiful.

Me against the World started playing. Pac was a poet. His anger felt real, and the third verse was incredible.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. No one was coming to save him; he had to save himself—just him against the world.

His thoughts drifted to basketball. There was a game tonight. He watched every Chicago Bulls game. He loved Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and especially Dennis Rodman. Dennis was the hardest-working player and always had the most fantastic hair (pink, purple, leopard print). Dennis had tattoos and piercings and was the first man he had ever seen in a wedding dress. He looked so beautiful in that dress.

Joseph was a solid baller himself. He was quick, wiry, and just as likely to steal the ball from you as pump-fake you into the air. He was the type of guard you wanted on your team: he could shoot the three-ball, pass into tight traffic, and be a fierce defender. More specifically, His defense was maddening to those he played against. He bodied you hard from half-court and made you pay for every step. He made your life miserable on the court. He knocked you just enough if a ref was watching, and if you were playing Rez ball, he hacked at your arms until you couldn’t hold the ball properly. He worked a lot, but he still shot around at one of the nearby schools when he had the time.

He struggled to rise from the comfortable lawn and returned to the restaurant. His manager greeted him with a cold smile that drained his confidence. It was frowned on that he’d left the restaurant to eat his lunch outside. White people: they were always watching you. He put his apron on and headed into the bustling kitchen. He was looking forward to finishing work. He had promised himself a present, the mall had a two-for-one special on piercings, and he planned on taking advantage of it.

Chapter Two: Sam’s Mixtape

Basket Case – Green Dayhttps://open.spotify.com/embed/track/6L89mwZXSOwYl76YXfX13s

1997 was the worst year, and Sam Graves had decided to end it; he was going to kill himself on Friday night. Punk and comics weren’t working as diversions anymore; all he could think about was death.

Green Day’s Dookie played on his yellow Walkman. It clicked and whirred annoyingly as it played. Its chassis was made of bright canary yellow industrial-strength plastic scarred from carelessness. He carried it with him everywhere.

Tapes were cheaper than CDs, but he wanted a Discman. All the cool kids had them, but he didn’t classify himself as cool; he felt like everyone overlooked him. He stuffed his Walkman further into the bottom of his jacket pocket, pushing his fists into the denim, hoping no one could see how poor he was.

Welcome to Paradise’s solo kicked in, and his stride quickened to the bass drum. He was halfway to school. It was the first day of his senior year, and he had just turned seventeen. He hardly remembered the party. There was a montage of cake and presents in his head, muddied by his depression.

When I Come Around started playing as he stopped to look at his High School across the street. He noticed most kids had all-new clothes, shoes, and backpacks and looked down at his outfit, feeling embarrassed. He had picked up used Levi’s that were too big for him, a second-hand Rolling Stones tongue-logo shirt and an old black jean jacket that he tie-dyed himself.

He felt poor and stupid. He didn’t want to be here. He turned up his music, put his head down and walked forward.

Chapter Three: Kim’s Mixtape

Energy Flash – Joey Bertram

Kim stopped at the fridge to grab a beer on her way out of the house. It was the first day of school after a fantastic summer. She slipped on her pink gumboots, popped the top off her Budweiser with the flick of a wrist, and bounded out the front door.

The first school day was always disappointing, and she planned on ditching. Kim walked down her driveway, taking small sips of her beer and scheming. She stopped, took a slug of beer, and admired her two-door 1986 AMC Eagle 4x4, a blocky black vehicle that resembled a tank more than a car. She drove it over everything. She took it everywhere, off-road down thin trails to beaches, over meridians in the center of the road; whatever she threw at the Eagle, it took and kept going.

Kim took her last sip of beer and poured the rest on the front lawn before entering the Eagle and firing the bottle into the backseat. She turned the engine over, felt it ‘BRRMMMM’ to life underneath her, and surveyed the road.

She barreled along the roads to the school, following Sarah’s route. Sarah was her best friend. She enjoyed walking -- said it was an excellent way to clear her chakras and invigorate her mind.

Kim liked driving. Peasants walked.

She placed her hand on the black onyx necklace Sarah had gifted her. It protected her from negative energy and made her patient and determined. She wasn’t sure about the patience piece, but she felt more determined with the necklace. She felt optimistic about her senior year.

She noticed someone walking down the sidewalk. What was his name? He strutted with his headphones on and looked rugged and handsome with tousled auburn hair and jeans worn out in the ass and knees. He looked like he never straightened his shoulders because he wanted to appear smaller. His jaw looked chiseled, but not from working out, more like from grinding his teeth together. Was his name Nick? Didn’t he use to be a soccer player or something? He was mysterious. Did he hang out with the skids or the nerds now?

She arrived at school and noticed Sarah in the gravel parking lot, chatting with one of the Goths. She drove over to her and turned up her music. The stereo flooded the parking lot with Mental Cube’s Q. She skidded to a stop, spraying gravel, and Sarah turned around with a smile. Kim jumped out, leaving the car running and the stereo blaring. Sarah’s face went bright red, but she smiled and danced along.

“Who’s this hot boy?” she said, “Too hot to stay at school today.” She ushered Sarah to her car. “We need beers and bikinis and a beach.”

Sarah pulled away, pondering the right course of action, and then piled into the passenger seat, “Okay,” she said, “but get us out of here before someone sees us.” Kim got into the driver’s seat, hit the gas, and nearly ran into ‘Nick.’

“Hey, you!” Kim shouted, “What’s your name? Nick?”

“No,” he said quietly, “My name is Sam.”

“What are you doing today?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring at his feet.

“Well, how about you hop in with some babes, and we go to the beach?” She looked at Sarah for verification, and she shrugged.

“Well, I don’t….”

She grinned at him, “Last chance.”

“Sure,” he stammered, and Sarah got out and let him climb into the back of the car. His face was flushed red from excitement.

Kim snickered to herself and hit the gas.

Chapter Four: Sam’s Mixtape

Until It Sleeps - Metallicahttps://open.spotify.com/embed/track/63aVbch5VRXtQnCITdeDTZ

Sam stood in the back of the CD store, browsing the metal section to put space between himself and his schoolmates.

“Whatcha looking at?” Kim surprised him, looking over his shoulder at the CD he held. She plunked her chin on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. Sam felt her breasts on his back, and his breath quickened. Her energy was frenetic, haphazard, chaotic, and provocative. It was hard to break away once you got sucked into her gravity field. She was incredibly charismatic.

“Metallica.”

“Oh yeah. Those guys used to be cool. Back when they had long hair. They sold out and cut it off.” Kim picked up the album Load. “I heard they mixed all their blood and semen for the cover image. You might get AIDS from the album.”

She rubbed the album on him. He backed away, and the album clattered to the floor. Kim laughed at him as he bent to pick it up, “You can’t get AIDS from just touching something,” she changed topics, “What do you want to do? We’ll buy some hot bikinis and then head to the river. We could bring a picnic. Go grab a couple of beers.”

Sam’s heart leaped into his throat. Beer? He didn’t drink.

“That sounds great,” he heard himself say, and he immediately regretted it. Sam’s heart pounded in his chest.

“And I’ve got magic mushrooms at my place that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. We should get those too.”

Sam looked down at his feet. He sighed and looked back up at Kim’s beaming face.

“It’ll be great. Trust me,” she said, “I might even let you listen to Metallica in the car.”

#cult #daemons #demons #highschool #horror #horror-thriller #horrorfiction #indigenous #lgbt #lgbtlove #supernatural #vampire #Spotify

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earlgreydream · 3 years

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the garden.

| 1940s!bucky barnes x reader | fluff | mild angst |

You walked home from work, seeing your new neighbor, Bucky Barnes, leaning against the wall of his house. His arrogant smirk appeared as you walked up the path to your door, scrunching your nose at the sight of him.

James Buchanan Barnes was irritating. The first day he’d moved in, he and his friends were loud until the early hours of the morning, drunkenly shouting along with his record player. Then, his drunk friends had walked through your garden, trampling half of your flowers and some vegetables. And he was always outside with his stupid smirk, thinking his pretty face was enough to win you over.

Bucky was also gorgeous, and the worst part was, he knew it. You’d seen him in town flirting with girls in the market, and everywhere he went. Even your friends all fought for his attention. When they’d come over, you’d sit outside on your porch and they would all wave to him and giggle. He greeted them, chattering with the blushing and giggling girls who fell at his feet. You always rolled your eyes and ignored him, unamused.

Bucky was fascinated by you, the only girl to never fall for his charm. He was charismatic and had every girl at his fingertips that he had ever wanted. He knew that the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot, and you despised his smoking habit. However, he had made it his goal to win you back over, but you had proven to be stubborn. You were a challenge, and Bucky was determined.

“Hey doll.” He greeted you as you stepped up onto your porch.

“It’s Y/N.” You scowled at him, and he said your name, winking at you.

He checked you out, admiring you in your high waisted pants and button down. You shook your head at him, going inside your house, closing the door. You put your grocery bag down and started to make dinner, when you saw Bucky on your porch. You groaned and opened your window, looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“My stove is out of gas. Could you put me up for dinner?” He gave you a boyish grin, rocking on his heels.

“Why would I do that?”

“To be neighborly,” he suggested.

“C’mon. Because I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow?” Bucky tried again.

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Y/N, the stores are closed, it’s late.”

“Fine. Get in here.” You gave in, shaking your head and shutting the window. He waltzed through the front door, looking too pleased with himself.

“Plus, I brought a gift!” He held up a bottle of rosé.

“So you can get drunk and ruin my flowers again?”

“I apologized for that. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.” You said, not convincing him or yourself.

“Where’re your glasses?” He asked, and you pulled a cabinet open, stirring your pot of pasta. He pulled down two glasses and filled them.

“Maybe I don’t drink.”

“You do, this is your favorite wine. I’ve seen you drinking it on the porch swing at least twice.” Bucky called you out.

“Oh, so you stalk me?” You accused.

“No, you just sit outside all the time.”

He lifted the glass to his lips, smiling behind the rim. You drank from your own, needing it in order to deal with him. You noticed his dog tags, resting against his skin with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He caught you staring, but he held eye contact, wanting to make you blush.

“You fight in the war?” You asked, and he shook his head.

“I will. I haven’t been deployed yet. Me and my friend Steve recruit here, but we’ll go with the next team.”

“Where will you go?”

“Germany, maybe. Or Poland.”

You hummed, thinking that Bucky didn’t seem like the military type. You supposed it was his duty though, and he didn’t want to be labeled as a draft dodger. You strained the noodles and mixed them with the sauce, serving him a plate. Bucky thanked you, taking a seat at your tablecloth.

“Hey, get down, Pepper.” You scolded your cat that jumped onto his lap. You apologized and he smiled, petting her head.

“She has no manners. Push her off,”

“She’s fine. I don’t mind.” He smiled, and your cat jumped onto the floor, prowling for dropped food. You ate quietly, ignoring his silver gaze.

“How long have you lived here?” He made conversation.

“Since I left my parents’ house when I was sixteen,”

“That’s awful young. Why?”

You didn’t answer, pouring yourself another glass of wine, and he tilted his glass for more. You emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass, earning a thank-you.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”

“I’m absolutely buying you dinner. We’ll go out, to Brooklyn.” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“Is there any way to get out of it?” You asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“You’re an amazing cook.” Bucky complimented, standing and taking your empty plates before you could.

“Thanks. I got that-”

“No, you cooked. I’ll do the dishes.” He turned on your sink and began to wash everything, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You watched him, biting back a small smile.

“I’ll just be getting out of your hair. Have a goodnight, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the door after him. You picked up your cat and held her, watching him walk across the lawn. He waved at you when he saw you watching through the window, and you shut the curtains.

You came home the next day, tired and annoyed from work. You were in a bad mood, and you just wanted to relax.

“James?” You stopped when you saw him kneeling in your yard.

“Y/N, you’re home.”

“Why the hell are you in my yard?!” You demanded, opening the gate.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. I was replanting your flowers.” He said, kneeling in your garden.

Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the rows of freshly planted daffodils, and you walked over to him slowly.

“Thank you.” You were impressed, and he leaned back on his heels.

“I’m... I can’t take you out like this. Let me change, then we can go for our dinner?” He smiled down at himself, dirt and grass staining his pants.

You nodded, hiding your smile behind your hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You shook your head, watching him go toward his house. You went inside and quickly changed your own clothes, into wide white pants and a yellow button down. You fixed your makeup, and went to meet him on the porch. You bit your lip, smiling as you opened the door to find him standing with a bouquet of daisies.

“Bucky...” You couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

“I thought you’d like them. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s working.” You whispered before putting the flowers in a vase. You walked to his car with him, and he opened the door for you, being so charming.

Bucky lived to see your smile. When he finally earned it with the flowers, warmth erupted in his chest and spread through him. He had truly felt bad about your garden and spent the whole afternoon replanting it for you. He drove you into the city, music playing softly on the radio.

“Where are we going?”

“New York pizza, Y/N,” Bucky looked proud of himself.

“That sounds amazing.” You confessed, your stomach growling. You’d missed lunch at work, and you were starving.

“Pizza is my favorite.”

“Mine too!” Bucky announced, and you giggled at that. He turned and smiled at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than it usually did.

You arrived at the pizza place, following Bucky inside. He put his hand on your lower back, and you felt the butterflies again.

“What would you like?”

“Margherita pizza. I’m a classic girl.”

“Perfect.” He ordered for the two of you, leaning against the bartop while you waited.

“We’ll take it to go.”

“We’re not eating here?” You asked, confused, and he shook his head.

“Got a better idea.” Bucky winked at you, taking the pizza box once it was done.

“Can you take this for a second, doll?” He asked, handing it to you as we stood outside. You took it from him, and he leaned into his car, pulling out a blanket before taking the pizza. He nodded for you to follow, and you walked a few blocks down to a park, where he spread the blanket. You were beaming as you sat down beside him, the glow of the street lights and the stars making him look impossibly more attractive.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” You smiled, biting into a slice of pizza. He looked pleased, and the two of you found yourselves talking until the streets were silent. You were sitting in front of him, when he leaned forward, kissing you. You kissed him back, threading your fingers into his dark hair, letting him move you onto his lap. His tongue pushed past your lips, your mouths moving in sync.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Bucky asked, surprising you. You were blushing furiously, and you almost said no, but the feeling his words gave you, made your heart race.

“Yes, James.” You pecked his lips and he grinned into the kiss.

That was how you and Bucky ended up spending most of your time together. He helped you tend to your garden, and you taught him about the plants. You were a botanist with a green thumb, and he was in awe of your tender care of your plants. Every night in the following weeks was spent with the two of you gently rocking on your porch swing, drinking coffee, listening to records, or making out. Either that, or you were listening to him read on the couch or in your bed.

You and Bucky had been together for almost two months, when he came home late from work one evening when it was nearing October. You were waiting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching for his car to roll in.

“James!” You called, and he walked up to you.

“Hey, doll.” He leaned down and kissed you sweetly. You looked up at him, and your gaze meeting with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Worry filled you, and he sat down next to you.

“I’m getting deployed. We leave in two weeks.” He breathed, and your heart fell into pieces.

“I’ll wait for you.” You said finally.

“Y/N, you could be waiting for years, or I may not make it back.”

“Don’t say that!” You cried.

“It’s the truth--”

Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and you shook your head. You climbed onto his lap and clung to him, gripping his shirt and crying into his shoulder. He rubbed your back and held you on the porch.

“I want to get married, before you go.” You said, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Doll, you can’t mean that.”

“No, I do. Marry me. Marry me and promise you’ll come back for me.” You touched his face, and he brushed tears from your cheeks.

“I will marry you, and I will fight every single day to come home to you. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you.”

For months, you and your cat waited on your porch, the cool metal dog tags resting against your sternum. A box of his letters sat on your bedside table, telling you how much he missed you, and loved you, and he wanted to come home to his beautiful wife. All of your friends thought you were mad for marrying a man you’d only dated a few months, the week before he went off to war. A star hung in your window, and every day was spent waiting. Your garden flourished, pumpkins growing as autumn approached. The nights you spent outside began to grow colder, and you waited.

When you saw him, it was like fireworks exploded inside of you. He was tired, he looked wartorn, and he was definitely more muscular. You screamed, tossing your blanket off of you, and running. You jumped over the fence, making him laugh. You threw your arms around him, and he caught you as you jumped into his arms. He held you tightly and spun you around, planting a deep kiss to your lips.

“I love you.”

You were crying as Bucky held you, overwhelmed with joy to see him. You didn’t sleep that night, or the next few.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #1940s!bucky #40s!bucky #earl grey bucky

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Note

please scenario where him and his s/o have been besties with toby since they met as proxies when they were young and when they meet up later in life they confess 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Parking Lots, and Surrounded By Your Group and His

[Ticci Toby X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: mentions of death? Nothing major though.]

[AN: I changed the prompt,,,, ever so slightly,,,????]

When the crickets sing in the grass and the breeze is warm and gentle, Toby can’t help but be reminded of a simpler time when he would spend his afternoons catching bugs and eating ice cream on the front lawn with you. He can still hear your laughter as the sun begins to slowly sink below the horizon before the fireflies begin to make their appearance.

He used to spend hours on said front lawn catching them with you, listening to you speak and interjecting with his own jokes. The two of you always had such a grand time together, even when his father would angrily call him back into the house.

Toby didn’t know what love was when he was young, but only that he had it. Every little touch you gave him, the smiles and giggles, they were all small micro expressions of some kind of love - as much love as a child could give. Toby didn’t know how much he adored you. Growing up, the two of you had grown closer and closer. He saw you blossom into a young adult alongside him. Well, he didn’t really blossom, but more so choked his way into being a young adult. And you were by his side for it all, even the hardest, darkest days.

When he lost his mother and sister, he called you in a panic, his voice rough like sandpaper and creaking like wood. He was frantic, unable to form proper sentences. You threw out your evening plans and hopped in your car, driving like a mad man over to his house, ready to console him. The air felt still, cold and slightly clammy as you drove nearer and nearer to his house.

There, on the front porch waiting for you, head in his hands and tears drenching his form was Toby, unable to process the world and everything and everyone in it. He looked so broken and downtrodden as he clutched at his clothes tighter, rocking himself and hugging what physical part of him he could.

Your heart tore into pieces as you parked, then rushed out of the vehicle to hold him. “Toby, Toby!” You called out, tears welling in your eyes as you bounded up to the distraught boy.

He furrowed his eyebrows and blinked away more tears, letting out a strained sob as he picked himself up off the rickety wooden porch, meeting you part of the way. He felt the breath leave his lungs as you crashed into his arms, burying your face into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled like a mantra into his chest, letting him hold you tighter and tighter to the point you couldn’t breathe.

Toby didn’t let you go that night.

The last time he saw you was in the parking lot of your high school. Toby had been grieving the loss of his mother and sister, becoming more and more withdrawn into himself. He’d honestly been withdrawing from you as well, and that concerned you more than anything. So, to remedy this, you took matters into your own hands and forced him to meet you in the parking lot after school.

The two of you sat down on the hood of your car, talking about the world and its wonders and the things that are better left unsaid until late, late in the night.

Toby felt so at home in your presence that he was able to block out the voices for just a little longer. He reveled in the sound of your laughter and the presence of your being. He was just… Lighter than air to be with you.

But all good things must come to an end, and unfortunately, your parents desiring you home had brought the time the two of you shared together to an end.

“I love you, Tobes, you know that right?” You murmured as you hugged him for what you didn’t know was your final time.

“O-Of course I d-d-do,” he whispered back, nose burying into your hair. “I l-love you,” he said, tears threatening to spill once more.

The two of you remained in each other’s embrace before you parted from him, and he let you go for the final time.

And Toby felt alone, oh so alone.

So alone that he burnt down the village to feel its warmth.

There’s only been like, three moments in Toby’s life when he’s been surprised. The first being meeting you as a child, the second being the loss of the two most important women of his life, and the third? Being taken into the arms of the Operator.

He’s a proxy now, does his job well, and is with a group that sometimes tolerates him. He’s in a better place than when he was a child under his father’s roof.

“We’re going to work with another group tonight,” Masky says, a slight sigh lingering on his lips.

“W-Who are they?”

“You know Wallace, don’t you?” Hoodie suddenly cuts in.

Toby nods. He likes Ruth and Nyein, the other two he can live without.

“They got a new proxy,” Masky continues. “And they want us to take them for the evening. So, I guess we’re only working with their runt,” Masky finishes more to himself than anyone else. He brushes his fingers through his hair and pats his pocket for the car keys. “C’mon, might as well head over. Gonna be a bit of a drive.”

Toby glances over his shoulder at Kate, who is watching reruns of Judge Judy and slowly nodding off. “And s-s-she gets o-off scott f-free?” He teases lightly as he stands up, pushing his chair in across the checkered floor. He cracks his neck loudly before walking over to the sofa, his gloved hand rustling Kate’s hair.

She sleepily laughs. “Have fun and be safe, boys.”

“Get some sleep,” Masky chuckles, watching as Hoodie rustles her hair just as Toby did before heading out.

Toby zoned out a bit on the car ride to wherever the meeting place was. He always tended to zone out, but he couldn’t shake some weird buzzing in the back of his head. Something about the way Masky and Hoodie are talking about Wallace’s newest runt…

He doesn’t often remember things from his life before he became a proxy. The Operator made sure of that so he wouldn’t be too heartbroken to continue his job. But he’s always been able to remember you - more or less. Little glimpses, the feelings associated, you were never easy to get rid of.

Instead of mentally traumatizing him further, the Operator allowed him to keep his thoughts and feelings associated with you. Most days, Toby’s dim love for you spurred him forward.

“Time to go meet a runt,” Hoodie says, voice only slightly amused by the way the word ‘runt’ rolls off his tongue.

Masky parks the car and then shoves the keys into his pocket, nodding that it’s okay for everyone to get out of the car.

Toby stretches briefly in his seat before sliding out of the car, taking in the crisp night air. He takes a gander at his surroundings for a moment before locking eyes on a group of people. Wallace and his group - Toby narrows his eyes at the two men before catching Ruth and Nyein. His favorite proxy that’s not part of his group and his favorite independent other than Jeff and EJ. How nice.

Masky begins to walk over to meet the other group leader with Toby and Hoodie close behind. He looks tired, which is usual for him, but happy to see that Nyein is excitedly waving. “Heard you had a runt for us?”

“Sure do,” Theo says, looking over his shoulder. “C’mon out, they’re not going to bite you.”

“What, are they scared of us?” Hoodie chuckles as he puts his hands into his pockets. He glances past Theo to see a dark shape moving in the backseat of the car.

“It’s like, their first day working with people that aren’t us,” Wallace attempts to explain. “And from what we can gather, they only entered this life because of-”

“Toby.”

The name that pours from your lips sends Toby’s head and heart spinning. “E-Excuse me?” He barely manages to choke out as you step forward, pushing aside Wallace and Theo, looking at the much taller man with stars in your eyes.

“Oh my gods, Toby, is that you?” You whisper, still walking forward to meet him like a dream.

Toby’s eyes widen as he looks at you, no, stares you down. You look so much different than when he let you go as a teen - you’re all grown up now! Some things have changed about you, but other things have stayed the same.

Both your group and Toby’s give each other confused looks as if to ask the other if they knew about this before you rush forward, face planting into Toby’s chest.

He takes in a sharp breath and embraces you, laughter bubbling up from his throat. He takes in your sweet scent and picks you up, moving you from the group as he begins to twirl you and babble on about how much he missed you.

You giggle, tears falling like drops of rain from your eyes before you feel yourself planting back down into the parking lot, your attention focused on him and no one else. Your stomach is fluttering with butterflies as you look up at the teary eyed man. “How have you been?” You ask quietly, closing your eyes as Toby leans down slightly to rest his forehead against yours.

“Never better.”

#ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby headcanon #ticci toby scenario #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta scenario #x reader #reader insert #fluff #loki fluff

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mehphoobia · 3 years

Note

Hello! Can you write a fic where Shawn and Y/n were childhood friends who always had feelings for one another but never acted on it, Shawn is a werewolf and Y/n can be any supernatural being. They're mates but before they get to learn about that, that is when they're 18 or something, Y/n leaves the town for some reason after shawn and Y/n had a little fall out and basically the story is like...she comes back to town and they fic their relationship and stuff... Its a weird request I know😭😭😭 can this possibly be a story?

Your request is my command my dear anonymous..I don't see why can't it be a story...your request is beautiful. 😊😉

DEAL

Pairing- werewolf!shawn x witch!reader

Warnings-none (i got emotional while writing it )

_____________________________🤍______________________________

You were eight when you moved to a new town. It may look like an ordinary town but it wasn't. It was an ordinary town, only full of werewolves.

Like any other kid you were excited for your first day. You got up early that day brushed your teeth, used your favorite shampoo and especially no tantrums while eating your breakfast. Your father looked wide eyed at you shoving food down your throat. Well getting you to eat was his job and he was painfully aware as to how difficult that would be. But today was different.

You looked like a happy pumpkin bouncing on the streets. Your mother couldn't help smile when your father looked at her while scrunching his nose to point how adorable you looked. Your father warned you that the school here might be different from what you had earlier. You nodded your head as he walked you to the school.

Being different was not a problem but being the only one who was different might be a tricky situation. Your entire class was full of werewolves. Naturally you attracted some attention to yourself. You felt shy when their eyes dug into your soul. But there was this one guy, all smiles. He wouldn't stop smiling at you. After some time it became contagious. You couldn't help but smile too. So you decided to sit next to him.

During the break, he turned to you with a butterfly origami and put it on your table. "Hey my name is Shawn. You are going to be my best friend. Deal?" he said as he extended the butterfly to you. You chuckled as to how hard he was trying to hide his authorative nature. "Deal, my name is Y/N." you said as you took the butterfly and looked at it.

As the years went by, you grew up to be just like Shawn. When other girls were busy gossiping about others, you were interested in basketball. Most girls would wear tight fitting dresses, comfy jeans and sweatshirts were your best-friends, and only God knows how may of them would be Shawn's. That guy loved seeing you in his T-shirts.

"Would you be there?" you asked as you looked at the night sky while the both of you laid on the grass. "Have I never?" he nudged your nose, referring to your tournament that you had the next day. "No and that's why I love you." you said with ease not knowing what it meant. He looked towards your direction and smiled a bit. The only thing that hadn't changed was his smile. He had smooth golden skin with a well built body, with curls dangling on his forehead. His golden eyes that shun in the moonlight and a jaw line so sharp it could cut through paper. He could easily be the most attractive guy you had ever seen. You weren't the only one who found him attractive though.

Girls ogled at him when walked through the halls. But he never had eyes for any of them. He should be out there socializing with people as he was going to be a part of pack elections. "You are special" he would say every time you asked him why were you the only person in school he ever hanged out with.

On the day of the tournament, you were standing inside the court as you looked for Shawn. He was there with his girlfriend, Kate who was only busy showing him off on her instagram. "All the best! pumpkin" Shawn mouthed, "Ice cream later. Deal?" you mouthed him back. he laughed and said, "Deal."

The game began with a whistle and the ball with your team members. They passed it to you and bam! shot. The crowd roared when the ball went inside the hoop. Minute after minute hoops were being scored and your team could practically smell victory. All those months of practice came down to a penalty shot. There you stood, dribbling the ball and aimed for the hoop. Before shooting you looked at Shawn who smiled at you in reassurance. The crowd was on their heels when the ball went through the hoop. Your team members had engulfed you when the whistle blew. You looked for Shawn to tell him that the ice cream would be his treat but then you saw him.

His lips were locked with Kate's. They were kissing each other so passionately as if they were always meant to be. Then it struck you, Shawn had a mate. A person who has waited all their life for Shawn and just because you liked him, you couldn't hold on to him forever. He was not meant to be yours.

You didn't realize when you sunk in the crowd and took an exit. You plunged on your bed, just staring at your ceiling. You ignored Shawn's messages and calls as you switched off your phone.

"Honey bear? All good?" your mother asked you as she took a seat next to yours. "Yeah, mom just tired" you got up sitting on your bed. "Oh come on, tell me." she enquired as she caressed your head.

"Mom--" you trailed off as she stopped you mid-sentence. "Shawn kissed a girl?" your mother asked with astonishment. "How did you know?" you questioned back, wide eyed.

"I am a witch Y/N." she said uninterestingly. You talked to your mother about the entire incident and your feelings towards Shawn. Your mother smiled and told you that maybe you should take a break.

"Take a break?" you squealed. "Y/N you are 17, you have to train how to control your powers. What if you just put a curse on someone or what if you start hearing people's thoughts? That can be very disturbing trust me." your mother explained. You were shocked but this seemed to be a perfect idea to get away from these things, to think where you stood with Shawn, to get things back to normal.

Your family helped you pack your stuff and you still hadn't talked to Shawn. You were gonna go for a year, complete you high school online and Shawn should know this but you knew you wouldn't be able to leave after you meet him. So you decided to leave just like that. You clutched your hoody, Shawn's hoody as you passed through his house. All those ice cream treats, treks, knowing each other's breakfast order by heart, all those origami pieces Shawn made for you that you had kept safely in a box under your bed they had to mean something. They meant a lot to you and you had to know if they meant to him as well.

Shawn was worried. you hadn't talked to him for three days. He decided to talk to you in school but when he saw your mother emptying your belongings in a bag, he rushed to ask her what was going on.

Before he could even begin your mother said, "You should have told her Shawn." she turned to face him. "Mrs. L/N if this is about the kiss-" "you should have told her you both are mates." she stopped Shawn while he was speaking. "Where is she?" he asked with desperation in his voice. "She left for her training. You wouldn't be seeing each other for a year" you mother explained. It was very painful for her to watch the evergreen smile which adorned Shawn's face disappear.

Although he was confident you would come back to him. After all you were mates for a reason. He dated girls in school just to stop malicious rumors about him and he didn't like how girls threw themselves in front of him. So he dated girls just for a distraction. It was going to be a hell of a year. Little did he know it was going to be even worse of you.

You practiced during the day endlessly. Spent your days in the library. But it wasn't the day that was trouble. Ever since you had left Shawn's embrace your peaceful nights were replaced by visions. Visions full of memories that weren't even yours. Memories of Shawn, how would it be to have him in your life forever. They were dreams in some sort of way but it hurt too much, imagining something to be yours when you knew that something, someone wasn't supposed to be.

A year passed away dreadfully. Every day it was Shawn in your head and half way across the town you were in his. When you saw your mother after an year, you hid yourself in her embrace. She brushed her hand through your hair, which had grown longer. Funny how the time had passed getting the feminine side of yours. What freaked you out was looked exactly like the person in your visions.

The town looked exactly the same as if you had travelled back in time. You opened the car's window to breathe in the delicate fragrance of wet grass and you sensed him. His earthy smell, his warm embrace. You breathed in the familiar smell as you stepped down the car. One year of feelings, tears that you had held back in you gave up and wet your pink tinted cheeks. You started following the smell and you knew exactly where it headed, to the lawn where Shawn and you spent your evenings together. Could you ever forget it? No because you loved him with all your heart.

Then you saw him. It was like your vision had come alive. His hair grew longer which rustled as the wind blew. The moment he caught your scent he turned to you and the next moment you were running towards him. He held you as if you would disappear the next moment if he didn't.

"Y/N I am sor--" he said and you cut him off. "Shh, Don't say anything." you whispered through your tears. you loved the man who was always there for you. All this time when you thought it was just a crush it wasn't. You were ready to tell him you lo--

"I love you" he suddenly said making you flinch. "You were going to say that weren't you?" he smiled as he brushed his hands through your hair. "How did you?" you gawked at him. He nudged your nose as he said, "You are my mate Y/N. I have known this since the moment I saw you. I have been having visions of you since. I love you and I always have and always will and nothing, no one can change that. " he whispered as he reached the end of his sentence.

He kissed you as he cupped his cheeks. The moment his lips touched yours, you closed your eyes and saw a little girl playing in Shawn's arms. Shawn saw it too and the tears that shun like diamonds flew down his cheeks. Never breaking the kiss he caressed your cheeks. That's when you knew they weren't just memories they were visions of your future together that you would share. You looked at him filled your heart with his embrace.

"You still owe me that ice cream treat." you chuckled as you coiled your arms around his waist.

"Deal" he smiled as he kissed your forehead.

_____________________________🤍______________________________

A/N: Oh what a beautiful request . You guys are so creative with your plots, it just makes me so happy. there are a lot of werewolf fics which are similar to this plot but this request bars was new in its own way. Thank you for letting me write this and i hope my dear anonymous finds this fic satisfying.

REQUESTS OPEN, so go ahead, flood my mailbox, its all your anyways.

Love yourself...you are worth it ❣❣

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mint-yooxgi · 3 years

Note

part 4 of himbo! jaehyun PLEASEE

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

***

Finally, the week of the dreaded midterm passed, and in celebration, each of the four boys wanted to take you out as a thanks for tutoring them. You reluctantly agreed, saying that there was no need for them to do anything of the sorts, but they insisted. Thus, you find yourself standing on a street corner, waiting for the first of the four to show up.

How they planned the day was that you are to meet with one of them for lunch, then do something with another one of them in the afternoon, then another afterwards, until finally the last one gets you in the evening for dinner. You don't really understand why they planned the day like this, instead of you all going out in one big group, but you're not going to complain. You're getting free meals out of this, anyways.

On the other hand, the boys wanted to make sure that you agreed to things this way. This ensures that each boy can get some alone time with you, without the others around, or more importantly, without your boyfriend interrupting them again. Though, deciding which order they would be in was a challenge on its own. That, in and of itself caused a few arguments to be had, until finally they decided on an order.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Hendery shoots you a small smile as you turn to look at him.

"Nah, it's all good," you assure him, mirroring his smile which only serves to set his heart racing in his chest. "So, where are you taking me for lunch?"

His heart nearly stops in his chest at your words. It's finally happening; his biggest fantasy of taking you out never prepared him for just how nervous he would be. Your words only make the situation that much more real.

Blinking once, he comes back to reality, "you're gonna love it."

Lunch with Hendery passes by much too quickly for his liking. He takes you to your favourite takeout place, the two of you settling on a park bench to eat and talk as you watch the birds pick at the grass of the lawn across from you. Every time he's able to make you laugh, his eyes shine, nothing but adoration and longing held within his gaze. If only he had more time.

Before either of you two know it, Sicheng appears to whisk you away for the next part of the day. The two males share a look before you depart, one which you end up missing due to your head being turned.

Hendery is tempted to follow the both of you to see where you go and what you do, but the four of them promised not to infringe on the other's dates. Not that they'd all actually follow that rule they set up, Hendery's sure. Either way, no matter how badly he wants to, you would be the most suspicious since they were so adamant about their 'gifts' being separate. So, with a slight frown on his face, Hendery watches you walk off with Sicheng.

If you're being honest with yourself, you're a little worried about this specific portion of the day. You know Sicheng isn't too much of a talker, so you're nervous about what you might say, and what he might not say. You just hope you're not the only one carrying the conversation. However, a minute into your walk, he surprises you.

"I hope you like art," he says, looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I do!" Your eyes light up. At least that answers your question about where he's taking you.

Throughout the gallery, Sicheng surprises you by how much he knows about the art you see. His voice is calm, soothing as he explains a bit about each piece, and you can't help the way you smile at him each time. You think this is the most you've ever heard him talk, and he does have a really nice voice. The blush that blooms on his face when you tell him this makes it all worth it, a giggle leaving your lips as you exit the building.

Sure enough, when you step outside, you notice Johnny leaning against one of the walls. You didn't even realize how quickly the time flew by with Sicheng, and sure enough, when you check your watch, a few hours have passed by.

As you leave with Johnny, Sicheng's only regret is that he wasn't able to spend more time with you. That, and he so desperately wanted to grab your hand in his while leading you through the exhibit, only he didn't. Oh well, there's always next time.

Walking down the street with Johnny, he makes small talk with you, asking how your day has been so far. He nearly grits his teeth as he hears how well each of the other boy's dates have gone with you so far from your own mouth. Hopefully his can live up to the others, or better yet, you enjoy his more.

"How do you feel about the arcade?" He quirks a brow at you, his heart pounding away in his chest with nerves.

"Oh my god, I haven't been in ages!" You reply, a childlike gleam of excitement in your eyes, only causing Johnny to smirk.

"Great," he grabs your hand, pulling you along with him. "Let's go."

The smile never leaves your face the whole time you play games with Johnny at the arcade. It truly is a nostalgic feeling, reliving memories from when you were younger and you would visit the arcade with your friends or your family. You even beat Johnny a few times in some of your favourite games, laughing when he pouts at loosing a racing game.

By the end of the afternoon, you both are sorting through the prizes with the amount of tickets you've won. You quirk a brow at Johnny jokingly saying he'll win you a stuffed animal, laughing at the dumbfounded expression he gives you when you tell him you think that's lame. However, your teasing stops when you see a keychain of your favourite character that would cost quite literally all of your tokens considering how rare it is. Noticing your stare, Johnny smirks.

Walking out of the arcade, you just finish fiddling with your bag and your new keychain in time to look up and see Jaehyun waiting outside for the both of you. In the back of your mind, you realize just how much these boys planned the day out, making you smile. They seem to be getting along much better than when you first started tutoring them all together.

Johnny's gaze never leaves your form as you leave with Jaehyun. A ghost of a smile rests on his lips as he sees your new keychain dangling from your bag. Now, you'll always have a piece of him with you; something to always remember him by, as well as the good time you shared together. His only hope is that there will be more.

"Busy day?" Jaehyun asks as you walk down the street.

"Yeah, but I can't complain," you smile. "It's been really great so far, I'm glad I let you guys talk me into this. Honestly, it's exactly what I need."

His heart positively flutters at your words, reading more into them than he should. Of course they're exactly what you need, and he's just glad you're finally seeing that.

Leading you to a restaurant, Jaehyun holds the door open for you. After all, he's nothing but a gentleman, so he even tucks your chair in for you. Nothing but the best for you.

Over dinner, he makes you laugh and the conversation never runs dry. To say you're having a good time, that you had a great time today, would be a tremendous understatement. Before either of you two know it, the day is over and the two of you wait outside for your Uber to show up.

"I had a really great time today, I seriously can't thank you guys enough," you tell him, and he smiles.

"It was our pleasure," he responds, though he wishes he could take all the credit at this moment in time.

"We should really hang out more," you say, and his breath nearly catches in his throat. "The five of us should do this again sometime."

He grins just as your Uber pulls up. Opening the door for you, he meets your gaze, "you have no idea how much we'd love that."

#ask #yandere jaehyun #yandere johnny #yandere hendery #yandere sicheng #yandere winwin #yandere wayv #yandere nct #nct drabble #wayv drabble #drabbles #god this is long #lmaoo #whoops

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 5

Lazy Mornings: A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1696

Warnings: smut (MF, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself. When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 5

There was something a little magical about the way the sun crept through the curtains as Steve slowly woke. It fell in a clear beam over the bed, and dust motes floated in it, glowing brightly like they were alive and filled with their own kind of magic. From the beam the light diffused through the room, blanketing in a soft white haze that made everything seem like it was wrapped in cloud.

Steve had slept well. Better than he could ever remember sleeping before. It was the good, deep, restful sleep that most people just long for. There was no urgency to waking either, so he did it gradually, appreciating the scent of coffee, linen, and fresh-cut grass, along with the warmth of your body pressed against him.

You slept so close to him - practically buried into his side. Sleeping with another person usually brought with it some minor discomforts that were a trade-off to the intimacy of sharing such a space with another person. Hair that got in your mouth. Awkward arm placements. Overheating from the shared body temperature. Accidentally getting kicked in rather tender areas.

There was none of that with you. The bed which would normally be too soft for him to be truly comfortable was somehow perfect. The air temperature was cool, but the bed was perfectly warm in that way that made it hard to leave. The way you tucked in against him felt like the two of you were made for each other. Like two pieces of a puzzle, or Lego bricks.

You made a soft sound and your arms tightened around him. “Good morning,” you mumbled, in a sleep-heavy voice. “Will you stay?”

Steve hummed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “Mm-hmm.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was agreeing to. Now? Forever? He didn’t know, but either way that answer felt right.

You hummed and nuzzled at his neck, kissing his throat and gently grazing your teeth over his skin. “Good,” you whispered. “I have plans.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, smiling a lazy smile. You looked ethereal in the soft morning light. You returned his gaze and reached up and ran your finger along his jaw so that his morning stubble scratched over your fingertips. For a moment that’s all either of you did - just lay there gazing at each other - and then he broke. He leaned in and kissed you deeply. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself tightly against him. There was a slowness to your movements that seemed to translate to a deeper intimacy. There was no rush. No desperate need. The two of you took your time to just kiss and caress each other’s skin. He ran his hands over you as you raked your fingers through his hair. Your hips moved slowly against him so your cunt rubbed against his morning erection.

The pressure of your body against his, the warmth that radiated from your skin, and the way his body buzzed under your fingers, made that lazy, cozy feeling start to blend into his desire and need.

He kissed your throat and massaged your ass as he slowly rutted against you. Your fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock. He hummed and when the head of his cock caught on your entrance, he pushed, slowly sinking into the warm passage. The movement was met, not with a moan, but a soft contented sigh.

He rolled so he was on top of you and the two of you began to move together. He rolled his hips penetrating you deeply, taking his time to feel every ridge and contour of your internal walls. You counter, arching your back and rocking under him and clenching around him. The kissing was a constant tender caress. Lips against lips and necks, collarbones, and chest. It added to that soft buzz inside him, and the world became fuzzy and far off as the two of you made love.

“You feel so good, Steve,” you hummed against his throat.

He moaned in response and brought his lips to yours. You nudged him and he rolled over so you were straddling him. You broke the kiss and sat up, closing your eyes and letting your head loll back as you twisted and circled your hips while staying seated on his cock. He watched you, mesmerized by the way your body moved as you rode him. He ran his hands over your breasts and down your sides, letting one settle on your hip and the other over your pussy, working your clit with his thumb. You moaned and moved a little faster, your lips parted in silent pleasure. Your cunt began to clench and flutter and with a deep moan, you came, your body seizing up. Steve grabbed your hips and began to thrust up into you, chasing his own release. When it came, it was like his orgasm washed through him like a wave, he closed his eyes and groaned as his muscles clenched and he spilled inside you.

You stayed sitting on top of him for a moment, just letting yourself relax and come down from your orgasm high. As your breathing returned to normal, you climbed off him. “I’m going to make breakfast,” you said, grabbing your robe and sliding it on.

Steve stretched and watched you leave the room as he debated what to do. He hadn’t ever had breakfast in bed, and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t comfortable right where it was.

His need to be up and participating in the world ended up winning out, and he dragged himself out of bed. He tried to keep in the spirit of the lazy morning though. He used the bathroom and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt before coming out to find you. The kitchen smelled of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and you stood at the stove singing to yourself. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Really giving yourself to it, huh?” You asked. “I can feel it. Makes me feel a little more real.”

“If that’s all it takes for you to feel that way, I’ll have to do this more often,” Steve said.

You laughed and turned, kissing his cheek. “If you really want to spoil yourself, the paper should be on the doorstep.”

Steve let you go and went to the door. Sitting on your welcome mat in the hall was a copy of the New York Times. He picked it up feeling a little bewildered. Since waking up from the ice he’d seen newspapers being sold, but he’d never known anyone who bought them. He’d been dropped into a world of leading-edge technology where the new was delivered digitally in an instant. It was all tablets and holographic screens in his world now. Having an actual honest-to-god newspaper felt a little like he was stepping back in time.

He took it to the reading nook you had by the window and reclined back on the window bench, pulling the plush blanket you had sitting there over his legs and unfolding the paper.

It was strange how strong the scent of fresh-cut grass was, even though he wasn’t sure he could smell it as much as he formed the idea of it in his head just from being around you. If he looked down through the window, it was just another busy New York street below him. You lived across from Central Park though, and looking right ahead he had views of trees and grass he could sink into the illusion of a Sunday in the suburbs with neighbors mowing their lawn while he took his time to read the paper.

“Don’t you look comfortable here,” you said, bringing over a tray. Sitting on it was a plate filled with pancakes, eggs, and bacon, a mug of hot coffee, and a glass of orange juice. He shifted a little and took the tray, placing it over his lap, and you took a seat in the wingback chair beside him.

“You’re spoiling me,” Steve said, picking up his coffee and breathing in the aroma. “You’re not eating?”

“When I have someone who’s really giving themselves over to what I have to offer, I don’t actually need to eat,” you replied.

Steve surveyed you, raising his eyebrow. “Thor always needs to eat.”

You laughed. “Thor and I are slightly different entities. And I don’t pretend to understand it. I am feeling it very strongly from you right now though because this is not something you let yourself do very often. It’s nourishing.”

“For us both,” Steve said and started to eat. He took his time to savor it all. It wasn’t the best food he’d ever had, but it seemed to hit the spot exactly. The coffee was hot and brewed just how he liked it, bitter but not burned. The eggs were sunny side up but the white had cooked through while the yolk was still runny. The bacon was salty and crispy and mixed with the maple syrup on the pancakes perfectly.

“Do you think we can actually work long term?” Steve asked as he ate. “We seem to need such different things. And what would happen if I stopped fighting and just retried? Would that affect how this worked for you?”

You shrugged. “To answer your second question first; no it wouldn’t. Eventually, you’d stop appreciating the lie-ins and it’s really in the desire and appreciation of them that gives me my power,” you said. “As for the first, I couldn’t say. No one knows what the future brings or how long people can stay compatible. It’s working now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Steve agreed, and sipped on his coffee thoughtfully. Maybe he needed this. A reason to balance his life so he took something for himself once in a while. Maybe appreciating the quiet moments more would help him get through the chaos of his everyday life. Maybe his friends had been right, it was time for him to get a life too.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #small gods #lazy mornings

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hansols-yoda-boxers · 3 years

Text

Camp North Star - September 1st

Reader x Jeon Wonwoo

Word Count: 1239

Wonwoo hadn’t returned when you woke up that morning. You knew then that he must have spent the night somewhere else and that made your stomach churn. You were pretty sure he had only been fooling around with you and if Yanan was right that he had lied about having a crush then he probably wasn’t pursuing anyone else.

As you went about your morning, washing up and eating breakfast you pondered it while also trying to think of where he could be. You didn’t know why he would lie about who he liked. If he liked you he could have just said he didn’t want to say, right? Or he would have just said it was you? But what other reason would he have for lying?

It was eating at you now. People kept saying you two liked each other, or at least seemed like it. He was really sweet to you before. But then it all changed when he told you he liked Yoohyeon. Did you put distance between you two or did he? Did it matter at this point?

What if you had missed your chance? What if his feelings for you were gone right when you’d figured yours out? That didn’t seem fair but was anything fair in a cosmic sense? It could have just been tied to sex. Maybe he liked having sex with you and he thought he had feelings. Then his feelings would be gone now, wouldn’t they? But then, they wouldn’t have been actual romantic feelings to begin with? Just lust and trying to keep getting in your pants.

You couldn’t quiet your brain through your morning routine or after when you went back to the cabin. Still no Wonwoo and you were welling up with things to say to him. You tried to think of where he could be and started your search.

The studio was a good place to start. Though you knew Jihoon was likely finished much of what he had to do to pack up, he still spent a lot of time working with the equipment until the last day, taking the extra free time to work on his own music. It was a good place to start at least.

The building was very quiet when you entered. The lights in the hallway were off and that didn’t bode well for your theory. He had to be somewhere around camp. Would he have taken himself on a hike? He didn’t usually do that. Maybe he was hanging out with a different friend. He had more now because you forced him to be social. Tracking them all down would be a nightmare. This would have been much easier when he was a total hermit.

It was dark behind the studio door and even as you knocked you knew no one was there. Your brain ran through a list of places. You still didn’t know where he was last night but you weren’t 100% done with things at the canoe cabin. A few things needed packing away in mouse proof boxes and whatnot. Maybe he went to get that work done?

It was worth a shot.

The dew on the long grass wet your ankles as you walked towards the lake. Were this any other morning you might have enjoyed the way the birds were twittering, that it wasn’t swelteringly hot, or the beautiful, clear sky. But you had a mission at the moment and you were determined to see it through. So the beauty of the world didn’t quite register in your already busy mind.

Your brow furrowed as you spotted a tent near the canoe buildings. That was strange. Who would sleep out here? Was that where Wonwoo was? Why? You couldn’t fathom a reason unless he wanted to get away from something in the cabin.

You didn’t want to think about what that might be. You didn’t know what you would do if he truly decided he’d had enough of waiting for you to sort yourself out. You had finally pieced it together. The more the thoughts twisted your gut the faster you moved until you were running across the lawn.

You burst through the door to the cabin, making Wonwoo jump and drop the paddle in his hands.

“Geez, why did you-”

“I love you.” You said breathlessly, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Wonwoo’s mouth fell open as he tried to process your words, staring at you in shock. He was at a loss for words when you started to find so many.

“I didn’t- It didn’t click until last night. Every time I have sex I start thinking about you. No matter who it is, my mind is reminded of how you touched me, how it felt with you. I think about you so much. And I think about us. And I thought I just missed what we had and how sweet you were and how nice being with you was and then I said your name. I was with someone else and I said your name and I realized th-that I’m in love with you. And I want you. And I wanted to tell you but you weren’t there in the cabin and I’ve been looking for you all morning and now you’re here. And I found you. And I love you.”

You were out of breath from the running and the rambling and Wonwoo was still in shock. You started to worry it was too much. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned about having sex? He knew that you did though, even if he didn’t know the details. Either way his lack of reaction was stressing you out.

“Wonwoo,” you said gently, taking a few steps into the cabin. “Please say something, anything. It can be a rejection. I can take it, just… please…”

Wonwoo stared at you for another moment before suddenly closing the distance between the two of you. You gasped as you wrapped you in a tight hug, squeezing you against himself as if he never wanted to let go.

“Do you mean that?” He asked quietly.

“Of course,” you said.

He pressed his face against you, nuzzled into you. “I love you, too.”

You held onto him tightly, feeling like the world was righting itself after so much offset. This was what you’d been wanting. This was what you’d been craving. You just didn’t want to let yourself see it.

“I was worried I was too late,” you mumbled.

“You were worried?!” Wonwoo pulled back to look at you. “I’m the one who messed it up. I shouldn’t- I thought telling you I liked someone else would be easier. I thought it would keep things simpler but they got messy anyway.”

“No,” You cupped his cheeks with your hands. “I should have realized it when I felt so upset hearing you say that. It should have clicked that I had feelings for you then.”

“Do you think you would have been ready for them?”

You giggled. “Probably not.”

Wonwoo dropped his gaze a little, his voice getting quieter. “Do you think you are now?”

You leaned in, surprising him with a sweet kiss that made your own heart burst, his arms wrapping around you protectively, warmly. You dug your fingers into his shirt, holding him like he was everything you needed.

“Yes,” you murmured, resting the tip of your nose against his. “I am.”

#f i n a l l y #also i will explain where wonu was #it just didnt fit in the flow of this convo #camp north star au #cns au #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo imagines #only 4 things left #and only 2 spin offs and the main story to finish

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ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime · 3 years

Text

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 3

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 3: Memory

"Mother."

"What is it, Suzu?"

When I called, my mother turned around and replied.

Eleven years ago. The house was still new. There was no garage yet, and potted flowers were lined up all over the garden. "Do not cut my hair."

I told her that and ran down the slope in front of my house. Mom walked down the stairs opposite her, resting her hand on her waist and waiting. I ran away in the opposite direction, bouncing, saying that I would never let my hair be cut. But I was taken back without a hitch. She was seated on a bench in the garden and dressed in a haircut cape. “I’m going to make you look cute, Suzu.” After cutting my hair, I don't like the tingling of my hair. She shook her legs and sharpened her lips. But when she held the scissors without hesitation, she cut my hair all at once. "Because you’re going to be an elementary school student," I hope the hair on both sides doesn't stick to my shoulders. The bangs were far above the eyebrows. Even when I went to school, my neck was tingling for a while.

I played a lot with my mother. I took a sumo wrestling on the lawn of the riverbed in the evening. I pushed her by force and my mother rolled on the grass. I won, I laughed happily. Mother also laughed. I asked why? Won’t she cry if she loses? Mom shook her head. “I'm glad that the weak Suzu has become stronger.” Dad was laughing while lying on the grass. My mother often made salted seared meat. She lightly sprinkles salt and roasts the bonito stabbed on a gold skewer from her lenticel over an open flame on the stove. I was staring from the top of the chair. Since the fat drips, the microwave oven will not get dirty if you bake it while sucking it with cooking paper. When it gets burnt, dip it in ice water to cool it, and then drain it. It was a style. So as a kid, I had a hard time holding a thick piece of salted meat with chopsticks, and I had a hard time putting it in my mouth. Mom was waiting for dad's return, holding a mug and watching my struggle.

My dad was a salaryman at that time, and he wore a tie and went out to the city every day. Perhaps because of that, we had some money in our house in the old days. Mother bought a state-of-the-art smartphone at the time. I decided to try out the performance of the on-board camera, and on dad's lap, I pointed my smartphone at my mom. I asked dad to help put mom in the frame and pressed the shutter. She is dressed in white.

The smiling mother, she was beautiful. The photo of her was printed on paper and is still at the house. I was a cheerful child running around, unlike now. I definitely liked playing outside rather than inside the house. If there were trees, I climbed, if there were leaves, I tore them, and if there were insects, I chased them. But it didn't burn in the sun. I must have been such a constitution. Instead, my face is freckled.

I was often injured. My knee was also full of scratches. In the woods, on the riverbed, on the slope in front of my house, I often stumbled and fell. My mother ran up in a hurry and she hugged me tightly, crying in pain. Mysteriously, it hurts somewhere. That's when I was happy. I don't know how many times I fell because I ran around vigorously and wanted mother to hug me. Every time mother rushed in as if it was a big deal for her daughter and worried. Every day was like summer vacation. I clung to mother doing the laundry and cleaning and played. After lunch, she opened the tatami mat, laid a summer futon on the tatami mats, and we took a nap together. The smoke of the mosquito coil was rising slowly. When I woke up, most of the time, I couldn't see my mother sleeping next to me, and she was busy doing housework. In retrospect, she never been told me that she is busy. She was always with me when I asked for it. Since my house was in the mountains, I rarely went out to eat somewhere, and instead my mother cooked any kind of food. One day she saw it in a picture book, and she said she wanted to eat yakitori. She had never eaten it before. My mother made yakitori by sticking chicken on skewers one by one. For the first time in my life, I saw yakitori with the naked eye. I didn't know how to eat it, so I couldn't do well by chewing the meat and removing it from the skewers. Dad and mom were staring at me. Never missing what her daughter experiences for the first time in her life. The place where we, who live in the mountains, go out to play is not an amusement park or a shopping mall, but a campsite further in the mountains from our house.

On a sunny summer day, my mom and I wore a wide-brimmed hat and crossed the subsidence bridge. Dad was carrying a lot of camping equipment. The water crystal pool in the depths of the Yasui Valley was a breathtaking blue color even for us living in the area. The water is so transparent that you can clearly see your shadow on the bottom of the river. I feel a little scared as if I were floating in the air. My mother was an advanced swimmer. She boasted that her mother, who was once a local kid, swam like a kappa every day in the summer. She knew all about the fun of the river. At the same time, she never let her swim in dangerous places on dangerous days. Mom wraps around me, floating. She dived into the water to show her off her skills. Still picked up by her, I became anxious and called out. “Mom, don't go.” But mom, she swam in the blue water, as if she couldn't hear me.

One evening, I was playing with my mother's smartphone and saw a strange app. I put it on. When you launch the app, you'll see white and black horizontal stripes lined up. I pointed to what this was and asked my dad who was next to me. Dad looked it and twisted his neck, calling mother, who was preparing dinner. After dinner, mother's hand fixed the smartphone I was holding vertically. I laid it down and found it to be a piano keyboard. As prompted, I pressed one of the keys. There was a "do" sound. I looked at my mother's face. My mother also saw my face, saying that she had come out. It's mom’s music production app. Only then did I look around my mother's room and notice. Old records, cassette tapes, and CDs are lined up on the shelves to the end. And if you set them on a record player or cassette deck and pass them through an amplifier, music will be played from the left and right speakers. The collection was a brilliant one that accurately captured the main points of the history of classical, jazz and rock. I didn’t know at the time, the value and meaning of such a lineup being packed in a room at the end of the world.

In that room, I pressed the keys of the app one after another and recorded. When played, each sound sounds in the order in which they are arranged. Even if you enter an insane scale, it will play back in a lawful manner. I was so happy that I bounced on my chair. My mother was laughing too. Warm incandescent light was illuminating us. After that, I was crazy about this app. I had my mother lend me a smartphone and I was playing around with it day, night and morning. The operation was intuitive and easy to use. There were words that I couldn’t read because it wasn’t a children's app. And there were many functions I didn't understand. But I was absorbed in that kind of thing. I was completely absorbed in the exciting new experience of writing songs. I composed a number of songs and previewed them in front of my mother. The mother who finished listening gave me advice in short words each time. If you do xxx, it will be better, or the trick is to do xxx. She sometimes took out some of the records in the collection and listened to them for reference. My mother is neither a musician nor a composer.

I think each piece of advice is accurate even if I look back on it now. Over and over again, she listened to my melody, and she said she noticed something, and she sang herself to make sure it was. When I asked, she said it wasn't bad. She said she was smirking at me as she said. I put the sound in a place that I wouldn't normally put it. I'm sure this song was a failure, and all the work I've done so far will be ruined. But as it gradually takes shape, it seems strangely cohesive, she said. I felt as happy as I wanted to. I'm sure it's my parents' favor, but even if my mother added, I was happy. For me, I'm not making it with the intention of letting someone else listen to it. It would have been nice if only my mother could listen to it. My mother sings along with the song I typed in. Take the tempo with her right hand and sing gently. The voice of mother, who was also a member of the chorus made by her friends, echoed and was transparent.

She listened to my weird songs many times. I was happy and sang along with it. Anyway, it’s a song that is as nice as my mother.

I couldn't. Happy memories of me and mother suddenly end here. And that August has come. After this, all I have is a painful, painful memory. The voice of a little girl crying and crying echoed in the riverbank. A girl was left alone on a sandbar. Is she 4 or 5 years old? She looked smaller than I was. It was so sunny just a while ago, but I noticed it wasn't a blue sky, and it was covered with overcast clouds. The beautiful and calm river was cloudy, flooded, driftwood-filled, and surprisingly fast. I can imagine that it is raining heavily upstream. Before this happened, there were people happily making noise on the opposite bank when the flow was still transparent. They are now staring at the girl on this shore. She wore colorful outdoor clothing that made it easy to see that she probably came from the city, not a local. The girls' clothes were also bright colors that I had never seen. Why did people from the city overlook the girls' flashy colored clothes? Why did she forget her existence and she came back to this shore? What to do with friends, their families, and those who enjoyed fishing and canoeing on the riverbanks.

It seemed that she couldn't do anything, and she had no choice but to stand and look like a stick. It's no wonder you're standing. The violent flow of the river separated the girl from the people. Everyone realized that it couldn't be helped. One of the adults was talking to someone on his cell phone. However, everyone can see that where the girl is, is gradually narrowing. Everyone is aware that it is very unlikely that the rescue team will arrive in time. Therefore, I have no choice but to stand up without being able to do anything. Is it just listening to the girl's crying as it is? At that time, someone picked up the red life jacket beside the canoe.

I went forward while staring at the girl. She was a mother. Mommy, and I hurriedly clung to the hem of her mother's clothes. She realized that what her mother was trying to do was too dangerous. She wouldn't have been anxious. She screamed and pulled hard, trying not to let her go. Mom crouched down and squeezed my hand, and she told me something. At that time I can't remember what mother said. Maybe I was screaming and not ready to hear the words. Mom stood up to shake off my chasing and ran, locking the buckle on her life jacket. I fell down on a stone in the riverbank trying to chase her. Still, I got up and shouted at mother's back. Don't go. I think mom didn’t hear my words. While checking the girl's whereabouts, I went around the river, went into the water, and got in the stream to help. It started to rain.

How long has it passed since then? Suddenly the surroundings became noisy. The girl was rescued from the river. Adults are pulling the soaked and tired girl out of the river. I was staring at while getting wet in the rain. People running up. A mixture of joyful voices and crying voices. Are you okay? Open your eyes. I'm glad I was saved ... The girl was wearing the same red life jacket that her mother wore. At that moment, I understood at once what was happening. Mom isn’t here.

"Mother ..... Mother .....!"

I looked left and right, searching for her.

Not anywhere.

"Mother ...!"

In the distance, I heard an ambulance siren. The girl was wrapped in a blanket.

Carried by many adults, she leaves the riverbank. Everyone is crazy about it and realizes that my mom isn't there.

She isn't.

"Mom!" Only I raised my voice and kept calling. Many times. Many times. Many times. I don't remember much after that. When I heard that my mother was found all the way down the river, it seemed like a lie. It wasn't long before I realized that the mug that mother was using was missing. Dad put a picture of mother, which he took someday, in a picture frame and put it in a corner of the kitchen. He had to add flowers every day next to it. Neighbors bothered to talk to me every time I met them on the road, listened to me in a friendly way, and encouraged me with tears. Meanwhile, the Internet was flooded with anonymous posts about the accident.

"It's a suicide act to jump into a river flooded by rain"

"It seems that she was confident in swimming, but it's different from the pool."

《It is irresponsible for my child to help someone else's child and die》

《If there is an accident, playing in the river will be a nuisance and annoying》

《Because helping people is a good person, this is what happens》

The person who wrote it probably didn't know anything about the actual situation, and the day after he wrote it, he probably forgot what he wrote. However, the person who wrote it keeps sticking in my chest forever. Immediately after the accident, an acquaintance told me with resentment that it was terrible when I saw this. In front of these words, I was too young to understand all the meanings. However, as I grew up and became able to understand the meaning of the words accurately, I continued to suffer from the unconscious malice contained in them. Losing mother.

How should I pass on these writings as a bereaved family, even though I still can't accept them, as if the mother who helped me was all bad?

Aside from me, my mother just smiled in the picture frame in the kitchen. From that accident, I think something has changed decisively from what I used to be. One evening, in mother's room, where dust began to build up, I stood on her chair, hoping to return to her happy memories. And I sang the song I sang with mother. But when I started singing, I realized I couldn't sing at all. My voice became stuck in the back of my throat and couldn't get out of my mouth. I was confused. Something in my heart was suppressing me from singing. Why can't I sing? Tears came out.

Hey mom. Why can't I sing?

It was clear that the reason why singing was so fun and necessary was because my mother listened to it.

However, just because you can't sing... You don't have to worry about anything. Even if you can't sing, no one will blame you. Life just goes on. I went to a local junior high school. The jumper skirt uniform was stuffy. Many of the elementary school classmates went to the town as they went on to school, and there were not half of the students remaining in the local area, so even in junior high school, it became a compound class. Therefore, the chorus practice was accompanied by the vice-principal teacher, and it was decided to sing in all grades. There were three people in all grades. Because there were only three people, I quickly realized that I was just lip-synching without singing. I was asked why I didn't sing, but I didn't say anything. I thought they would get angry, but they didn't get angry. It means that only I can visit from the next practice.

I sat alone in a corner of the music class and watched everyone practice. I may have looked like a lethargic girl who was just silent. But inside that, there are things that can't be translated into words.

I think it was swirling. When I left school and returned home, I irresistibly entered mother's room in the twilight. The twilight light was shining through the window. Cardboard boxes containing tableware and seasonal home appliances that are no longer in use are piled up on the table. It was completely turned into a storeroom. It's been many years since then. It has passed. I listened to the large number of records there, one by one from the edge of the shelf. Days, days, days. By listening earnestly, I managed to calm my rough feelings. But one day, there was a moment when I thought I couldn't bear it anymore. Upon returning, I entered my mother's room, sat down in front of the keyboard, quickly opened the report sheet, and began to write fiercely with a pen to spit out the incomprehensible feelings in my chest. I was almost suffocating if I didn't spit it out. I turned over the paper and continued to write forever. -Why did mother leave me in the river? Why did she choose to help the child who she didn't even know her name rather than live with me? Why am I alone? Why, why, why – I added paper, supplemented with post-it notes, and wrote long, long lyrics. The scale that springs up is notated long and long. Those that were neither were spit out as pictures. It was a swirl of many kinds. It was like a whirlpool floating on the surface, like a black hole that swallowed everything, and like a hole in the top of my head. The floor of the room was filled with pieces of paper with a mixture of lyrics, pictures and sheet music. But suddenly..... I returned to myself and stopped writing. Right now, I've noticed the worthlessness, meaninglessness, ugliness, and helplessness of the words, pictures, and scales I wrote.

What are you doing? I broke the paper. Everything I've written so far.

I threw it in the trash can without hesitation. The bundle of paper looked like a vomit that I had just spit out. Then I became a high school student.

I finally found myself worthless. The uniform tie was stuffy. I crossed the subsidence bridge while looking down and went to school. I took an exam and passed the exam at a junior and senior high school in the center of the city, and transferred from high school. There, I met my childhood friend Shinobu-kun again.

"Shizu.."

"Shinobu-kun ..."

Now that I was in high school, Shinobu-kun looked tall and shining, all different. On the other hand, I didn't seem to have grown at all since then, and I was irresistibly embarrassed and couldn't even talk. What have I been doing so far? I started a new life going to the city from the mountains, but I couldn't get into studying. Even though I had a hard time taking the exam, I just looked out the window during class. Knowing that this shouldn't be the case. Club activities didn't go anywhere. There were very few such students. On the way home, you can see the students devoting themselves to club activities. The track and field club is jumping the training hurdle in a line in the courtyard. The volleyball club is running on the ground. A percussionist in the brass band with a metronome in his ear is striking a stick in the hallway. The Naginata club sits upright in the martial arts hall with a good posture, and thank you for your cooperation, saying before the practice. The first-year students of the baseball club, who have not yet been numbered, stand side by side and watch as if they are digging into the practice of their seniors. I didn't belong anywhere, so I left school quickly. It was already winter. There is a river called Kagami River that flows from east to west in the center of the city. Since the flow is often gentle, the TV tower and buildings on the opposite bank are reflected like a mirror. When I returned to the station through the road beside it, the girls of the light music club carrying the "Chahahaha" musical instrument case overtook me with a light step while laughing. A cute cat-shaped stuffed animal attached to the school bag is shaking. Attached to my school bag was a cheesy plastic plate of "Gutto Koremaru". "Gutto Koremaru" is an egg-shaped character who can poke his hand against the wall and endure the pain. I have a crack in my head, probably because I endured it too much. Of course, it's not cute.

In a dark and narrow corridor.

I resisted, "I can't do it! Hey!", But I was pulled into the room, saying "OK." The soundproof door slammed behind me. Shinboku "Ah!" There was a flashy room in a karaoke box, and the pink and purple lights were spinning mysteriously. It smells of incense. Only for girls in the class.

I heard that it was a social gathering, but when I saw the frenzy of the girls standing on the sofa and shaking their heads, I thought that I could not get into this tension very much.

"Peggie Sue is cute"

"This is the one that is popular in" U ", isn't it?" On the monitor screen on the wall, the popular Az of "U", Peggy Sue, was seen singing in a black rubber dress. Purple lipstick that shakes silver hair. An eccentric beauty with red eyes. Peggy Sue? "U"? Az? Is it popular? I don't know anything. It's like an event in a different world from me. Then, Hitomi suddenly offered a microphone, "Yes." Sing, and so on. "Huh?" Puzzled. Neither the coat nor the muffler is taken off. But "yes" the microphone was pointed again. Why for a child like me who is at the end of a class?

"Sing together?"

"Hey, sing."

The shadows of the girls press the microphones. What do you mean?

"Are you not going to sing alone?"

"Isn't it a lie that you can't sing?"

I see, so it’s this situation.

Dozens of microphones are forced against my face one after another. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

"Sing"

"Hey, sing?"

"Sing"

Those voices sound like a threat.

"You're telling me to sing."

"Sing!"

Ahh!

Immediately, the microphone popped off and fell to the floor.

The girls dancing on the sofa suddenly saw me. It's calming down as if I was taken aback.

"What happened? Suzu-chan"

The mic and the shadows of the girls disappeared like a phantom.

"No, nothing. I'm sorry. Hey ..."

Without saying anything, I pushed the door of the karaoke box open by force and went out like crawling. Someone might have heard and told everyone that I couldn't sing.

When I got off the bus, powder snow was flying. I almost slipped down the slope from the bus stop. Even in Kochi, it usually snows in the mountains, aside from the city. When I crossed the subsidence bridge, I heard a crackling sound of thin ice. The surface of the concrete bridge is frozen.

Cold. It's not dexterous enough to get used to everyone, and it's not divisible. On the other hand, I’m not strong enough to be alone, not prepared, and have no idea.

I don't do anything selfish. Rumors that you can't sing, that's a lie. I'm just not confident in myself for a while. I want to get along with everyone. Really. I know. Of course I know. So "Ah ... Ah ..."

In the middle of the bridge, I impulsively exhaled my voice.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ah"

As I breathed in, cold air sank into my throat. Still, I sang towards the river. "Ah..”

Did I sing? It didn't match a song. It's just a growl. The bag slipped off my shoulder. Will you forgive me if I sing? Can I get along with everyone if I sing? It doesn't help to sing alone in such a place. It's like a scream of a dead end before being crushed. Still, I sang that song with my mother with a squeezed voice. I was happy back then. It's different now. Powder snow was swirling in the flow of the river. Suddenly, in front of me it became pitch black. Nausea swelled from the back of my stomach, and I held my mouth with both hands.

"Uuuuu!"

I crouched on my knees. However, I couldn't stand the momentum of the backflowing gastric juice. I pushed my body forward and vomited towards the clear stream under the bridge. The vomit that was about to kneel and vomit fell to the surface of the water, creating a number of ripples. I spit out everything in my stomach and fell on the bridge. My hair is messed up and my mouth is smeared with gastric juice and smells. It's already spicy. I want to get rid of everything. Shivering and crying as if groaning. Drops of tears ooze on my cold cheeks and tingle. I wish I were gone.

I could hear the slight sound of powder snow folding and piled up right next to me. A notification came to the smartphone that slipped off my bag. It was a message from Hiro-chan.

<< Look at this, Suzu. It’s so amazing that I’m seriously laughing. >>

There is a link to somewhere.

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

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

#belle #belle movie #ryuu to sobakasu no hime #ryu to sobakasu no hime #ryu #ryuu #studio chizu #mamoru hosoda #竜とそばかすの姫 #belle 2021 #hime

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

This is for the lovely @sequinsmile-x on her birthday. I started reading her stories back in December and was a huge fan from the beginning. Fast forward a few months, and I am somehow lucky enough to call you my friend. For all the pep talks, the inspiration, and the laughs- you have been a bright spot of 2021. But I stand true to my word if harm ever comes to Theo Hotchner, you know what’s coming your way ; ) Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Enjoy every moment and all the cocktails.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

The Day After Thanksgiving

The fragrant aromas of hazelnut and vanilla waft through the air as Aaron precariously grips two full mugs of coffee in his hands. He sidesteps a few toys and a pair of shoes that were somehow missed in last night’s cleanup as he carefully ascends the stairs. The coffee threatens to slosh over the edge of the mugs and stain the hardwood floors; he slows his steps and tiptoes past closed bedroom doors. He avoids the squeaky floorboards - he knows exactly where they are by now - and kicks another stray toy against the wall in his haste to get to Emily before she wakes up.

Coffee in bed is a sacred routine for them, one they haven’t abandoned even balancing the demands of three children and two grueling careers. It’s one of Emily’s little pleasures, an act so simple Aaron can’t deny her whenever he gets the chance. That alone is how he found himself awake before the sun rises, rearranging the various pyrex containers of Thanksgiving leftovers to locate the coveted bottle of Emily’s favorite creamer in the fridge. It was wedged behind the cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese they made for Nora, who vehemently refused to eat turkey. Of course, she’d eaten maybe five bites of her specially prepared dinner before she’d crawled into Emily’s lap in the middle of dinner. Yet it still brings a smile to his face; it’s their first holiday season as a family of five - something they never expected, something they’ll never take for granted.

Read the rest here or on ao3

When he shoulders the door open, Aaron finds her awake, feeding Leo. She holds him at her breast, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She senses his presence innately, attuned to the softness of his steps as he steps over the threshold of the sanctuary of their bedroom. Emily’s face stretches into a brilliant smile when she sees him, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion that paints her features.

“He’s awake again?” Aaron sets the mug on the nightstand and kisses her cheek then the top of Leo’s head. “I thought you’d at least get another hour of sleep.”

“He had other plans,” Emily murmurs, lovingly shifting their son in her arms. “He’s almost done.” She reaches for the coffee with her free hand, lifts the mug to her lips. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Aaron watches her finish Leo’s feed with unabashed awe. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes, amazement at how she handles motherhood with an abundance of patience and grace. There have been ups and downs, tears. arguments and fights, her nerves stretched thin and his worn down. But these moments make it worth it, ones he wouldn’t trade. He leans down to take Leo to give her a break. The little boy’s eyes are already closed, contentedly asleep once again.

“You’re spoiling me.” Emily says with a grateful smile. She rests back against the pillows, eyes closing again. “What was I thinking when I agreed to go Black Friday shopping with JJ and Garcia?”

“Might be good to get out of the house. Away from the chaos.”

“Into a whole new kind of chaos. Garcia means business. I’m afraid of her ambition.” Emily rolls her eyes at the thought of the shared document Garcia had sent to her and JJ - essentially a shopping itinerary, with all the best deals and discounts clearly marked.

“You say it like you’re surprised.” Aaron gently places Leo into the bassinet before crawling back into bed with his wife. “It is Garcia we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’ll learn my lesson next year.” She snuggles against him, seeking a few extra moments of peace.

Christmas Tree Shopping

It’s scarcely a week after Thanksgiving when Aaron caves to the persistent demands from Nora and Jack, unable to hold them off any longer. Less than an hour later, as the sun starts to go down in the early December sky, the Hotchners find themselves at an idyllic Christmas tree farm in Loudoun County. They’re not the only ones, as families make their way through the maize of evergreen, the air thick with the cloying, yet not unpleasant, scent of pine needles.

“We’re becoming those people,” Aaron grumbles good naturedly, Leo strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. “Jack, please watch your sister!” A few feet ahead, Nora runs excitedly through the trees, clapping her tiny mitten covered hands with joy. But Jack looks just as excited and takes off behind her as they search for the perfect one. It’s a tradition he never had growing up; one he’d only ever heard stories about from his classmates as he swallowed an emotion he only identified many years later as jealousy.

“What kind of people?” Emily carefully picks her way through the grass, her hand enclosed in his. Her head falls onto his shoulder every few feet; they quietly murmur to each other in broken sentences, interrupted every few seconds by one of the kids, yet it’s a language they’ve mastered over the last few years. Glances and smiles, words that speak volumes, little touches here and there.

“Those Christmas crazed people. Pretty soon we’re going to have an inflatable Santa on the lawn or something.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.” Emily gives him a quick kiss, stopping for a moment to adjust Leo’s hat to cover his tiny head. “Nora said one of her classmates has one. She’s already talking about it.”

“Great.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I bet Garcia has one we could borrow. Probably more than one.”

Emily laughs, lightly smacking him on the shoulder as Nora grabs her hand. “Mommy, Jack and I like this one!” They all stop in front of a tree on a corner. It’s bigger than Aaron anticipated - he has visions of vacuuming pine needles for the next four weeks - and slightly lopsided, with uneven branches and a few gaps in between. Certainly not what you might see in a magazine, and in no way picture perfect, but Nora and Jack are beaming, their cheeks flushed pink in the chilly early evening air.

“Oh, you mean you two finally agree on something?” Emily quips, letting Nora drag her around the base of the tree, listening as their daughter explains where she wants to put her collection of superhero ornaments. “Who would have ever thought?” But when her eyes meet Aaron’s, it’s clear they’re thinking the same thing too.

It’s perfect.

A Lesson In Gift Wrapping

“Damnit,” Emily swears under her breath as the wrapping paper seemingly shreds in her hands. How does Aaron make this look so easy? With her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds another piece of paper around the box, trying to mimic the process she’s seen him do so effortlessly time and time again. It’s not quite enough paper to wrap around the box, and she shakes her head in defeat.

“Of all the places I looked, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Aaron’s baritone voice shakes her from her trance. He’s leaning in the doorway of the guest room, an amused but loving smirk on his face. The remnants of the day are there - a hint of shadow on his chin, tie loosened and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Thought I might get some of this done.” She looks up at him briefly before her attention goes back to the mess of wrapping paper, twisted balls of tape, and gift bows. “There’s a lot still left to do.”

“Did the North Pole finally accept your elf application?” Aaron teases lovingly, pushing the door open and side-stepping a large pile of gifts that still have yet to be wrapped. “Looks like we’re a little behind schedule this year.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re home earlier than I expected.” She glances at the mess around her with a sigh, and her voice softens. “Leo needs to be fed when he gets up. I need to pick up Nora from school and Jack will be home in an hour.”

He immediately catches the tension in her voice. As the early days of December melted into weeks, the never ending hustle was clearly starting to get to her, especially since cases took Aaron out of town most of the workweek. Evenings were full of obligations - practices and errands, weekends packed with as much family time as they could manage. All the rest was pushed to the side, a never ending list of chores that was only added to, never subtracted from.

The team had spent almost a week in Bethlehem Pennsylvania, ironically called the Christmas City, searching for an arsonist that had the entire city on edge. Perhaps the nickname was an eerie coincidence yet nonetheless it was a grueling case. Since he’d gotten home he could sense the stress emanating from her, curling like fog around her. She couldn’t hide it from him; she couldn’t hide anything from him. And while he didn’t ask, he somehow already knew. “I asked Garcia to pick Nora up to give you a break.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s already been ordered.” Aaron says easily, settling beside her on the floor. “Pizza sounded good.”

Relief floods her face. “Pizza always sounds good.” She kicks the abandoned box out of the way to wedge herself against him, lacing her fingers through his. “We’ve missed you around here.” It’s honest, an understated relief that only years of intimacy can bring. Her head finds its way to his shoulder; she leans against him.

“We’re finished until after New Years.” Aaron holds their hands up to the light, staring at the bouncing reflection of their wedding rings. “You have me here until January.”

“Lucky me,” Emily says dryly.

Aaron picks up a stray ball of abandoned wrapping paper and chucks it at her. “What do you say we finish wrapping these together?”

“I say,” she begins slowly, eyes darting between the neatly made bed and his own. “We take advantage of having the house to ourselves.”

He makes her come three times before they hear Garcia’s car in the driveway, and twice more after the kids are in bed, for good measure.

A Deal With The Devil

The name that appears on the screen of his ringing phone is one Aaron can’t ignore. It’s terrible timing, but he’s not at all surprised. His mother in law had an uncanny knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” Aaron says hastily, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wedges the final plate into the dishwasher. He barely got to the phone in time before it went to voicemail, and something tells him she’s only a little miffed about that fact. Elizabeth Prentiss has an abundance of patience for her grandchildren, but not much for anyone else, he’s come to learn.

“Good evening, Aaron,” she says crisply yet not unkindly. In the background he can hear the mellow crooning of Bing Crosby. He imagines Elizabeth with a glass of wine in one hand, a thick book in her lap. “Is Emily around? I tried to reach her earlier. She didn’t answer my call.”

“She’s giving Nora a bath.” He glances upward, the muffled squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom just loud enough to hear from downstairs. At least things have calmed down since dinner . He decides not to mention it’s already been quite an evening around their house, thanks to unfamiliar vegetables and a long day in preschool. “Is there something you’d like me to pass along?” Of course Elizabeth would call on the one night this week he isn’t away on a case.

“Actually, Aaron, maybe you can help me,” Elizabeth presses, and he knows whatever she’s about to say is something that’s already caused a disagreement between her and Emily.

“I can try,” he offers tentatively, choosing words carefully. The very last thing he wants to do is get caught between their fires. It’s never ended well for him.

“You sound tired, Aaron. Are you not sleeping well?”

“We have three kids, Elizabeth,” he counters back. “I haven’t slept well in years.”

He hears a soft laugh on the other line; for a moment he has to remind himself he’s not talking to his wife. Sometimes the similarities between them are uncanny, much to Emily’s chagrin.

He’s wrapping up the call, assuring Elizabeth they’ll figure out a plan that works for everyone yet doesn’t add any additional stress, while simultaneously cleaning the rest of the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re on bedtime duty.” Emily appears behind him, leaning against the counter with an exasperated huff. “She’s in a mood tonight.”

Aaron comes to stand behind her, circling both arms around her waist. Her hips fit snugly against the cradle of his own; he rests his chin over her shoulder to nip at her ear. “I just made a deal with your mother.” He doesn’t miss how she tenses against him, a combination of frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion seeping through her body. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all day. He presses a palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart under the warmth of his hand.

“She called again? I let it go to voicemail earlier.”

“Just now. She wanted to talk to you. Luckily, you’re off the hook, because I talked to her.” He kisses her neck. He swipes at a few stray bath bubbles that have somehow found their way into her hair. Of all the versions of Emily he’s loved over the years, this Emily might just be his favorite.

“Let me guess. She wants us to come to her for Christmas Eve dinner instead of her coming here.”

“Something like that.”

“Does she not understand we have three children?” Emily grumbles. “I’ve been over this with her. She’s not the one who has to put them to bed on Christmas Eve, you know. It’s a whole different kind of chaos.”

“I think we can figure it out, Em.” Aaron chuckles. He holds her a little closer, voice reassuring and calm. “I made her a deal.” She noticeably relaxes, her body melding against his. Proximity is one of their love languages, the subtle touches an endless source of comfort for them both.

“ Mommy!” Nora’s voice is an insistent, urgent interruption, one they can’t ignore. “Mommy!”

Emily sighs in defeat, the moment of peaceful bliss abruptly over.

“I’ll go,” Aaron says immediately, leaving a trail of kisses down Emily’s neck. “I haven’t seen you sit down all day.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” She presses her hips into his teasingly and turns her head to kiss him. It’s a promise of later, another little luxury they still manage to make time for.

“No, but you can show me once the kids are asleep.” He reluctantly lets her go as he heads in the direction of the upstairs.

“Only if I don’t fall asleep first.”

Visiting Santa

“This is not the smartest idea we’ve ever had, clearly,” Emily mutters under her breath as the crowd around them seems to thicken before their eyes. The mall is packed, full of shoppers and families lined elbow to elbow around a colorful, elaborate display to meet Santa. There’s fake snow everywhere, teenagers dressed up as elves supervising the line and a kids’ rendition of a Christmas song blasting from speakers. “What were we thinking?”

“The same as everyone else in Northern Virginia, apparently.” Aaron finds the small of her back through her coat, rests his hand there gently as Emily pushes the stroller a little to soothe Leo. “Not like we had much of a choice, sweetheart. I’ve been gone all week. When else were we supposed to do this?”

“I could have taken them myself one night.” She looks annoyed and rightfully so, as one of the elves announces it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break.

“And miss all this fun?” Aaron jokes. He’s doing his best to hide his own annoyance, yet the flex of his jaw is a tell-tale sign that Emily spots immediately. “Not a chance.”

They’ve been in line for over a half an hour, and will be for at least another half hour. Beside Aaron, Jack grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes without even looking up from his Nintendo Switch. He’d obliged reluctantly, partly because Aaron had promised him a new video game if he didn't complain. And from where Nora is nestled in the safety of her mother’s arms, she presses her cheek against Emily’s shoulder. “What if we miss Santa, Mommy?”

“We won’t, honey,” Emily soothes, catching Aaron’s eyes over their daughter’s head of dark hair. It’s the third time she’s asked the question, her dark eyes widening as Santa waves to the crowd before disappearing. “He’s just taking a break.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Even Santa is over it.”

When they finally emerge from the mall almost an hour later, with three cranky children in tow, Emily passes over the photograph to Aaron. “This is an awful picture,” she snickers behind her gloved fist. It’s true. It was taken at the worst possible moment - seconds after Leo started screaming, Nora’s attention anywhere but the camera, and Jack’s eyes closed. “This is even worse than last year’s picture. We can’t actually display this anywhere, you know.”

“We can give it to Dave. He’ll love it,” Aaron jokes as he tucks the envelope under his arm. “Trust me.”

Twas the Night before Christmas

“Move over, Nora!” Jack elbows his sister squarely in the stomach in an attempt to crawl over his sister to get closer to Aaron. “You’re taking up too much space.”

“Ouch, Jack! Daddy, Jack is being mean!”

“There’s more than enough room for everyone,” Aaron says neutrally and cheerfully. It’s clear he won’t pick a side. “Santa doesn’t want to hear the two of you fighting on Christmas Eve. Last time we checked the radar, he was headed to the United States, wasn’t he?”

From where she cradles a milk-drunk Leo in her arms, Emily stifles a laugh in her fist. She makes a mental note to thank Garcia for showing it to the kids earlier that evening. It’s been the only thing to keep them from completely losing their minds with excitement ever since.

“Nora, why don’t you come sit over here next to Mommy and Leo?” He pats the sliver of space between his thigh and Emily’s, covered in matching flannel pajamas as Emily shifts over.

“Okay, Daddy,” she beams, scrambling off the couch and making a point to stick her tongue out at Jack along the way.

“Nora, apologize to Jack,” Emily cuts in smoothly with a sharp look at her daughter.

The little girl pouts even as guilt spreads across her face. “Sorry, Jack.” She breaks off a piece of the frosted cookie in her hand - the one she isn’t supposed to have on the new couch - and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aaron asks once Nora is settled and Jack has stopped kicking his feet underneath one of the many blankets flung around the couch. “No one needs anything?” He grins at the insistent pleas of both kids, hushes them quietly to avoid waking the sleeping baby on Emily’s chest. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” He begins, as a silence falls over them all.

Emily watches him read, transfixed by the sight of Jack and Nora completely engrossed in the story they’ve heard dozens of times, as if they never have before. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real that this is their life now. She would have laughed ten years ago if someone predicted her future.

“A happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.” Aaron closes the book in his hands, looking between Nora and Jack. “I think it’s bedtime, what do you think?”

There are grumbles from them both as they trip over each other on their way towards the stairs, not without frequent peeks over the shoulder to see if in fact Santa somehow materialized behind them.

“Maybe Santa will bring us a puppy, Jack!"

Christmas Eve

“You think they’ll be disappointed when none of these presents bark?” Emily jokes once they’ve finished setting up the pile of gifts. There’s a bottle of wine between them, and It’s A Wonderful Life plays in the background on low.

“I told them Santa doesn’t carry pets on the sleigh.” Aaron tucks his arm around her and brings her into his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “Said it was too dangerous.”

“Did they buy that?”

“Seemed to.” He shrugs. “We might have some explaining to do if Allison and Shane end up getting Jude a puppy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” In the easy silence the movie stretches on; they share sips of wine and leftover cookies and murmur soft whispers over the final few minutes.

“I love this part,” Emily murmurs as George Bailey reunites with his family in a joyous, tearful reunion and the opening measures of Auld Lang Syne begin to play. She doesn't look away from the screen.

“You love this whole movie,” he teases gently. “You always have.”

“You don’t?”

“I have other favorites. But I’ll always watch it with you.”Outside, the snow has started to accumulate; it’s already formed a blanket of white across the grass, and is covering the trees. It doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“This never gets old,” Emily says from where they’re snuggled together on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree and the falling snow out the window. It’s been their tradition to do this since having Nora - set up presents and watch the movie.

They watch the falling snow in silence once again, their fingers linked, heads bent together, enjoying the few extra moments of peace. It’s only when Emily’s eyes drift shut does she realize just how exhausted she really is.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Aaron murmurs as she opens them. “There’s one thing left to do.”

“We did everything. We even answered the note they wrote for Santa. We forgot that last year.” Emily stretches as she stands, her limbs aching. “It’s time for bed, Aaron. I’m so tired.”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart.” Aaron is reaching behind the decorations on the mantle for the small hidden speakers, flicking a button. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She yawns, not even bothering to hide it. “It’s so late.”

“You remember,” he says, holding out his hand as the music starts.

Emily rolls her eyes good naturedly, remembering just what he means. “Really, Aaron?”

“One dance, sweetheart. Please?”

“I'm tired.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s a line she’s used many times, yet for some reason, she always gives in. In fact, she’s stepping into his arms before she even stops talking.

“That’s what you always say.” He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her back, drawing her in close. “Yet you always end up right here.”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, following his steps as he takes the lead.

Some soft Christmas jazz starts to play, a sultry sounding medley that might just lull her to sleep. “This is the song you picked?” Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he sways them in time to the music. “You couldn’t have picked anything more lively?”

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, his hand bracing against the small of her back as he dips her down and brings her back up. “Just go with it.”

So she does, letting him move them both around the living room in a series of smooth, even steps. When the music stops, they still for a few blissful, silent moments. Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’re close enough together to feel the other’s heart beating in sync. “Merry Christmas, Emily. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aaron. Merry Christmas.”

#hotchniss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #wsne universe #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #birthday fics and Christmas fluff #Christmas in July #for you my dear friend sequinsmile_x #I hope you enjoy

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fafulous · 4 years

Text

Take Me Home (1/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Themes: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS ((The series is following the BOOK ENDING and not Show)), Sad and soft Andy Barber, Single Mother Reader. Cursing.

a/n: I hope you guys like it. We all know Andy deserves some softness :’)

The one thing you cherished about your neighbourhood was its calming silence.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the 21st century fast pacers. It did not give you any force to lead a rush life. No matter how hard life was you enjoyed this serenity, just like your neighbours.

You were the only one relatively younger in your neighbourhood, for this place was normally owned by retired elderly after experiencing everything life had to offer. But for you and your three-year-old little son, it was a second chance at life. All your neighbours except for that one loner house beside you was occupied by retired veterans and war heroes.

But that soon changed.

A man by the name Andrew Barber had moved to the house beside you. You got to know one day when you saw a huge truck with people going in and out of the house with clean and neat furniture.

Seeing all that, your vivid imagination went running and tried to picture how this man would look. Judging by the furniture (which made no sense), you thought your new neighbour was someone who would be simple and felt it wasn’t going to be someone who was, you know, old.

Oh boy were you right.

Once those packers went by, you saw him.

Andrew Barber was nothing what you thought out to be. Tall and broad, his back muscles would tell you its own tale. From afar you noticed his biceps never failed him too, for his arms screamed whenever he went in and out with a huge piece of cardboard boxes. His facial hair was a bit messy, like he is just moving into his new abode right after a sloth nap. You weren’t sure but his blue eyes had a dull finish that were deep embedded in his sunken face.

You also took notice of his sleek black Audi A6 which was parked by his driveway; It was not easy to peel your eyes away from its beauty.

This was wrong. You’re a single mother with the most adorable kid you could’ve ever asked for. After a struggle of six months your son Nikolai and you have found a hint of stability; single parenting is never easy unless you get the hang of it.

And you did.

Before you could offer any refreshments, your neighbours beat you to it. They were too kind. They were the elderly parents whose snobbish kids only visited once a year. Hence you decided to fill the gap in their lives. They loved you and you loved them back.

So now you decided that maybe when the time is right, you could meet him in a day or two and get to know each other.

Right?

—

This was new for Andy. Very foreign too.

To live a life without Laurie and Jacob was something he never expected to happen after the trial. It’s been a good handful of weeks since it happened. He did not even have the heart to think more about his son. His eyes would cloud with tears and the whole day would go wasted in drowning himself in sorrow and liquor.

He was still mourning after all.

So he decided to move. Move away from his house that reminded of his 17 years of a marriage that only seemed successful, only for it go wrong in an impulse. Move away from all of the local tabloids that hinted at himself being a next murderer.

Move away from his unsuccessful lineage.

Scattered around him were boxes of his stuff at his new house, his stuff alone. Laurie’s stuff was nearly packed and sent away to her parents’ home, the last time he’ll ever associate himself with her family.

Yes, her family.

Andy did file for a divorce while she was in prison, but that was a long procedure until it became official. However hard it was to sign those papers; it was as hard to let go of Laurie. Because if he lets her go, he has nobody.

A lone sunken soul.

The packers truck got in half of his belongings, the remaining which will come tomorrow. It was difficult moving especially with one single person. His neighbours were all elderly, so surely, he could not ask anyone for help. Also, it was another reason he chose this locality, he could be alone while he knew he lived in a tightly knitted community filled with respected war veterans.

He was extremely taken aback when many of his neighbours offered him freshly cooked food and refreshments to get over the day. He was thankful. They knew about his past and still they accepted him and asked him to reach out if any help was needed.

Andy’s day went ahead unpacking his clothes first, which took his time. He wondered if he’d ever need the fashionable suits and ties, he wore to work. There was a job opening at a swimming instructor at the local community gym; all he needs are those Speedos. But nevertheless, he kept then all back, trying to keep his mind preoccupied in cleaning.

But all that effort seemed futile for every memory crashed down when he unpacked his wedding tux.

He felt too claustrophobic, buried his hand in his face. He no longer had a marriage. He no longer had anyone to look after.

He no longer had anyone to look after him.

But amidst all this chaos in his foggy mind, he hears a lovely toothy giggle of a child.

He peeks out of his window to see a young mother and her small son sitting in their backyard with a picnic spread in front of them, while the little boy kept tripping over the grass purposefully just so he could laugh and make his mother laugh too. Andy had no idea he had a middle-aged family living nearby.

Seeing you and the son spread this familiar warmth inside Andy, reminiscing how he had this. It reminded Andy of a happier time.

Soon to be replaced with anguish. He would never have that again. He missed feeling the warmth of family, the love of a wife. Life never really gave second chances he believed.

He noticed you, a caring mother placing the little one on your lap while you fed him all the scrumptious food. He didn’t fail to miss how your eyes shined with happiness. A happy woman is always a pretty woman at heart; it is something he used to tell himself. A soft chuckle left out of Andy’s lips as he saw the boy eat the food messily, but you seemed to be patient, responding lovingly towards his naughty antics.

Her husband is one lucky son of a bitch.

He could watch you two all day, but that would be extremely inappropriate. Right now, Andy wanted his newfound house to look like a home.

Next day went by and it didn’t seem like he was getting anywhere near getting his house ready. He was waiting for another truck to get more of his stuff while he sipped on some bear till the movers arrived. They unloaded most of his stuff at his lawn and went away.

“Need a hand moving those boxes?”

Andy turned around to a gentle voice of the same woman who had he had seen yesterday with the small child.

You.

A chilly afternoon, he wasn’t surprised you sporting a loose, fluffy knitted woollen pullover with black leggings. Your hair was tied up in a bun and then noticed that he was probably staring at you for a long time.

“Uh- No. I’m fine, thank you.”

But you kept standing there looking at him smirking. He was literally struggling to carry all those boxes “Your body language says something else.”

When he looked up you saw his sunken eyes with even more detail as though the man hasn’t slept in days, “Would I be desperate man if I said yes?”

You chuckled, “Not at all. I’m Y/N Y/LN.”

“Andrew Barber”, he stretched out his hand for a warm greeting with a firm handshake. The feeling of his rough palms sends small jitters to you, but you ignored it; and just like that you resumed.

You helped him lift the bigger boxes to his house even though you knew he carried most of the weight. Two could always get the work done sooner. Both of you didn’t talk much for these 20 minutes but it was a comfortable silence while both of you took sneaky glances at each other’s features.

When you neared him, you realized he was lot more than just handsome. Sunken face was holding two blue eyes that would be enticing if he had put any effort to put any life in them. His beard was neatly trimmed although scruffy, just like you saw yesterday.

Andy on the other hand was just too despondent to, you know, check you out. He thought you to be a beautiful woman with a kind heart, especially after seeing you and your son yesterday.

He even thought of asking you about your son and family, but that would be too intrusive he wondered.

Andy thought you’d leave after moving the boxes but you insisted you’d stay to help unpack his stuff and maybe cook some lunch for him since he didn’t even unpack his kitchen utensils out. He was ready to accept the help only for a second.

The Andrew Barber he knew before the events of the trial would have gladly accepted, maybe even made lunch for the beautiful lady, instead of you, who graciously offered him help. He was divorced now so there was nothing stopping him.

But do you really deserve a fresh start with a lady Andy?

Would she be here if she knew who you really were?

His mind was plagued. He moved here with the intention of a fresh start but, he wondered if anyone would actually accept him. He decided for himself that they wouldn’t.

“It’s alright Y/N. Thanks for your help.”

There was no way a man could set up his home all alone you thought. “Mr. Barber, are you sure? I really have no problem. I’m completely unoccupied at the moment. Besides Nikolai-”

“No.”

You blinked at his curt reply.

“I’m good Y/N. I can take care of the remaining stuff here. You can go now.”

Looking at him made you realise how conflicted he was. His words likely meant that he didn’t require your presence but his whole demeanour looked like just wanted some god damn company. He didn’t mind your help at first, but at the same time now he was pushing you away. What changed?

So much for making acquaintances with the new neighbour, you thought.

Without saying anything you stiffly nodded, Andy realizing the offence written all over your face, and saw you walk away from his abode closing his door politely.

It was probably for the best to keep distance from a kind woman like you. He knew you were trying to get acquainted with him like any normal person would, but Andy was firmly grounded that he and normalcy would never go back again.

The minute you left he opened another beer bottle to sink himself. This fresh start for Andy was just bullshit.

–

You rushed back the minute you closed Mr. Grumpy Cat’s door and made a beeline to your home, only to see your son playing on the countertop with one your elderly neighbour.

“Thank you, Mr. Arthur, for taking care of Nikolai. I hope he didn’t cause much trouble.”

“I’d do anything for you sweet pea, Nikolai was a sweetheart.” The old man chuckled and turned to leave, “By the way last weekend’s pot pie was delicious. I had to make it up to you.”

Returning a hug, you thanked your neighbour again and leaped your son in your arms, attacking him with kissed while he spurted giggles. “Mommy it tickles!”

“Guess what happened peaches? I met our new neighbour”

Nikolai clapped his hand “Mista Wandew Bahhba?”

Your son was hell bent on knowing the name of the newcomer after he laid his eyes on the stylish black Audi. Boys always know their toys.

You nodded, “He’s a grumpy man peaches. I have no idea what to do with him.” And just like that you began speaking with Nikolai. He was your only company to talk. He never really understood anything, but your talented son did a fairly good job of putting up a pretense to hear.

“I offered him help and he says yes. Then I kindly ask him if I can help him more, you know like cook homemade spaghetti. But instead he becomes snippy with me?”

“Woh no,” your son whispered to your exclamation, which in reality was for his superhero figurines falling on to the floor. “I like his cahr mommy.”

“So do I Niko, but I so do not like him,” you paused and gave him a kiss on the forehead, “Guess we’re the only sunshine in this neighbourhood peaches.”

—

Days went by and you rarely interacted with your new neighbour.

Oh and when it did, it really never went well for you.

The first time was when a few standard posts under the name of Mr. Barber arrived at your doorstep, since he wasn’t available at his house. Like any other hospitable neighbour, you signed the post and made sure to drop it by him when he gets back.

"Uh Mr. Barber the post man dropped this by at our doorstep since you weren’t available. I thought I should give it to you.”

Andy opened the door with a few knocks and saw you standing with a few posts in a fluffy cable knit sweater. He took the posts from you, gently brushing over your hands. He perused through them quickly and gave you that conflicted stern look.

“I appreciate it Mrs. Y/L/N, but next time I’d like to collect my own posts irrespective of its nature. You can tell them I can collect it from the post office”

Was this man for real?

You crossed your arms and gave him back that stern look too. He wasn’t going to get away without you throwing shade. “Oh you know Mr. Barber I was just trying to be a good neighbour. It’s not like I’m dying here to get associated with you.”

He gave you a nasty grin which triggered you to make you leave away from his threshold.

Andy thought for a moment that he already crossed the line with the wrong woman.

The next time you met him was probably the last time you would ever meet him.

Your shift at the library got too late, for you were the Librarian of the local Library. You didn’t have to worry much about picking up your son late for he was at Mr. Arthur’s.

But coming home realising that he was sitting on the front porch of Andrew’s house made you park your car haphazardly in your driveway and run up to your child, ignoring Andrew’s presence.

“I’m so sorry sweetie. What are you doing here Niko?”

Andy interrupted, “Mr. Arthur had to visit the hospital. He was catching the flu and he didn’t want to give it to Nikolai here.”

You didn’t want to meet his gaze, but you forced yourself for you were grateful for this kind gesture. Maybe this Grumpy Cat has a kind heart after all.

“Mr. Barber, thank you so much for taking care of Niko. My phone must’ve been on silent if Arthur wanted to contact me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me Mrs. Y/L/N. I am just filling in the gaps of irresponsible parenting.”

It felt like a blunt hit to your heart. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you heard me.” he whispered so closely that you could smell his musky deodorant with a hint of beer. Your son was out of earshot, sipping on a glass of lemonade that was probably offered by this man. “Trust me I know what happens to a child that is always kept away from their caretakers.”

He quickly went on to say how Nikolai was a special child when your son came near you both and how your family should take more care in your child. You never really listened for your eyes threatened to pierce with tears. No way were you going to cry in front of this man.

“Thank you Mista Wandi.”

“Anytime buddy.”

He went up and shut the door, like it was a personal aimed at you.

And you just stood there feeling numb while Niko tugged on your work coat.

“Let’s go home Mommi.”

The audacity to tell you how to be a parent. Did he even have a child? Does he even know how to it is to take care of a child single handed?

But those questions never mattered. No matter how positive you are in life, its never nice to hear someone spew your flaws on to your face.

Meanwhile minutes passed when Andy soon realised how he had royally fucked up. Everyday around 5pm you and your child would come along to the backyard and have a snack ritual while both of you played or read story books. For Andy, though he chided himself for his stalking behaviour, it brought him a sense of peace to see your son scream with shrills of laughter when he ran around the lawn.

He had nothing against you, yet he was being selfish.

I be mean to her; I stay away from here. Simple.

Today however, Nikolai sat facing away from his ypu munching on freshly baked cookies while you sported a tear stained face. He felt a twinge when he saw you staring straight ahead with a blank stare while tears rolled down. His heart successfully sunked when he saw Nikolai trying to wipe your tears and hug you. Andrew then sat down dramatically on his chair when he saw you breakdown into your son’s fragile shoulders.

Apologies wouldn’t fix this. It would, but Andrew Barber the resilient thought that being obnoxiously rude to someone he wants to be close to will make them hate him.

He never thought it would hurt you.

He decided not to take any efforts in an apology; or it could take more than an apology.

—

A few weeks passed by and you tried your level best and succeeded in avoiding banters with Mr. Grumpy Cat. Whenever you saw him, a flurry of rage fell over you. Was it your mistake you were trying to be friendly to your only attractive neighbour?

Strike out attractive. A mean soul was never attractive.

Andrew Barber on the other hand dreaded what had happened; he was a little too late to the party to realise that your house had no male inhabitant, except for that one man who had made a visit.

He soon deduced that you were a single mother.

Too late rather Andy.

And when he recalled what he had said to you, he wanted you to slap him in the face. Hard enough to have a bruise that lasted for a year.

Nikolai and you always woke up late on a weekend morning. Both of you always shared and slept in the same room for Nikolai had regularly occurring nightmares.

You never realised but you and Niko woke up a small commotion outside your house, or probably his house.

Plus, the other day it so happened Nikolai’s father paid a terribly long visit, pleading you to take him back into your life. He felt apologetic for what he did. But that lingering memory was soon cut off by Grumpy Cat’s voice.

Knowing his tendencies to irate his neighbours, (or maybe just you exclusively) you ignored it and began serving late breakfast pancakes for your son. But you soon stopped when you heard a loud, hoarse bellow.

“GET OFF MY LAWN!”

You looked outside of your window to see a bunch of vans and the reporters standing outside Andy’s lawn. Niko ran up to you and carried him over your hip for the little one heard the scary yell too.

Andy’s car was parked haphazardly on the pavement. A pair or more of reporters were taking pictures of him and his vandalised garage door.

“Oh my god.”

You put down Niko and asked him to play with his toys. Yes, you hated Andrew but what you saw on his now tainted garage door made you want to retch. It was such a distasteful thing to do. It appeared as if a spray can paint was used to write whatever it was on the door:

MURDERER, YOU WILL ROT IN HELL TOO.

Andy crouched down on his knees, his hands covering his face and ruggedly running his hands through his hair, while he kneeled down in front of the vandalism.

The very reason he moved away from Newton was now on his garage door.

You wanted to go out and help him, but your ego wouldn’t let you. Why should you help a man who was nothing but mean to you all this while?

Luckily enough you saw Mr. Arthur and a couple of his old friends admonishing the press. They threatened that this community was filled with retired war veterans and that they would charge them for community trespassing and disrupting the lives of people who have lost a limb and more for this country.

Hearing that threat made the desperate amateur reporters leave from the vicinity as soon as possible.

Andy stood up and tried to process this whole situation, looking around for any sort of help, only to lay his eyes on the faint image you from your window.

You expected him to shout and rage and ask you to fuck off from staring at his pitiful state. But he didn’t. You would never forget those embarrassed sunken eyes, silently pleading for help.

He didn’t deserve this. You have no idea about his past or who he was to garner such attention, but this was just cruel. He soon averted from your gaze and went on to thank his fellow elderly friends and made his way inside home.

Later in the evening, you caught Andy scrubbing the ugly writings with cloth and soap water. After a while, he took a few steps behind and saw that they words were still there but faded.

“I had some grey paint for Nikolai’s nursery, but never got the chance to do it.”

Andy turned to that sweet voice of yours and hesitated in meeting your gaze. He was embarrassed, for you stood there, giving out an arm to help him again despite his foul behaviour. He saw little Nikolai standing behind you with his shabby brown hair that reminded him of Jacob, clutching onto your legs while he peaked at him. He didn’t understand what you mean by the whole nursery thing, but he stood up and finally, both of you took in each other’s gaze.

Andy’s eyes were even more sunken than he had when he arrived, his blue orbs sunk in a sea of red. He must have been crying. He saw you were missing your feisty eyes that you always sported. Maybe it’s because you despised him so much.

“It’s not the exact colour of your garage door but it can do the trick I suppose.”

The second you handed over the paint to him, you quickly turned around to head towards your home. But Andy didn’t want to push you further anymore by being a dick. He was ready to apologise.

“Hey please listen up! I really am s- “

“No no no,” your voice trembled; this habit of crying while you were angry was just exasperating you wondered, “I think its best we don’t hold conversation Mr. Barber. This will be probably my last interaction with you; what happened to you was horrid and ugly. You don’t deserve that. That much I know”

Andy was hesitant, embarrassed. “Mrs. Y/L/N- “

“Quit calling me a missus! I am not even fucking married anymore-” you said drawing quotes in the air, to be interrupted by a little tug at your coat. You realised that your kid was standing next to you. And you swore in front of him. Great parenting.

“Oh Niko,” you picked him up and peppered him with a few kisses, “Sorry for that language. Mommy won’t swear again okay. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah”, the kid nodded and buried his head into your neck and hugging you tightly.

"Let’s go, sweetie. I’m done with this man.”

As you went away the little boy who was wrapped around over your shoulder waved with his short hands to Andy. To Nikolai, Andy was the one who had the coolest car and made the best lemonade (which he had when he was made to wait for his mom). He never really understood the intensity of adults’ arguments. He was just a grateful child.

It was only then Andy realised he had to make it up to you by any means for he stood there alone feeling like a real douchebag with a paint can in his hands.

—

Part 2

—

Taglist (IS OPEN): @sinner-as-saint @captainscanadian, @kakakatey @bluevelvetsam

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@captainchrisstan @hista-girl @xlanawriter

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#Andy Barber #defending jacob #Andy Barber x Reader #Andy Barber Imagines #Chris evans x reader #chris evans imagines #defending jacob spoilers #andy barber smut #andy barber fluff #chris evans #chris evans x you #andy barber imagine #andy barber angst #defending jacob finale #jacob barber #andrew barber

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