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wakandas-vibranium · 1 year

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Planet Earth 2023 || Part One

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warning(s): Canon typical violence, cursing, injuries, fluff, slow burn

A/N: This will be a mini series in ten parts. Semi slow burn between Din and Reader. No beta reader, but there shouldn’t be too many grammatical errors. Please like, comment and share!

Summary: The Mandalorian and his kid were ambushed by pirates in space and ended up on Earth, crashing the new and improved Razor Crest right onto your front lawn.

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

It was a shining afternoon in Florida. You were relaxing in your backyard, in a lounge chair beside your massive pool, soaking in all that the sun had to offer.

You were a renowned trauma surgeon, and this was your first vacation in four years. You considered sailing across the Atlantic Ocean for three weeks, but ultimately opted to stay in the comfort of your own home. A lot of time, effort, and money went into building your dream home, so of course you decided to bask in the ambiance for the next twenty-one days.

You lived in the middle of nothingness. Your nearest neighbor was a 6-mile drive up the road, and you couldn't be happier. It was a 12-mile trip to downtown, where there were plenty of grocery stores, gas stations, and restaurants.

You were on day two of your vacation. You took the liberty of driving into town yesterday to stock up on everything you needed. It was the first week of July, which was one of the busiest weeks in Tampa.

There were simply too many people. College and high school kids on summer break, bikers, tourists, and locals that got on your nerves every chance they got. Not to mention the buzzing flies, lizards, and deafening cicadas that were hellbent on driving everyone in Florida insane.

You leaned forward, taking one final swig from your flute glass. You made delicious mimosas. This was only your second glass, but you wanted to squeeze in a short nap before pouring a third.

You placed the empty glass on the mini table beside you and leaned all the way back, relaxing into the lounge chair. You tilted your hat down to protect your eyes from the beaming sun and drifted off to sleep.

Out of nowhere, a sound that you could only describe as the blue sky opening jolted you awake, and you shot up out of the lounge chair, gawking up at the sky. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You snagged your cell phone from the mini table, checking the time.

4:09pm

You had only been asleep for eleven minutes. You pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t in the middle of a dream.

The foreign junk of metal barely missed the tall gate surrounding your home as it landed unceremoniously on your front lawn. You kicked off your wedge sandals and hauled ass to the front of your house, mentally preparing to rip this asshole to shreds with your venomous words.

You stopped at the wreckage, grumbling obscenities as you assessed the damage that was done. Your tulips were tarnished and a wide section of grass was burnt to a crisp. At least the lily and chrysanthemum sections were left unharmed.

The door to the colossal heap of metal opened, revealing the culprit, who appeared to be a helmeted man dressed in metal and black.

Wow, you thought, completely sidetracked by the man you saw before you and what appeared to be his ship. That was the spitting image of a spaceship. Living in Florida, you’ve met your fair share of cosplayers, but something about this man was different. How in the hell did he build something like that? How did he afford it? Those looked like authentic parts.

Despite the turbulent landing, the ship was not significantly damaged. It probably needed four or five repairs, but it appeared to be functional.

Whoever it was needed to collect their things, compensate for the damages, and get the hell off your property. You rolled your eyes at yourself for not stopping in the house to retrieve your handgun. Hopefully the man wouldn’t be violent towards you.

You walked fiercely up the ramp onto the ship, pausing when you spotted the man slightly bent over, groaning in pain as he clutched his right thigh.

“What in the fuck?” you yelled at the man, stopping all movement once you saw he was aiming a weapon at you.

He’s taking this cosplayer shit a little too far, you thought. You folded your arms across your chest, tapping a bare, beautifully pedicured foot against the floor of the ship as you waited for the tin man to say something.

He didn’t.

“What in the hell kind of gun is that?” you cursed, squinting as you pointed at the weirdly shaped weapon in his hand.

He tilted his head towards you, but still didn’t say anything.

“And what the hell are you wearing?” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

He looked like a complete and utter fool. Okay, that is not the case at all. He actually looked incredibly good in his costume. However, now is not the time to be ogling the man who just crashed into your front yard, destroying your favorite flowers.

“Get away from me.” he said, grunting softly, and gripping his thigh tighter as he attempted to stand up. Red drops of blood soaked a patch around the knee of his pants and trickled down his leg onto the spaceship's floor.

The smooth gruffness of his modulated voice was enough to make you standstill in your criticisms. It was almost as if he was speaking from his chest and not his mouth. You did not expect him to sound like that. How alluring.

“Excuse me!” you gasped in dismay once you remembered the rude tone he took with you as if you were the one who crashed into his perfect day.

The unmitigated gall this metal man had.

You pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him, “You’re the one who landed this fugly chunk of metal in my backyard! Who are you?”

“I am Mandalorian D—“

“—Is that supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” you asked, interrupting the bleeding man.

He exhaled in your direction. You barely gave him a chance to get a word in edgewise. Something about the man seemed both vulnerable and frightening at the same time. The large tear that was on his thigh was bleeding profusely. You took a cautious step forward, eyeing the wound. Although it didn't appear to be infected, the puncture was fairly deep and would require stitches.

“Who did this to you?”

“A pirate. We al-almost didn’t make it b—“

Who is we, you thought. You were so focused on the metal man, you didn’t even see the tiny green munchkin looking up at you with huge eyes that matched its long ears.

Oh my god. It was a green baby E.T.

Your heart skipped a beat and you slyly pinched yourself again to make sure you were wide awake.

He was too cute.

“—I’m sorry, did you just say a pirate did this to you?” you squeaked, interrupting the injured man yet again. Sorry not sorry. You were definitely in shock.

Great. Now alien pirates were a thing.

You shook your head hoping that would clear your bewildered mind. You only had two mimosas, but this newfound information was starting to give you an awful migraine. It was happening too fast. Your brain needed time to catch up.

“I think I put in the wrong coordinates before jumping,” the helmeted man disclosed before asking, “What planet is this?”

The space man went on about how his gravity well projector and navicomp malfunctioned due to the shootout with the pirates.

“Planet?” you replied, “Are you high?”

“Just tell me where I am.” the strange man grunted as he slowly rose to his feet, succeeding this time.

“This is Planet earth. Florida to be specific. Ever been here before?”

“This backwater—No. No, I haven’t.”

“Well, welcome to the sunshine state Mandalorian.” you flashed him a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Just call me Mando.”

“Alright then, Mando,” you said, “I’m a doctor and I can stitch up that nasty gash you have there.”

He said nothing for a few seconds as he stood there weighing his options. He took one look down at the baby before agreeing.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. I can’t fight like this.”

“Who are you fightin’?”

“The pirates who tried to shoot me and my kid down. They’ll be here soon.”

Your second day of vacation was going to be spent fighting off alien pirates, huh? Not too shabby.

While he went to gather what he needed, you took this opportunity to explore this section of the ship in greater detail. Wow. This ship must have cost him a pretty penny. You extended a helping hand to the Mandalorian on the path to your home, but he declined, instead picking up the child and walking alongside you.

“You live alone?” He asked, stepping into the house after you.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he pressed, stumbling a bit as he tried to round the corner and keep up with your long strides.

“None of your goddamn business.” you quipped, motioning for him to come into the kitchen. He snorted softly and the baby cooed.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Mando let you steer him into the kitchen and even accepted your assistance in guiding him to a chair at the island in the middle of your kitchen. He sat the kid on the island and they both turned, watching you reach into the upper cupboard to pull out your homemade first aid kit.

You brought two chairs closer to him, sitting in one of them while motioning for him to position his leg up on the seat of the other chair. He leaned forward slightly and made a low grunting sound as he shifted his leg to perch on the chair.

To gain better access to the injury, you gingerly removed the metal plate that was shielding most of his thigh. Although the bleeding had stopped to some extent, the wound still needed cleaning and disinfecting before being patched up. You leaned closer as you dabbed at the laceration. Every now and then, when you applied too much pressure, he hissed softly, but he never told you to stop.

He asked, “Is that bacta?”

“I’m not sure what bacta is,” you admitted, half shrugging as you examined the jagged edges of the laceration. It was a nasty cut on his thigh, right above his knee. You noticed that his skin was white and not green. A curiosity you’d ask about at a more appropriate time. “This is a numbing agent called lidocaine. We use it so that the stitches don’t hurt as much.”

“Will it make me drowsy?”

You shook your head, “It shouldn’t. Plus it only lasts about 40 minutes or so.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be a quick pinch then I’ll start stitchin’ you up.”

He just nodded. His kid cooed worriedly and you felt your heartstrings being tugged by the little one yet again. Aww, you thought, the little one was worried about his dad.

“Don’t worry, kid. I won’t hurt him.” you promised.

After injecting the lidocaine into his thigh with the needle, you proceeded to suture the wound closed, making sure not to pull too tightly on the ends. You went a little deeper than necessary on the next stitch, which caused Mando to jerk and grip your wrist, cursing loudly, “Dank farrik!”

“Ooh,” you grimaced at the sound of his harsh pants, stopping to glance at him and the kid, “I didn't mean to go that deep. Sorry, Mando.” you apologized.

To take his mind off the discomfort, you took two fingers and massaged the underside of his knee. As he relaxed, you could feel the tension ease out of his thigh muscles. Your method worked like a charm. It always did. He loosened his grip on your wrist before dropping his hand back into his lap.

“You ruined my favorite flowers, you know…” you commented as you peered up at him, attempting to find his eyes through the helmet. How was it even possible to have a tinted helmet? Exactly what were the Mandalorians so afraid of in space that they had to conceal their faces? When you failed to locate his eyes, you went back to the wound and threw another stitch. You were almost done now. Just a couple more sutures.

It was getting harder to ignore the tiny green guy's agitated cries. He must have been getting hungry or bored. Mando didn't utter a word, so you assume he was just used to it.

“I’m sorry about your tulips,” he expressed, ducking his head a bit in embarrassment, “I’ll see if I can salvage them once I know we’re in the clear.”

“You know how to tend to flowers?”

“A little bit.” he said, shrugging as he turned his attention towards his upset kid.

“Sorry,” Mando apologized for the increasing volume of the kid’s cries, “He’s probably hungry.”

“Well, I have some leftovers from brunch. Does he have any allergies?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” Mando replied.

“Alright. I’ll fix him a plate once I’m done with you. Would you like to eat somethin’ too?”

“Not really hungry at the moment.”

“Okay.”

After you had completed the last stitch, you took a little, red container, opened it, and used a dollop of vaseline to evenly spread it over the stitches. As soon as you had completed that task, you got to your feet and headed over to the kitchen sink, where you washed your hands thoroughly.

You took some oatmeal and heated it up in the microwave, sliced an apple and added a few red pieces to the bowl. You grabbed a spoon, handing it to the child as you placed the blue ceramic bowl in front of him. He cooed happily before digging in.

You asked Mando to wait some time before strapping the metallic layer of protection back on his thigh, but he refused.

The child appeared to be in a better mood now that his belly was full. You had to resist the urge to ask Mando if you could hold him. He was just too stinkin’ cute. You’d probably never let him go.

You lingered on the couch for an hour, staring at Mando entertaining his kid, before opting to get some fresh air in your backyard.

“Where are you going?” Mando questioned as he put his son on the couch and hurried over to you, standing in front of the sliding glass doors, blocking you from leaving the house.

You forced back an eye roll as you reminded yourself that he was only being cautious. There was no need to be rude to him. He merely wanted you to avoid getting killed by the pirate who had followed him to your house. From space.

“I need to grab my phone,” you explained as you pointed to the chair you were lounging in peacefully before he arrived, “Look— it’s just right there by the pool.”

“Fine,” he exhaled sharply after following your direction, eyeing the object, “Be quick. It isn’t safe yet.” He stepped aside after you nodded at him and you slid the door open, stepping out into your backyard.

You're not certain why, but on your way to the swimming pool, you kept track of how many steps you took. You’re astonished that you haven't done this before now. 31 steps in total from your house to your pool.

You bent over, snagging your cell phone from the small table, checking the time.

6:42pm

Today, time was flying by. It was almost time for dinner. You could probably cook dinner while you waited for this so-called pirate extraterrestrial to arrive. Sadly, you were no longer in the mood to make dinner. You could just order a pizza. Did they even eat pizza in space?

Your phone chimed, and after tapping the green icon to check your messages, you saw that you had received a new text from your friend and colleague Jaime, who was a highly qualified cardiothoracic surgeon. Due to the fact that you two worked so closely together on various urgent cases, it was inevitable that the two of you became great pals.

An appreciative smile formed at the corner of your mouth as you read Jaime’s message which reported that there was no code blue while she was on duty. This occurred once or twice a year, but it was always a cause for celebration. You typed out a few emoji’s before pressing send.

“Tulip, run!” Mando bellowed from inside the house.

You glanced at him in confusion. Who was tulip, you thought sardonically until it dawned on you. Your mouth fell open in a hushed O. He never asked for your name and you never offered it.

So, he took it upon himself to nickname you your favorite flower? Interesting.

You ignored the sudden fluttering of your heart and the warm flush that danced across your skin.

The boisterous warbling of another spaceship captured your attention. Despite being smaller than Mando’s, it was distinctly louder. Just a few feet away from Mando's, it landed, and out stepped the most outlandish space pirate you've ever seen. It was the first alien pirate you'd ever seen, so there was that, but the entrance was very lackluster.

“Tulip, come to me now!” Mando barked, unholstering his weapon and beckoning for you to come back inside to where he and the kid were.

The space pirate spotted you immediately and made a beeline for you. Your heart thumped against your rib cage as you tucked tail and ran back inside.

Running from a goddamn space pirate wasn’t on your 2023 bingo card.

#please like comment and share 🫶🏾#din darjin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x black reader #black reader #black reader insert #pe2023 #din djarin reader insert #din djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader

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blurredcolour · 4 months

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I Wish You Love | Part Three

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

The letter you never intended to post has a slew of consequences and life will never be the same for anyone – you and Captain Nixon most of all.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Minor Reader Injury, Blood, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5211

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Lieutenant Nixon’s reply arrived in early October. The weeks since the family’s return to Lydiard had been bleak. The change from summer to autumn typically brought with it a renewed sense of energy, vigor, and anticipation for the festivities to come at the end of the year. All you seemed to feel was the life draining out of the world around you, underwritten by a growing sense of dread that culminated in the arrival of the morning post that day.

You lost your breakfast in the bathroom, hands shaking as they wiped your mouth clean, unable to face the contents of the envelope. Miss Isobel, for her part, was basking in her re-insertion into her social circle around Lydiard – gentlemen callers, vapid daughters of landed gentry. She barely noticed how unwell or vacant you looked, though catching your own reflection in her mirror as you fixed her hair reminded you to get a grip until you could take Dash for his walk.

Even once you’d reached the lake shore, the dog settling into a more relaxed pace after his initial excitement at the outset, you remained reluctant to open it. It felt as though there were a ticking time bomb lurking in your dress, awaiting one wrong move. The only problem was, you’d already made that wrong move.

“No going back now.” You muttered grimly and gingerly slid the letter from its envelope.

The pages crinkled in your hand as your gripped them fiercely, trying with all your might to swallow past the lump in your throat. You weren’t entirely sure which part was worse, reading him pledge his undying devotion to another woman or the fact that he would not give up on her unless she were to outright refuse him. Because despite the utter mess you had made of it, there was no possible way you could ever find it in yourself to do that.

And so, like the complete coward you had become, you took a page from Miss Isobel’s book and simply did not reply. As you should have done all those months ago in May. It was her intention to leave his correspondence unanswered, you were just, finally – after a long and twisted path – honouring her wishes. Never mind that it turned all food to sawdust in your mouth and robbed you of sleep, changing you into some sleep-walking wraith.

Letters continued to arrive from him, every three weeks or so, and were promptly stored away in the bottom of your suitcase with the rest. Sweet Izzy was as good as dead. There was only the real article left and she was just as much a handful as she’d ever been, carrying-on with some doctor at the prison camp now. The air turned cold, sparkling frost replaced the morning dew on the lawn. You barely noticed it as you allowed Dash to drag you along behind him on his daily sojourns.

Your father was begging you to come home on your day off before Christmas, maybe it would do you good to get out of Lydiard for a while – out of your grief-stricken stupor and back into the land of the living. Returning Dash to his favourite cushion in the sitting room one morning, you quickly grabbed a tray to collect one of the cut crystal glasses that had surely been left in there by a house guest the night before. You were crossing through the front hall towards the back stairs when you heard Mr. Atkinson open the front door.

“Good day, Captain Nixon.” His tone was as professional as ever, but you still managed to note the hint of surprise as you whirled around to see the very man whose letters you had been avoiding standing there in his dress uniform.

Two gold bars now adorned his garrison cap. So that was why Mr. Atkinson had called him Captain. Struggling to inhale a full breath, you realized much too late that you had lost sensation in your fingertips, the sound of the tray and its fragile cargo impacting the ground overtaking whatever Captain Nixon had said in reply to Mr. Atkinson’s greeting.

Cursing under your breath, you crouched quickly to snatch up the tray, frantically trying to pluck the shards of broken crystal from the floor with your bare fingers as your heart slammed against your rib cage like a bird trying to escape its confines. A particularly large, jagged edge caught the flesh of your palm, making you hiss as blood welled scarlet against your skin.

“Whoa, easy there.” Captain Nixon’s voice was a lot closer than you expected, making you jolt back, startled. “Let me see that.” He coaxed gently as he grasped your wrist in one hand, producing a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket with the other. “You really shouldn’t be picking up broken glass with your bare hands, you know.” He chided with a soft grin, expertly wrapping your hand with the soft, expensive cotton.

You watched silently, wondering how many times he’d performed similar acts on his fellow soldiers in the heat of battle. You’d never realized quite how good his aftershave smelled, how the hints of vanilla and allspice wrapped around you before.

“There, all better.” His voice shattered through your retreat inward, and you looked to him quickly, barely meeting his warm eyes, the same shade as his favourite whiskey, before you had to look away lest your expression betray your inner turmoil.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmured softly and shuffled backward again before pushing to your feet.

“Almost makes me sorry I got promoted.” He smirked and your brow wrinkled in bewilderment as he rose to his feet. “Miss being called ‘leftenant.’” He shrugged and you gulped as tears stung your eyes with a sudden viciousness.

“If you’ll follow me to the sitting room, we’ll find Miss Isobel, sir.” Mr. Atkinson stepped forward, shooting you a reproachful look.

You tensed rigidly with a quick nod. One of the footmen had arrived with a broom and dustpan to continue cleaning up your mess and you surrendered your tray filled with broken parts, wondering if they could all see the shattered pieces of your heart laying there upon it too. Dashing up the stairs towards Miss Isobel’s room, you endeavoured to regulate your breathing, not needing to dissolve into hysterics now. There was no escape. Your Waterloo had come, it seemed, and you may as well face up to the mess you created with your own two hands and a pen.

Knocking on the door, you entered only once Miss Isobel’s voice called out to you, finding her lounging on her bed with the newest edition of her favourite magazine.

“Miss Isobel, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.” You clenched your fists at your sides, digging your nails into the heels of your palms, the ersatz bandage on your right hand driving home the purpose and necessity of what was about to be the most awkward conversation of your entire life.

She let the magazine drop to the duvet dramatically with an annoyed, expectant look upon her face as you clicked the door shut behind you.

“Captain Lewis Nixon is downstairs, Miss–”

“What?” She interrupted sharply and you took a shaky breath, seizing the last threads of your composure in a death grip.

“He’s come because…well I’m afraid he believes…” You struggled to sum up the litany of your offences tidily.

“Oh, do get on with it.” She huffed, tossing the periodical aside and sitting up, patting at her hair vainly to check the style was still in place.

“Captain Nixon is under the impression that you have been writing to him since May, Miss.” You forced the words out in a rush, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as she stood slowly.

“Whyever would he think that? He been drinking too much again?” She laughed snidely, smoothing her skirt.

Clenching your jaw, you shook your head firmly. “No. Because I’ve been writing to him in your name.” Your voice trembled but you managed to keep it at an audible volume, standing completely still as she stalked over to you with a cold rage in her eyes.

“Why you sneaky little bitch.” She sneered before her palm lashed out to smack across your left cheek with a harsh ‘crack.’

Blinking rapidly as your eyes immediately began to water, in retrospect you wished you had given her a piece of your mind, but in reality, all that tumbled out of your mouth was a series of apologies. “I am so very sorry, Miss, I just wanted him to feel supported while he fought overseas. I know it wasn’t my place and I swear I meant nothing by it I–”

“You are dismissed.” She cut you off with words you dreaded and yet expected all at once. “You filthy fortune hunter. Did you really think he’d fall for such stupid tricks?! What a foolish girl you were all along, just like I told Papa. He’s married you know?” The cruel glee that lit up her eyes before she began to laugh like a jackal made your blood curdle, the word ricocheting through your brain.

…married….Married…MARRIED…

“Now remove yourself from this house at once, I never want to see your face again. I will be sure to inform Atkinson and Papa just what you’ve done, you horrid girl.” She reached behind you to wrench to door open and pointed, sending you fleeing from the room towards the back stairs with that singular, devastating word still echoing in your mind as your vision began to blur.

Bursting into your room, your former room, you collected your limited number of possessions and roughly shoved them into your suitcase and duffel bag. Stripping out of your serving dress for most likely the last time you would ever wear such a garment, for you were surely leaving without a reference, you pulled on a wool dress and coat before taking your things down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. Ignoring Mrs. Brigham’s call from the kitchen you dashed out to the garage to fetch your bicycle, strapping your luggage to the back fender and taking off down the side drive as fast as your legs could peddle.

Eventually you had to slow down, legs aching, lungs burning, allowing yourself to glide along the asphalt of the road into Swindon as you finally permitted the tears that had been brimming at your waterline to slide down your cheeks. In truth you should be more upset about the loss of your job, especially as the main breadwinner in your family, but it would be easy enough to get a job at the Railway Works. It most likely would pay better and have shorter hours too – your father had just never approved of you becoming a ‘canary girl’ with skin and hair tinged yellow from hours of pouring TNT into shells for use by the military. Well, he’d have to get over that now, if he wanted to keep the flat and have food in his belly.

No, the far more distressing thing in all this was the fact that you’d allowed yourself to develop such deep-seated feelings for a married man. It was honestly no surprise that Miss…just Isobel now…had carried on with him despite that knowledge, but that was a line you would have never allowed yourself to cross knowingly. You let out a wry, watery laugh. What a pathetic line to draw amidst lying, impersonation, and god knows what other sins you had surely committed. Your bicycle wobbled to a stop as it ran out of momentum, and you slowly began to pedal once more to keep progressing towards town. The heavy load would certainly double the usual time it took to get there.

The sound of vehicle approaching from behind had you carefully steering toward the shoulder, giving them as much room to pass as possible. As the American military jeep drove slowly past, you held your breath, heart plummeting to your stomach as it too pulled off onto the shoulder, stopping a few feet in front of you. Captain Nixon jumped from the left side and began striding back towards you with a very determined look upon his face. Of course, Isobel had told him everything, she had made it clear she would, you had been naïve to hope to avoid this moment. Dismounting carefully, you turned your head to quickly wipe at your face, wincing at the tenderness in your cheek born of Isobel’s palm, before turning back to find him standing directly in front of you.

“So, it was you.” His voice was quiet, quieter than you’d ever heard him speak, lacking his usual playfulness.

“Yes.” Your voice refused to come out in anything above a whisper, so you nodded to be sure he understood your answer, gripping the handlebars so tightly the cut on your palm ached in protest.

“Was it some kind of joke, then?” He scoffed, crossing his arms defensively and your eyes widened in horror at the idea of doing something so cruel.

Captain Nixon’s eyes flicked your throbbing cheek, and you wondered if it had started to swell. “No.” You replied with a firm shake of the head.

“Did…did you mean a word of it?” His voice was laced with a dangerously tempting hint of tenderness and you felt your lower lip tremble precariously.

Of course you had, every word of it in fact, but there was no way you could admit to such things now that you knew the full truth. Clearing your throat painfully you took a deep breath to steel your nerves.

“I see you’re not wearing your wedding ring, Captain. Were you afraid you’d lose it?” You replied to his question with one of your own, feeling every bit of pain that unfurled across his impeccable features as though it were your own.

Gritting your teeth against it, lest you give in to your weaker impulses, you steered your bicycle around him and continued on your way to town. Captain Nixon did not stop you. Did not say a word.

Regret would stalk you for weeks, your harsh, high-handed words replaying cruelly in your mind any time you read or heard about the surprise German offensive through the Ardennes.

Your hasty packing job had inevitably resulted in failure and Helen kindly took it upon herself to deliver the last few items you had missed on her day off. Word of your transgression had spread like wildfire through Lydiard House, and while she did not seem to approve of what you had done, she did have sympathy for Captain Nixon who had apparently ‘departed immediately for France’ after leaving that morning. It could not have been a full week before the Germans pushed through into Belgium and his Regiment was deployed in desperate defence.

The Battle of the Bulge was discussed endlessly at your easily acquired job at the Swindon Railway Works factory where you were immediately put on the assembly line filling shells with TNT and gingerly tapping detonators into their caps. Tap too hard and a girl could lose her limbs – it was something everyone on the floor had witnessed at least once, you were told. The exacting work was fairly sufficient to keep your mind off the fact that you had sent a man to his possible death with nothing but harsh admonishment.

If he had found you not fifteen minutes later, you may have been able to bite your tongue, to answer him truthfully. Surely, he had deserved it after the dishonesty you had perpetuated, but your pride and cheek were smarting awfully from your ill treatment at Isobel’s hand, and you had taken it out on him. For all your judgment of her as a twenty-five-year-old spoiled child, you had behaved no better when it truly mattered. You had not been very forthcoming with the details upon arriving home to your father, freshly unemployed, but he had tolerated your silence and poorly hidden tears as you made up your old twin bed in the corner of the sitting room.

You were also able to save a little money, no longer needing the neighbourhood girl to come by the flat to clean once a week as you were able to manage that outside your hours at the factory. In fact, you found yourself with too much free time, and a dramatic increase in wages, deciding to visit a used bookshop to pick up a novel to read just after New Year’s. The display in the shop window with a relatively new World Atlas caught your attention and you found yourself leaving with it as well as a well-worn copy of War and Peace so that you might finally finish it.

As your father turned on the BBC news broadcast on the wireless that evening, the pair of you sitting side-by-side on the worn sofa, you cracked open your Atlas to follow along with the locations named on the pages within. The mention of the 101st Airborne or the ‘Battered Bastards of Bastogne’ as they were now affectionately known, made you inhale sharply. You squinted at the small village on the page, a spider’s web of roads all converging on that singular dot, truly illustrating its strategic importance.

“I really don’t understand what happened up at the House, sweet pea, and you never have to tell me. But whoever that American Lieutenant is, you really ought to let him know how much you care for him.”

You looked to your father slowly, pressing your lips together before exhaling through your nose “He’s a Captain now.” You murmured softly.

“Whatever his rank, my girl, whatever transpired, tell him.” He eyed you firmly.

“But–”

He held up his hand, silencing you. “I won’t terrify you with the things I’ve seen or endured. But I swear to you there is nothing more important when the world is so intent on tearing itself apart.”

“Oh Daddy…” You sighed tearfully and he pulled you into his shoulder as you wiped at your eyes quickly. “…what if it’s too late?”

“Oh, sweet pea.” He squeezed you tightly into his side. “It might be, but at least you’ll have tried and that’s all any of us can really do.”

You nodded weepily, quieting down as Churchill came on to give an inspiring address before you stood to clean up for the night, seeing your father to bed before turning in yourself. As you lay in your bed in the corner of the room, staring at the water-stained ceiling, you turned your father’s words over and over in your mind, not getting a whole lot of rest. On your way home from work the next day, you stopped by the local store to pick up some nice paper and a new pen. With all the writing you had undertaken last year to both Captain Nixon and your brother, your stores were running low, and a fresh start felt appropriate for the task you were about to attempt.

As you father settled in to listen to the news that night, you took a seat at the small table in the kitchen, staring at the crisp, white sheets, gnawing on your lip thoughtfully.

You signed your name before tapping your pen against the tabletop thoughtfully and quickly added a postscript before you could convince yourself not to do it.

Folding it up carefully you looked up startled to see your father leaning in the doorway with a fond smile on his face. “Well done, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” You sighed softly, sealing the letter into the envelope before seeing him to bed.

Posting it on your way to work the next day, you tried to put it out of your mind. You had done your best, just as your father had encouraged, and now it was in the hands of the Royal Mail. As the weeks ticked by, you undeniably deflated a little more each time you checked the mail and found no response. Your resources to check on his welfare were limited, but according to what you had access to, Captain Nixon’s name was not on any of the grim lists of wounded, dead, or missing. Which most likely meant he was not replying to you by choice. It was no less than you deserved.

It was not until the beginning of March, the soft caress of spring chasing away winter’s chill, when you came home to find an odd grin on your father’s face. He could hardly sit still in his favourite chair, watching you intently as you reached for the pile of post on the end table. You eyed him a moment until he glanced at the letters in your hand, and you looked down to the immediately recognizable cursive, heart skittering and skipping a few beats as you traced the letters of your name written in Captain Lewis’s hand for the first time. Definitely alive.

“Think I’ll go down to the pub tonight.” Your father was halfway out the door before you looked up and you sighed deeply in response.

“Thank you, Daddy. Be home for dinner in an hour, alright?”

“An hour and a half.” He winked before making his way out.

Shucking off your jacket, you hung it on its peg near the door before sinking onto the worn sofa and used a butter knife to carefully open the envelope.

Laying the pages down onto the worn tabletop you cupped your cheeks, aching from the broad grin that had taken up residence there as you read Captain Nixon’s letter. It was quite honestly more than you could have hoped for in a reply. More than you felt you were worthy of. Like a reward for bad behaviour, but one that you had spent the past month and a half trying to deny you craved to the very marrow of your bones.

It took a lot of restraint not to pull out a sheet of paper and begin a reply immediately, but the insistent growl of your stomach reminded you that neither you nor your father had eaten dinner yet. But after. After you were both fed, you were most certainly going to stay up far too late answering his question.

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

Read Part Four

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon imagines #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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onsunnyside · 2 years

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uhm 😖 what about best friends brother!Ari and his best friend Curtis 😶‍🌫️

best friend's brother!Ari lives next door, he mows the lawn shirtless, changes in front of his window and loves sunbathing in the backyard by the pool.

his best friend, Curtis, practically lives at their house, and he's always there to annoy you with Ari. they'll hide your stuff whenever you sleep over, tug on your dresses and skirts *playfully* and always crowd you on movie nights. I'm talking about: being squeezed between their big beefy bodies, squished to the max while they lightly touch your thigh under the blanket. they love making you squirm.

you're too quiet and shy to stand up to their teasing (bc you secretly love all the attention), but your best friend doesn't care. more often than not, she'll knock some sense into them for messing with sweet little you.

"Stop being fucking pervs and leave us alone!" Natasha shouts down the hall and slams her bedroom door shut. She just found them rifling through your clothes in the laundry room. "God, I'm so sorry. You can totally leave if you want."

You're too scared to tell her it isn't the first time they've done that, you've had countless panties 'go missing' at her house while the two boys were over. Oh and you'd never tell her about them touching you under the blanket last night. me thinks they've been teaching you about pleasure after overhearing how inexperienced you are:

"You're a virgin?" Ari outrightly asked when Nastaha stepped into the house for more snacks.

Your lips freeze on the popsicle, and a lewd pop sounds through the summer air as you pull it from your mouth. "How do you know that?"

"You two talk awfully loudly," Curtis says from his lounge chair, his chiselled chest dusted with dark hair. "Heard a lot of stuff I didn't need to know—like your endless collection of stuffed animals, oh, I mean stuffies."

Your face erupts in heat, hotter than the damn sun beaming down on you.

"Don't be embarrassed, it's cute that you have names and little backstories for all of them." The town heartbreaker winks.

Ari hasn't looked away from you. "There's no way you're a virgin. Look at you." He refuses to believe no one has taken a chance to have that honeypot between your legs.

"I am!" You quickly lower your voice, "I-I haven't even kissed someone yet..."

The men exchange glances, with their many years of friendship, they can nearly read each other's thoughts. (internal "I call dibs" moment)

"I'll do it." They say in unison.

You laugh, brushing it off as a joke. A lame, sort of hurtful joke, but a joke nonetheless. "No, no, Nat would get so mad."

"If she was a good friend, she'd want you to have your first kiss." Curtis' eyes are locked on the popsicle melting down your fingers.

"And we care about you, we wouldn't hurt you. Ever." Ari adds, reaching over to rub your knee. "You can trust us, kitten."

and when they overhear you talking about a date with some asshole named Steve Rogers from their rival college (bc yes they're certified frat bros and this is set in the summer after you graduated and they came back to spend time at home), they simply can't let the blond-haired bastard take the previous year's football championship and their itty bitty kitten.

the whore in me is also interested in all three of them trying to see who makes you come the hardest 🫣

And may haps… reader is a little dummy who doesn’t even know they’re pining after her 😪🫶

#one cock is never enough #i can't stop #too many thots too little time #sonnysprompts #beefy best bros ari and curtis #sonny drabbles

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hamaylfabrics · 3 months

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https://www.hamayldesignerhub.com

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magazinepk · 1 year

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MARIA B Unstitched Eid Lawn M Basics 2023 For Women

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misspearly1 · 1 year

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When Two Worlds Collide Series

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp5 || Chp6 || Chp7 || Chp8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader x Arthur Morgan

Chapter One: The Hidden Antique

WC: 4.9k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Friends to Lovers. Flirting. Little bit of fluff. Eventual Smut. Arthur doesn’t make an appearance in this chapter. A little background and build up in the story first.

AN: Ok, my loves. This is pretty much an introduction and a lead up to what happened (in relation to the kinktober crossover fic). Starts off with Joel, then Arthur will eventually make an appearance. I’ve broken up the story because posting large works can be a little difficult on tumblr (it crashes terribly lol). I hope you enjoy the first chapter though. Thank you!

You’ve often wondered about the evolution of a yard sale; like where did the idea originate from and who came up with it? Or why does it feel so exciting to sift through second hand goods, looking to buy something that catches your eye? Perhaps it’s because you can sometimes come across antiques hidden amongst the cluttered pile, and finding something that’s not only expensive, but lavish, decorative and useful too, is very exciting indeed.

These questions spring to mind this afternoon when passing through a neighbourhood adjacent to yours. You were in the process of driving home after a long day at work, but stopped the car with a sudden burst of joy when seeing a yard sale sign. They always said one man’s trash is another man's treasure, and while you’re not a man, you do believe in that saying and felt it was worthwhile to take a look through the household goods laid out across the front lawn.

Of course, it looked messy and disorganized with the chairs, tables and even the sidewalk bestrewn with clutter, but you have a little experience with locating the valuables amongst the household junk. You have a keen eye for these things, and it paid off really well too because not even thirty minutes after you stopped the car, you managed to bag unopened box of fairy lights to place around your home somewhere, several scented candles to use for those nights you’d love to take a relaxing bath, a summer dress with the price still attached which is perfectly timed since the summer season is here and many new books to read as well.

But the most valuable item that you bagged today is the mirror. A hidden gem, you might call it, as the mirror was buried behind an attics worth of trash. It’s body length in size, oval shaped and sturdy, embellished with finely hand carved details in the wooden frame and it would fit perfectly in the corner of your bedroom. Even the stand it came with was worth a pretty penny. The whole piece is a vintage antique and highly valuable.

Having said that however, you didn’t want to hustle the man selling the item and told him that it was worth more than the asking price, but he already knew. Josh Sinclair — the seller — reassured you that the price was right for him. He just wanted to get rid of the damn thing as it had been collecting dust in his grandpa’s attic for years, and the reason he drove the price down is because it’s plastered with a heavy layer of soot and black paint.

According to Josh, his grandpa tried to burn the mirror years ago, but failed with the attempt and just painted it over instead. Frankly, you wouldn’t have taken any interest in buying the thing if you didn’t know how to clean it up and bring it back to a good condition. It’s not something you’re planning to sell once you restore it. You want to keep it in your home.

Though, you still didn’t feel comfortable with the asking price and debated a little more with the man, and in the end, you both settled on forty bucks and now it's yours. You paid for your other items then took them to your car before opening the trunk and folding the back seats down. After a struggle and muttering a string of curses under your breath, you dusted your hands off and turned to look at Josh, still feeling guilty for how little he was taking. The mirror is worth thousands.

Reaching into your pocket and pulling out another thirty dollars, you presented it to the man for all of his help. “Here, take this — please.” You persisted and quickly explained. “This mirror was worth so much more in its prime. I feel bad taking it off your hands for only forty dollars and you did all the heavy lifting anyways.” You smiled, hoping it would seal the deal and to your relief, the man didn’t refuse your offer and accepted the extra cash.

“Thank you, Y/N… Thank you.” He replied gratefully, holding your eye contact for a moment as he nodded with appreciation. You returned the nod and began walking around the car to the driver's door. He opened it for you and waited till you were sitting inside comfortably before shutting it. After you had turned the key in the ignition, you opened the window and looked up at the man with another smile as he said goodbye. “It was nice meeting you. Come back anytime you see me having another yard sale, ya hear?”

“I sure will. Thanks, Josh.” You beamed. When he stepped back and gave you ample room to drive away without the worry of squashing his feet with the tires, you looked in the rear-view mirror and watched his figure gradually get smaller while driving down the street. You think about how his face and personality will always stick in your memory. He has bright ginger hair, pale freckled skin, a large birthmark over his right eye and he was so kind, sweet and patient with you too.

You’ll never forget your interaction with Josh because it was nothing but a pleasure and you’ll certainly be coming back again when he next hosts a yard sale. Maybe next time, you could even invite Joel Miller to tag along with you. He sure likes a yard sale just as much as you do. In fact, it was only a few weeks ago that Joel dragged you to the flea market near town to buy some decorative items for his house as he was in desperate need of your ‘expert opinion’. But to be quite honest, you don’t think the man really needed your opinion at all. He had that covered all by himself. You just think he just wanted your company for the day, and you didn’t mind at all because he’s become someone that you enjoy spending time with. And of course, he is really handsome too.

Joel is your neighbour. He lives next door to you and often spends most of his free time sprucing up his home interior after only just moving into the neighbourhood two months ago. He has a brother named Tommy, a chunky brown Labrador named Rex and a fluffy white Persian cat named Felix. The man's house is warm, welcoming and chaotic, especially with the exciting activities that Rex and Felix get up to. You often watch them from your back porch playing in the yard. They’re so cute together, but you miss them dearly as they’ve been staying at Tommy’s house for the last week.

While Joel has been busying himself with the home décor ever since he moved in, he’s recently taken it upon himself to put his skills to use and just fully renovate instead. His daily work and passion is carpentry after all, which means his house is currently looking a little worse for wear with the scaffolding poles set up, the bags of cement along his front porch and the large yellow industrial dumpster placed on his front lawn. The place is simply too messy and dangerous for Rex and Felix to be around. They can’t even play in the backyard anymore as it’s covered with even more waste that needs to be discarded.

For the longest time, you have thought about getting a dog for yourself and yearned to have that connection that Joel has with Felix and Rex. You love to watch him interact with the little guys. They’re more like his babies rather than pets and sometimes he just sits out back and plays the guitar for them while you eavesdrop from next door. Sometimes he even sings for them, albeit it’s very quiet and only a few words here or there, but the notion of singing to his little fur babies is most adorable.

Clearing your mind as you pull into your street, you look upon the eyesore that is Joel’s home and laugh sweetly when seeing the man scratching the back of his head as he stood on his front lawn. He looked a little frustrated and confused while overlooking some building plans with his buddies, as if he were trying to figure out what the next best step was. But that focus and concern etched on his face was distracting to say the least as you try to drive without staring at him too much. It’s dangerous to gaze upon him like this while behind the wheel.

You snap out of your ogling and focus on the road, keeping Joel and his buddies in your line of sight as you drive carefully. The house may look like an eyesore right now, but you know that once it’s all said and done, it’s going to look perfect. Joel and his brother do most of the work themselves, but some of their work friends pitch in to help whenever and wherever they can. It’s really rather generous and thoughtful of them. You adore that he has friends like that, and secretly hope their generosity extends to his neighbour with the big heavy mirror in the backseat of her car.

Parking your car up in the driveway and hopping out, you walk around the back and open the trunk. “Hey.” You waved to Joel as he looked in your direction. He said something to his friends before making his way over, no doubt telling them he’d just be stepping away for a moment. They all smirked and whispered amongst themselves, watching the man like a hawk as if he were approaching his crush, and the mere thought of you being his crush made your cheeks burn.

“Hey, doll.” Joel greeted you in that thick southern drawl as he approached. “You need some help with the groceries—wait… What’s all this?” He cuts himself off to ask, his tone sounding slightly offended. “Did yer go back to the flea market without me, girl?”

“No, Joel. I would never.” You barked out a laugh and shook your head at the man. “There was a yard sale in the Sunlight Grove neighbourhood. I stopped the car and bought a few things. Look –” you pointed a finger. “–I even bagged this really cool antique mirror.”

“Oh yeah, that is cool.” He agreed, then furrowed his brows a little upon noticing the thick soot and black paint on the mirror. “You can fix that, right?”

“I hope so.”

Reaching for the cardboard box filled with your candles, books and fairy lights, Joel reaches for your summer dress and pulls the straps around his neck, laying the clothing over his chest before turning to his friends with a loud whistle. “Hey pretty boys… Come help me with this thing will yer.” He asked, oh so politely. You and his friends laugh at him plenty, your smile growing bigger and wider over his sense of humour before he turned back to face you and winked. “This dress works a charm. I can see why you bought it, darlin’.”

“That's actually not why I bought it, but thanks Joel.” You giggled and shook your head at him again. Turning away and heading towards your porch steps, you quickly mount the stairs and open the front door then place the cardboard box of goodies to one side momentarily as you help the guys out however you can. Joel didn’t even lift a finger. He just left his buddies to do all the heavy lifting while leading them into your house. He was even swaying your dress around flirtatiously which earned himself a couple catcalls and wolf whistles.

“Getting real comfortable wearing that, aren’t you?” You pointed out and teased, to which he returned the playfulness confidently, “Oh yeah. M-hm. Why? You think it looks pretty on me?”

“Oh yes. It’s very pretty, Joel.” You nod seriously without any trace of a lie in your tone. It actually did look good on him. The pattern and colours paired so well with that dark brown head of hair of his and that deep summer tan on his skin. You often spend every morning reminding him to put sun cream on before heading out to work, sometimes even texting him on your breaks and reminding him to add another layer. He needs that protection, but boy does he look good with a nice golden tan.

“Hey um...” You snap out of your mindless gazing once again. “Do you have any WD-40 in your garage? It will help with removing the paint and soot off the mirror.”

“Yeah, sure. I got a couple cans you can take.”

After the mirror was gently placed in your lounge, you grabbed an old sheet and placed it underneath before heading outside with Joel and the guys. You walked towards his garage and thanked him for letting you take a can of WD-40 as well as borrowing a scraper and some industrial cleaning wipes too. “I wanna get started on the mirror right away, but I’ll come back later and bring a couple beers for you and your friends.”

“Will yer be wearing that pretty dress when you come back to see me with those beers?” He grinned and gathered a sarcastic round of applause from his friends as they all mocked him jokingly. “That’s some next level flirting right there, Joel.” One of his friends said, his words making you stifle a laugh, yet hearing him confirm that Joel was in fact flirting with you made you smile a flattered kind of smile.

As they continued to laugh and jeer at him, you rolled your eyes at their remarks and replied loud enough for them to hear. “Yeah, sure. I’ll wear the dress just for you, Joel.” You throw him a little wink before turning to walk away, the sight of his smile making your stomach flutter and your heart skip a beat. He looked so shy in that moment when his friends honed in on him, as if they were revealing some big secret about how he feels about you. It’s no secret that something is slowly forming between you and the man, but it’s still too soon to assume that it’s more than just friends.

You like Joel’s company. He likes yours. And that’s all there is to it for now.

Upon entering your house and releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you made your way into the lounge and got to work right away with restoring the mirror. You have a few tips and tricks up your sleeve when it comes to restoration, and WD-40 is just another trick you’ve learned to use along the way. It works wonders for a lot of things around the house too. You used up the last of your own supply the other week when cleaning your bathroom mirror and shower doors, lifting the stained fog straight off the glass.

With a little music playing from your stereo, you took your time removing all the dirt and grime from the mirror bit by bit with gentle scrapes and wipes. It was actually really rather relaxing and enjoyable. You lost track of time as the hours rolled by quickly, and before you knew it, the cicadas and crickets had alarmed you that it was night time outside. You didn’t even notice the sun going down. You were so invested and focused on the mirror instead. It looked a hell of a lot better though. You’ve made a big dent in the progress and can actually see yourself in the reflection now. All that’s left to do is remove the soot and paint from the crevices in the wood.

Reminding yourself of those beers you promised Joel and his friends, you exited the lounge and made your way into the kitchen, then retrieved a four pack of cold Budweiser's from the fridge before heading toward the front door. That summer dress was left hanging on the coat hooks along the wall, and the half-hearted you made to Joel crossed your mind as you contemplated whether or not you should actually wear it for him.

After a moment thinking about it, you set the beers down on the cabinet and reached for the dress, deciding to fulfil all of your promises. Even if you weren’t being serious earlier, you concluded that there really wasn’t any harm in wearing the piece of clothing for him. Besides, you wanted to see how it looked and felt on your body anyways.

You were just in the middle of taking off your sweater when there was a knock at the door, the sound so sudden and startling that it made you gasp and jump on the spot. “Who is it?” You called out.

“It’s just me, doll." Joel answered reassuringly from the other side. You quickly pull your sweater back over your head and hold the dress behind the door as you open it, greeting him with a surprised look on your face. “Hey. I was just about to come outside with those beers when you knocked. It gave me a fight.” You laughed bashfully, noticing the way his eyes dropped to look at your clothes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’. I came to tell you that me and the guys are going out for dinner. You wanna come with us? They keep badgering me to check out that new diner in town so I thought we could go out instead.” He explained, but his words went right over your head. You didn’t even hear him at first. You were too caught up on the fact he looked at your clothes, checking to see if you’re wearing that dress for him, and the way he looked a little disappointed that you weren’t was saddening. If he had just knocked on your door a few minutes later, then he would have seen that you were wearing it for him.

“Um.. It’s okay, Joel. Don’t worry about it,” you stammered. “I’ll keep the beers for some other time instead. Have fun with the guys…” you pause midway through your sentence with the sudden realization that he actually offered you to go out with him and his friends. You didn’t hear him, and it’s too late now to fix your mistake. He already began nodding with acceptance of your answer, and there was yet another disappointed look in his eyes. “... Y'all stay safe out there too,” you quickly add, finishing your sentence.

“We will.” He nods, then holds your eye contact for a few moments while shuffling on his feet awkwardly. You could see that he was hesitant on deciding whether or not he should lean in and kiss your cheek goodbye, so you took a step forward and prompted him to. He finished closing the gap, and you watched as he closed his eyes when leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips were soft and plump, pressed against your skin so gently before he stopped back. It was bliss, and you yearned to feel it again.

“I’ll see yer sometime tomorrow, darlin’." He said with a deep smile that displayed his relief and joy. You know that he saw you holding the dress when he leaned in to kiss you. And you can see with your own eyes that it made him feel less rejected and more optimistic that something was still there between you and him.

“See you tomorrow." You muttered and threw a goodbye wave to his friends waiting for him in the car. They all waved back and quietly said their goodbyes too before one of them opened the back door for Joel to hop in.

You probably should have closed your front door and got back to what you were doing at that point, but you didn’t. You instead waited for him to look at you through the backseat window, and you’re glad that you waited too because when Joel’s eyes met yours, he blew you a kiss and still wore that same joyous smile.

It was as if he could hardly wait to see you tomorrow.

Later that night while laying in bed, the entire house shrouded in darkness and complete silence, you open your eyes the moment after you hear a noise echoing through the walls. It sounded like metal clanging against metal, and it was so faint and barely noticeable at first that you wondered if one of your neighbours were watching something on their TV so loud that you could hear it from here.

You didn’t roll over and close your eyes right away and instead chose to focus on those noises to pinpoint their location. You know Joel is home and laying in bed right now because you were awake at the time when he came back from dinner with his friends. They were so quiet and respectful of how late at night it was, not wanting to disturb your sleeping neighbours.

As that metal clanging noise subsides and is replaced with several men hooting and yelling as they ride horseback, you assumed that someone couldn’t hear the old western movie they were watching and finally rolled over to ignore it. Although you could hear the movie and all of the sound effects, you didn’t mind all that much as you’re used to something playing during the night anyway. Sometimes you even play some music on your phone and turn the volume down low just to have that background noise while you sleep.

Now that you're facing the direction of your window however, you narrow your eyes with focus and just make out the waving beam of light coming through the blinds. It was Joel signalling you. He occasionally does that whenever he sends you a text and you don’t reply, but since your phone was under your pillow, you slip your hand underneath to retrieve it and read his text.

‘Darlin’, you’ve left your TV playing downstairs. I can see your living room lit up with light,’ he wrote and you quickly text him back, replying: ‘Joel, I shut everything off before I came to bed. Are you sure it’s my TV?’

You look at your window again and focus on the gaps between your blinds, noticing that he had climbed out of his bed now to look through his window and check. ‘Yeah, sweetheart,’ you received a text from him, then another one shortly after. ‘It’s definitely your TV. I can hear that it’s a western movie too. I didn’t know you like that sort of stuff :).’

Overlooking how happy that little smiling emoticon made you feel, you couldn’t shift the anxiety in your stomach and decided to just go downstairs and check. Maybe you forgot to turn your TV off after all and you’re worrying over nothing. You quickly shoot another text to Joel before climbing out of bed, ‘Yeah. I like that sort of stuff :). I’m gonna head down and shut it off though. It’s really late and I don't want any complaints from the neighbours, lol.’

Exiting your room with that worry still gnawing away at your gut, you grabbed your metal baseball bat just for precaution and started making your way downstairs. You definitely remember turning everything off and you’re finding difficulty in rationalizing how your TV is even on right now, but as it turs out, Joel was right all along. There was a western movie playing in your living room. You could hear the movie as you walked down the stairs and see the bright flashes of light flicking across your walls.

With another text from Joel chiming through, you look down at your phone and read what the man wrote. ‘What does 'lol' mean?' He asked, and it made you giggle before he quickly sent another text. 'Maybe we could watch a movie together sometime? I’ll bring the snacks and even cook dinner for you.’ His offer made you smile as you think about what it would look like to cosy up on the sofa together.

You entertained the thought for all of two seconds before lifting your head to look at your TV in the living, and seeing that it was shut off instantly brought that panicked feeling back to your stomach by tenfold.

You stood still, frozen in place with fear as you realized where the source of those sounds and bright flashes of light were coming from — behind you in the mirror. It was displaying a series of images and producing sound, and it’s physically impossible that it could even do that, yet you could see those images in the reflection of the black TV screen and hear the sounds over your shoulder. There was a group of men riding horseback yelling as they shot at the sky. It looked so surreal. You couldn’t believe what your eyes were witnessing and your hands began to tremble so violently that you dropped the baseball bat to the floor below.

A flood of text messages came through your phone from Joel, no doubt asking what that clattering noise was or asking if everything is okay. You don’t know for sure. You couldn’t even look away from the TV screen to look at your phone right now. You were too afraid to take your eyes off what you were seeing in the reflection. There was a man lying against a rock around the edge of a campsite, a dark cowboy hat on his head pulled down as he slept peacefully before the next image took over and was replaced by a large oak tree on a hill.

You eventually gathered enough courage to turn around and take a proper look at the mirror. It’s as if you were looking into a TV, the sight unbelievable as it was only hours ago that you saw your own reflection, not what you’re seeing now. There’s no possible explanation as to how it's possible, and despite how afraid you are, there is also a sense of curiosity to know more as well. You continue to watch and drink in the displayed images, watching them cycle through like a slideshow.

The first image was of workers hammering giant nails into an unfinished train track, hence the noise you heard earlier of metal clanging against metal. And the next image was a wide shot of a small town and the land surrounding it, a place that looked to be over one hundred years old. You’re almost certain you saw a big wooden sign over a building that said ‘Saloon’.

But before you could see the next image, your attention was torn towards your front door with Joel pounding his fist against it urgently. “Y/N, open up,” his voice demanded through the wood, “Is everything okay in there, doll? I heard a commotion and I’m worried. C’mon, I need yer to answer me.”

You could hear that concern in his tone and watched as he twisted the handle with force, damn near ready to break the thing before his knuckles began rapping at the door again much louder now. “I’m coming.” You called out shakily.

Walking towards the door and unlocking it, you stepped back as he pushed his way inside and reached out to hold your arm. “What’s wrong, girl? Did someone break in?” He questioned instantly and pulled you close, almost moving you behind him actually, as if he were shielding you from whatever spooked you inside the house. You looked like you had just seen a ghost, and your state of shock worried the man, so it’s no surprise he’s acting so protective right now.

“No — no one broke in." You managed to utter, then pointed a finger in the living room as you fully stepped behind him now and held onto his bicep. “It’s that mirror. Something’s wrong with it.” He looks at you with furrowed brows, as if he couldn’t believe you were so alarmed over a mirror, but his expression softens when he realizes that you’re being genuinely serious. You looked like a deer in the headlights.

Joel decides to take a look by peeping his head inside your living room and sees for himself that the source of light and noise isn’t coming from your TV like he expected. He turned back to look at you with a mildly confused expression and reached past you to shut your front door. “I ain’t ever seen a mirror play a movie like that before.” He said with bewilderment, then stepped into the living room with you to investigate. As he takes a closer look though, he now fully understands why you were so alarmed in the first place and asked: “How the fuck is it doing that?”

“How the hell should I know?” You retort, your voice laced with as much concern as his. Moving towards the mirror together cautiously, you stick to the man’s back like glue and remain close as he scans the object with his eyes and searches for answers.

“I can’t see anything that can explain it,” he mutters cluelessly, “There’s not even a little projector at the top, speakers or a power button to explain how this is possible.” You nod in agreement with him and feel a whole hell of a lot safer that he’s seeing what you are seeing. It was reassuring and validating your reactions that he, too, found it so bizarre and inexplicable. You couldn’t find a rational explanation, and neither could he.

However, curiosity got the better of Joel as he reached out to touch the mirror. It didn’t feel right and you had a horrible feeling in your gut, but before you could even think about stopping him or voicing your concerns, he was sucked inside with so much force that he yanked you in there with him.

You screamed and yelled while falling into a seemingly endless void of darkness. It was no longer than two seconds really, but it felt like an eternity before finally breaching the other side and landing on tall blade of grass with a soft thump. You were beneath a tree... a large oak tree.

And it was the very same oak tree you had seen earlier.

Next Chapter

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trendyfashiontalks · 2 years

Text

Sana Safinaz Mahay Summer Pakistani Lawn Salwar Suit

Rendezvous with reveries with this jet black lawn shirt, dancing with Kashmiri shawl prints in magenta, plum, pink, and blue. Featuring a delicate lace style embroidered patti on an organza jet black Pakistani Lawn Dress. Paired with flattering jet black cotton pants and a soft silver chiffon dupatta, printed with geometric strips in pink and magenta. This versatile ensemble will stun at your daytime lunches and evening soirees!

Printed Shirt Front On Lawn.

Printed Shirt Back On Lawn.

Printed Sleeves On Lawn.

Embroidered Patti.

Printed Dupatta On Silver Chiffon.

Dyed Pants.

100% Original From The Brand

#Pakistani Lawn Dress #Summer Friendly Collection #Comfortable to Wear #Party Wear Salwar Suit #Classy Lawn Salwar Suit

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megamanrecut · 8 months

Text

Alright, I've been busy and it's taking me awhile to get the next part of Diamond in the Rough up, so here's a little drabble/teaser for a short Become the Night interlude/sequel. (Note: I am in in a rush so apologies for the roughness/spelling errors lol also possible some details may change later for better continuity with everything)

Become the Night 2 Teaser (Now on Ao3)

It was a warm summer day outside Dr. Light’s laboratory. Dr. Light was away at a work conference, Rock and Roll had taken Rush into the city to go shopping, while Proto had stayed behind to work on the skycycle and be on call if Dr. Wily and Snake Man were to strike.

But the emergency satellite scanner remained quiet. Proto was bored—Dr. Wily hadn’t attacked in over a month, and his armor was sitting unused in a heap in his room, collecting dust. He was wondering if he should have gone into the city after all with Rock and Roll—shopping and malls weren’t his thing, but playing at the arcade with Rock and teasing Roll over her music tastes could be fun—

The doorbell rang.

Normally, Proto hated answering the door. Though Dr. Light’s laboratory was located in the country and didn’t receive many visitors, Proto preferred to ignore the few that came, who were mostly salesmen anyway. But today, Proto put down his tools, put on a pair of aviators, and answered the door.

Outside stood a man with short auburn hair. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a formal, tight-collared suit of black wool with orange embroidery and gold buttons. Everything about him looked extremely expensive, as though he were royalty—a strange visitor for Dr. Light’s boring, quiet laboratory in the country. He glanced around furtively, checking the lawn, then stared at Proto with familiar piercing pale eyes.

“Are you Proto?” he asked in a low voice, his lips barely moving, as though afraid the welcome doormat might be eavesdropping.

“Uh, yeah,” responded Proto without really thinking as he stared back (he was not dressed as ‘Break Man’, his public-facing hero identity, after all, nor did many know who ‘Proto’ was).

The man (or android, as Proto had instantly figured out, despite the flawless disguise) nodded curtly. “My name is Mr. Turner. We haven’t met—“

“Oh I know who you are,” Proto interrupted, grinning broadly at Turner. There was no mistaking the resemblance of those pale eyes. “You’re Elec Man’s little brother!”

“I—what?” Turner wrinkled his nose. “I’m not—that’s not—“ He gave a small, annoyed cough, then changed the subject. “…Are you alone?”

“Yes.“ Proto opened the door wider. “Here, come in.”

Turner stepped warily over the threshold into the brightly lit foyer. After glancing around with a still expression, apparently listening to make sure Proto was actually alone, he began to walked around with perfect, straight backed grace, hands clasped behind his back.

“Checking for bugs,” Turner informed Proto in a cold, crisp tone as he inspected the dull knickknacks on the perfectly ordinary accent tables.

“Good idea, always forget to do that,” Proto replied, hiding a smirk. He was reminded a little bit of a peacock or a very self-conceited show dog.

Then he noticed Turner’s eyes were lingering on the framed pictures, and grimaced slightly inside. He wasn’t proud of this collection, especially not around a Syndicate member—most were family photos both dorky and domestic, yet it was a bit difficult to tell what Turner was thinking as he stared at them.

“So uh, what brings ya to this neck of the woods?” Proto prompted.

Turner turned his cold piercing stare on Proto. “I have a mission for you from your former employer. Top secret. I heard you used to do work for us…as some sort of assistant, or something.”

“Special asset, in the end—a mission from the Syndicate? Really?” Proto asked keenly, taking a step toward Turner.

A mission from the Syndicate would be dangerous—Syndicate missions were always dangerous. Proto missed the danger—fighting Dr. Wily and his goofy inventions didn’t have quite the same thrill as risking his life battling murderous scrappers and powerful mobsters. Yet, he had been placed in a forced retirement from vigilantism a year ago…still a bit of sore spot.

Turner’s eyes fell away from Proto to glance out a window. “Yes, but you must know, I can’t pay you for your work.”

“No problem. I will do it pro bono.”

“Then you accept?”

“Sure.”

“If you double cross me, I’ll make you regret every day for the rest of your short life.”

At this point, Proto was trying very hard not to laugh. The android was clearly trying to act both as impressively tough and coldly professional like Elec Man—a nigh impossible feat. “Of course. But…listen, junior, me and your older brother go way back. There’s no way I’d do anything to hurt you guys!”

“My name’s not ‘junior…’ Turner replied, bristling.

“Well, until you tell me your real name,” Proto responded with a lazy shrug. “And junior, no offense, while you’re earning extra credit in acting lofty and superior, you’re only a B in intimidation and a D in lying. Honestly I’m afraid if I even touched you you’d break like a china doll. Nice try, but lets can the gangster talk and cut to the chase.”

Turner looked affronted. “What do you mean?”

Lowering his voice, Proto took a step toward Turner, his amusement fading. “Junior…you’re supposed to be on a mission in California. You’re a long way from California. Call me crazy, but I don’t think you’re supposed to have any contact with me at all, least of all giving me orders! What the hell is going on? Where’s Elec Man?”

“I—I—” Turner appeared to be valiantly clinging on to his tough Syndicate facade, but a slight shiver shook his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

“…Is he in danger?”

Turner’s head almost made a small jerk, as though he were about to nod, but he quickly controlled it and said, sounding genuinely lost, “I don’t know. We—I—need Cypher’s help.”

For a brief moment, Turner had looked imploringly at Proto, but then his gaze had darted away again.

Suddenly, the situation seemed much less fun, though Proto gave Turner a reassuring smile. “Well you got 'im. C’mon. We’ll take our air raider.”

Continued in Part 2

#fic updates #return to the night #become the night #proto man #top man #recut au #Syndicate!Proto Au #syndicate #tho seriously will be back at s3 when I can

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lovelybarnes · 2 years

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pumpkin spice- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, carrot oc warnings: dog the carrot the dog, a little chaotic reader about: this prompt that if i tell you itll spoil it but just think autumn shenanigans with carrot the dog and bucky and reader

it’s autumn. indubitably, doubtlessly, joyfully autumn.

the orange is comforting, pinpricking at greens until it’s chased it away entirely. there’s something different to the air—a crispness, a tired edge that blurs like an old camera. bucky enjoys it. there’s a sharp bite to the breeze that tousles dark hair and kisses his nose with poison lips, but when he takes a breath, it feels as if it reaches the very depths of his lungs.

he’s unsurprised to find you outside when he spots the house, your figure peeking out behind the structure. the house is beautiful; he can’t help but notice each time he sees it. it’s thanks to him, mainly, who protested when you threw yourself on the tiled floors and declared the new house perfect as it was.

you’d helpfully observed as he planted flowers in the backyard and patted his sweaty head when he placed down a pathway to the door, insisting he didn’t have to but contradicting it when you hummed happily at his finished work.

it’s your insistence that makes the sight of you surprising. you’re dressed in something dark and comfortable, the little peeks of you he’s gifted with marvelous. your movements are a little rushed, faraway voice rising and falling with excitement as you chatter with someone he can’t see.

you’re raking, albeit a little poorly with your speed, collecting the leaves you’d commented excitedly on earlier in the week. he had offered to clean then, but you’d waved him off and dropped a kiss on his cheek in thanks, donning your backyard the epitome of autumn.

something blurs by your feet, barking and jumping in tandem with your movements. you’re talking to your dog, he realizes, catching carrot’s name in an excited shriek when she throws herself at you and you stumble back.

you’re gleefully unaffected, rushing to collect the leaves and leaving half of them because of it.

he doesn’t bother going in through the front door, painted a muted blue thanks to your only request, pushing the gates to the backyard open.

carrot hears him as he locks it, sprinting toward him to push him back as he did you.

you don’t seem to notice, preoccupied with your task and a sweet little song you sing poorly. he pokes his head from behind a wall, watching you kick a green leaf away from yourself, your tune struggling when you miss. he loves you, he thinks.

“what’cha doing?” he asks, breaking your trance.

you don’t even flinch, head swiveling at the sound of his voice, a grin wider than its ancestor plastering itself on your face. “you’re home!” you cheer, dumping the rake to head toward him.

you’re warm when you meet him, although not unpleasantly so. your summer nose meets the cold skin of his neck and he can’t help but hug you closer, dotting a kiss along your hairline.

“what’re you doing?” he asks again. it’s kind, tinged with something like faint confusion as he lifts his head to observe the yard. you haven’t been doing a very good job cleaning.

“raking.” you grin, a little maniacal. “it’s—”

“you didn’t have to do that,” he muses. “why didn’t you ask me? i’ll be done in ten minutes without breakin’ a sweat.” carefully, he eyes the grass. “‘nd it’ll be a good job, too.”

“are you saying i didn’t do a good job?” you accuse. there’s something different in your voice, not negative but certainly betrayed in all your dramatics.

“how long have you been at it?”

“two minutes,” you lie proudly.

“all day?” he asks in surprise, looking right through you. “sweetheart,” he starts, incredulous and swallowed by a laugh.

“you don’t��”

“here.” he guides you over to a lawn chair and sits you down, brushing his lips over your heated forehead. “i’ll finish.” he bends down to lift the rake, getting to work when he stands.

“i wanted to do something,” you explain.

bucky doesn’t understand. “you do plenty.”

“i know that, i mean that i had a goal.”

“a goal?” he repeats, catching your eyes as he clears a patch of grass. “like puttin’ these things in a bag and throwing them out?”

“no,” you argue. “like… doing something nice for someone i love.”

bucky loves you, he thinks.

“i want it on the record that you stole my rake unwarranted.”

“sure. how was your day?” he asks.

“tiring. i was outside raking all day,” you complain.

bucky laughs.

“how was yours? how’d it go with that secret errand you won’t tell me about?”

“it’s a secret.”

“oh my god, are you getting me a puppy?”

bucky isn’t shaken, looking up to send you a wink. “it’s a secret.”

you glare at him. “you’re messing up my pile.” you're referring to the pile of leaves, of course. “i had a nice pile and now it’s all flat.”

“because there were so many leaves and no more up to go.”

“carrot’s going to be upset,” you say now.

“is she?” he hums, pushing the pile closer together to make it higher. “will she be happy now?”

you stand and step over to examine it, patting it gently a few times before nodding. “she’ll be so excited. i think this is the biggest pile yet.”

bucky frowns. “what?”

“carrot!” you bellow, clapping. carrot lazily lifts her head to look at you, tail already slapping gently against the floor. “let’s do pumpkin spice!” you instruct, pairing it with a strange movement of your fingers, and he assumes it’s some command when carrot jumps to her paws and sprints toward you, ears flapping in the air as you bounce on your feet and bucky stands horrified, watching his dog race into his newly formed pile.

you squeal when she jumps in, leaves exploding around you and mimicking what he’d seen when bucky came in.

your voice is saccharine as you praise carrot, spotting her snout peeking out from beneath orange and dotted green. “this has to be the best fuckin’ day of your life, carrot. jumping into leaves all day? fuck, it has to be, my love.” she takes in the affection greedily, tail wagging so hard it makes more leaves flutter to the previously clean grass.

“doing something nice for carrot,” bucky realizes.

“and you! i got like fifty videos and she looks adorable,” you combat, too genuine for it to be anything but sugary.

“this is what you were doing all day?” bucky ruminates, watching as you throw yourself into the leaves as well, fingers running through carrot’s hair as she leaps onto your chest.

you nod, smoothing the fur of her ear. “but you’re right, it took me much longer each time than it did you.” you pull a hand away from carrot to grasp his fingers, tugging him lightly. “y’wanna do it again?”

bucky snorts, gaze dragging on the delightful crinkles stretching from the corners of your eye, smile so wide it must be painful to keep your cheeks so high. you pull his hand to your lips and kiss his fingers. he wonders briefly if there is even a choice. he loves you, he thinks.

“give me ten minutes.”

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hiccanna-tidbits · 1 year

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Jackunzel February Special Week 2 - Summer The Painter and the Drifter

Railroad worker. Grocer’s assistant. Farmhand. Carriage driver.

All jobs Jackson Overland has tried--and failed to keep. Word around town is that he has a bit of a problem with authority. A bit of a tendency to goof off when he should be stocking shelves or helping shop visitors or whatever else.

Jack can’t help it, really. Life is too short not to grab onto every fun moment you can, even at the cost of a boss or two’s ire. Or three. Or maybe four.

He’s running out of options. Jack has been floating from town to town with no real plan, always on the hunt for the least onerous occupation. But moving isn’t cheap, and less and less people want to hire a young man with a reputation for tomfoolery.

It’s become a tiresome life. He’s been a nomad since his early teen years, and he finds himself wanting somewhere to belong. Something to do with his fleeting life besides try to survive with the bare minimum effort.

Then one summer, he takes a job as a gardener on a country estate. The Coronas are a powerful and influential family--local celebrities and benefactors for the nearby village. Earls or viscounts or something of the sort--Jack can’t keep track of gentry ranks. All frivolous rich person business that’s never really going to cross into his sphere.

Or so he thinks.

House Corona’s soon-to-be-debutante daughter is a bit of an oddball, by noble standards. She spends her summer...well, much more earthy activities than Jack would expect from a proper young lady. Sitting--sometimes even lying--in the front lawn’s long grass and painting. Musing through books that (from what he can glimpse of them) look much more dense and complicated than what Jack’s heard “proper ladies” can wrap their heads around. Wandering around in the woods and picking every interesting plant she laid eyes on--not just dainty wildflowers one could make an inoffensive and demure hobby out of collecting.

Plants and flowers alike often end up woven into her perfectly-brushed blonde hair, much to the chagrin of her nurses. Whenever Jack hears harsh tones and raised voices across the garden, it’s more than likely to be Rapunzel getting a lecture about grass stains on her gowns or dirt in her hair or what sort of ungodly things all this sun must be doing to her perfect complexion. And, of course, there’s the frequent concern of her intimidating potential suitors at her debutante ball by “spouting out all those books you devour faster than gentlemen know what to do with it.”

It’s a sunny morning in midsummer when Lady Rapunzel first speaks to him, decked out in a gold-embroidered white dress and without a single reservation to be seen.

Well...alone, at least. They’ve exchanged words while passing on the lawn, but never a long conversation. Then one day, he stands up after trimming the roses to find House Corona’s heir right behind him, holding out a plate of strawberry jam tarts.

Apparently he was so consumed with his work that he didn’t hear her creeping through the long grass. He yelps, nearly falling into the same pit of thorns he’s been straightening out all morning.

Rapunzel has quick reflexes for a noble. Keeping a one-hand hold on the plate, she reaches out and grabs his wrist just before he’s impaled with several dozen of nature’s best domestic spikes.

She’s...surprisingly unbothered by how filthy his arms are. Most of her family tries to not so much as brush against him as they pass by.

“Hi!” She beams at him. “Sorry, uh...didn’t mean to startle you. You’ve been working so hard all day, so I thought you might want a snack? I helped make them myself! Not really supposed to work in the kitchen, but um...well, it passes the time when it’s too hot out.”

She grows a little self-conscious, not meeting his eyes for a second. Jack only chuckles.

“Hey, it’s all right. They look delicious. But...” His face falls as he realizes something. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, miss. Are you supposed to give me--”

“Oh, well.” Her eyes glint mischievously. “In a family like mine, you make a few enemies. You never know who might poison your tarts when you’re not looking. Safer to test them on the garden boy, right?”

When Jack looks at her skeptically, she laughs and swats him--the second time she’s voluntarily touched his dirt-caked arm, he notes.

“Relax! I’m kidding. No one’s looking, anyways. And if someone catches me, I’ll take the fall.”

He wonders if that’s possible--a noble taking the fall for a servant. It seems unlikely to work.

Regardless, those tarts are looking pretty damn good--and much fancier than anything he’s eaten recently. And he’s starving.

Rapunzel watches with utter delight as he devours the strawberry jam tarts (perhaps a little quicker than was dignified). The pastries taste like ambrosia from the gods themselves. The kind of delicacy Jack has only ever dreamed about.

“You’re a really good chef,” he blurts out. Probably not very proper, comparing someone of her station to a mere food preparer.

Lady Rapunzel takes it in stride, giggling.

“And you’re a really good gardener!” she replies cheerily.

The lady bites her lip, looking uncertain again.

“Father says I spend too much time on it, but...I’ve been painting your garden! in between the obligatory etiquette lessons, anyhow. Do you want to see?”

Jack casts a glance back at the rosebush--his bitter foe since the sun oozed over the horizon that morning. He’d love an excuse to be done with it.

“Why not?”

***

Rapunzel, it turns out, is extraordinarily talented. She belongs in a castle, doing commissions for a king. Not learning stupid, arbitrary propriety rules and waiting around to be married off to some rich, land-owning asshole.

Her paintings pop with cheerful, free-flowing colors--flower thickets and sunlit brick walls and the very hedges he regularly shapes. Tall hollyhocks and lush lupine and honeysuckle vines creeping along walls and the thatched roofs of the village in the distance. Trees with full emerald canopies, dappled sunlight and shadows stretching out below them. Birds and squirrels and deer and foxes peeking out from hidden corners, fur and feathers splotched with leaves. Everything in Rapunzel’s paintings teems with life.

Their story is an unlikely one--the drifter and the painter, brought together by appreciation for even the simplest, most overlooked beauty of the world. Rapunzel takes to picnicking as the summer rolls by, preferring to eat in relative “privacy” from her family in order to sneak Jack any number of things from the kitchen. Cheese, crackers, freshly-cut charcuterie meat, tart jam, wild-picked fruit, baguettes and miniature quiches just out of the oven. Fine champagne a far cry from the craft beers Jack can snag at the village tavern. It’s the most lavish that Jack has eaten in...well, in as long as he can remember.

But the food isn’t the only part of Jack’s long workday he comes to look forward to. As they lie snacking on Rapunzel’s blankets, she shows Jack journals and guidebooks, all filled with beautiful, detailed drawings of every plant he can imagine and explorations of the world around them. Rapunzel’s grown quite adept at plant identification, studying and copying the guidebook drawings until she could yank any wildflower or weed from the grass and tell Jack what it was from leaf shape alone. He never imagined he’d be particularly concerned with plants and such, but...

With the way Rapunzel gushes about them, her eyes glowing brighter than every sunlit summer leaf put together, it’s hard not to be.

But they know this little pocket of bliss they’ve found together can’t last forever. Autumn is fast approaching, and with it Rapunzel’s debutante ball and an end to the estate’s need for someone to tend its garden.

Jack knows he should move along, just like always. Rapunzel will need to search for a real suitor, not...

Not some wide-eyed gardener with delusions of being worthy of a noblewoman’s love.

Eventually, Jack and Rapunzel will be forced to ask if their secret rendezvouses and growing affection for each other are worth the Corona family’s ire...and whether they may have to up-heave everything they’ve ever known to stay in each other’s lives.

Perhaps, they think, it would be worth it.

***

EYYYYYY this lil bit too much longer to write than I thought, but here it is!!! Because I am literally always down for Jackunzel inter-class angst <3 <3 <3 Princess and Servant AU My Much Beloved <3 <3 <3

VERY pleased with all the deep green in this, it’s...well, summery XD Green is one of my favorite colors in the world so I’m generally always down for more of it lol. But hey, I followed the prompt! Just doing my civic duty X3

I’ve highkey had that “blonde girl painting in a field/park” pic forever, and I was always kind of hoping to use it for some kind of period piece??? So I guess this was the end result of that urge. Idk how well the clothing fits in with the vague time period I selected, but...let’s hope it’s at least believable XD Sadly I have no definitive answer for the time period besides Ye Olden Days When Inter-Class Marriages and Romances Were More Taboo, whoops ^^;

Damn, now I...really want that picnic food and those jam tarts D: Alas, the downside of writing (and providing visuals) about your blorbos doing fun activities is then you would like to join in. Not to woo them, no--that is only for Jack and Punzel to do to each other--but instead to have to opportunity to eat quality food. Which is, of course, always my main priority.

I really gotta eat more jam and cheese and crackers, it really makes me feel like a fantasy protagonist or a Jane Austen character akjdhbpesuv

Pic credits available upon request!

#jackunzelfs23 #jackunzel #jack x rapunzel #rapunzel x jack #moodboard #aesthetic #jack frost #rapunzel #jackxrapunzel #rapunzelxjack #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #regency au #tangled #rotg #rise of the guardians #crossover

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