#The freckles on Jimmy's shoulders are perfect | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alsosprachvelociraptor · 1 year

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IMPERFECT CREATURES

The kingdom of Larnion, located north of the continent, is famous for being inhabited by elves: creatures of beauty and elegance, with extraordinary abilities, nobility of spirit and pure magic flowing through their veins. And yet, not all elves are perfect. Marquis Timothy Burch of BlackLake carries a generations-long curse, a deformed and weak body and occult magic, and lives a lonely but peaceful life- until an encounter with a bard with a hunched back and pale, misaligned irises turns his entire life upside down - for better or worse, not even Tim knows.

South Park - Stick of Truth AU + Post Covid. The designs will be inspired by SoT, but with the adult PC version. Contains violence and Jimmy's unfunny jokes. Exercise caution.

CHAPTER ONE

The orchestra played merrily as human servants darted here and there around the great throne hall of the Royal Castle of Larnion, voices in every elvish dialect of the realm overlapping melodiously like a choir to the music.

It was, that day, the one hundred and twenty-fifth birthday of Prince Roland of Larnion, King Kyle's son, who now sat proudly at his father's side instead of under the throne platform, where his younger sister still sat in her little girl's chair.

Roland was similar to his father Kyle. Red, curly hair and large golden eyes were a sign of the highest elven nobility, though his curls were softer and longer than his father’s, his eyes larger, his face sprinkled with freckles. He still had to mature that nobility of spirit which, on the other hand, the man at his side unleashed with ease.

King Kyle was a tall, lanky elf with a strong physique and broad shoulders, his short, curly hair of a brilliant fiery red clasped in his usual heavy crown of woven golden branches, a short, elegant beard on his sharp face and his eyes as bright and golden as heliodor gems. Majestic and almost divine, wrapped in his long blood-red robe, Prince Roland paled beside him, but that was normal. Even Kyle, as a young elf, had looked like a lost child beside his father.

The blond Donnely, an earl from the capital province who often stayed at the castle, bowed before the throne, clutching a large gem in his hands. His family, the Donnelys, were owners of a mine taken from the orcs several centuries earlier.

"Donnely gave the prince a jewel, of course," sniggered Douglas Petuski, an elven knight with ash-coloured hair and amber eyes, a vivid orange typical of woodland elves, the ethnic group to which he belonged. Even though he was elegantly dressed, the stench of the wild had stuck to him, and would not slip away from his mud-coloured skin- not that he paid attention to it.

The four elves stood in the furthest corner of the room, in an area where they could talk freely without disturbing the tedious ceremony of welcoming the young heir into adulthood, squeezed into a corner near a black-veined marble fountain in the shape of a cornucopia.

"And what did you bring instead? A dog poo and a couple of sticks?" muttered the tall elf by his side, dressed in purple like the colour of his always slightly sad-looking eyes, and with long midnight-blue hair framing his pale face. The drow and the coppery-haired elf at his side let out a light chuckle, under Petuski's displeased gaze.

"A book and horses are a better gift, perhaps?" retorted Petuski, now almost offended. "Can you perhaps build a house, or build a fire with those?"

The drow, short and stocky, glared at him, her eyes red and evil. "This is no ordinary book. Dark magic of the dark realm, something you surely cannot understand, half-animal."

Petuski made to draw the sword hanging at his hip, and the drow swiped her obsidian-coloured fingers over the magic pendant hanging from her neck, but the strangled cry of the beast at the side of the last elf, who had not yet spoken and usually did not speak at all, silenced them both.

The beast, a cockatrice with blind eyes and a muzzle on its beak, rasped a kind of bellow and stomped on the ground a couple of times with its clawed, deformed paws, before returning to its owner, slipping between his heavy metal stick and his legs.

The elf, with short coppery hair on a head that was strangely large and unshapely for his race, and his very long ears pointing down rather than up, bent to stroke the sparse feathers of his cockatrice.

"Only a madman like Burch would bring a cockatrice to the king's court," Petuski replied, with a smile on his lips now.

Timothy Burch stood up straight, towering over the group of elves with whom he was waiting his turn, smiling at the deformed beast between his legs. "I never leave Gobbles alone," he muttered, slurring the words between his large, pointed teeth, something else he shared with no elf, not even the carnivorous drow at his side.

An embarrassed silence fell over the four, and when the king pronounced Lord Jason White's name, the tall, purple-robed elf with long strides walked towards the throne, showing the king and heir, with his merchant's charm, the splendid swords of dwarven forge he intended to gift to the young prince, whose golden eyes gleamed with the desire to wield those weapons and challenge some dummies in the king's private garden.

Then, the turn to show presents to the spoiled son of the king passed for lord Jason, and it was the turn of the next nobleman to delight the heir with gifts he would never use.

"Sir Timothy Burch, Marquis of BlackLake."

King Kyle's voice was crystal clear, and uncompromising. He wasn't going to wait for Gobbles' tantrums, or the marquis' slowed limp, and so Tim braced himself and walked briskly towards the throne, the cane ticking noisily by his side tapping repeatedly against the beautiful marble that made up the floors of the throne room.

He motioned to his servants, who were watching the proceedings from the door leading to the outer garden of the palace, to bring the horse inside while he tugged Gobbles, who was limping behind him.

Arriving in front of the throne, he lowered his head and bent over as much as he could, pressing hard on the stick and praying to the Gods that it would not slip on the smoothly polished floor. The metal tip of the stick moved, but almost immediately caught in a crack between two tiles, and Timothy felt his own heart skip a beat.

"Sire. Prince Roland, I offer you my warmest wishes."

When he looked up, he met Prince Roland's golden eyes, wide open in an emotion akin to fear. His perfect face was contracted into a grimace of horror, anguish, disgust. He did not respond to Timothy's wishes, and the copper-haired elf knew well why.

It was not the first time he had been treated like that, and it certainly would not be the last.

Elves were renowned for their beauty and elegance, perfect beings in such a dirty world, glints of pristine excellence - but Tim was not like that.

He was a deformed elf, sick and weak, who dared to present himself before the king of those creatures considered superior to every other race on the continent. With his deformed head and ears pointing downwards, long, misshapen legs that lacked the strength to keep him upright, and sparse copper hair on his sickly alabaster skin, Timothy Burch, the Marquis of BlackLake, was not someone looked upon favourably. The younger elves, like Roland and like his sister and like the other children who were present at that party, ran and hid and looked away when he passed by.

But his territories, a border march on a lake full of untamable creatures, were in the primary needs of the kingdom of Larnion, and King Kyle knew it well.

"Say thank you, Roland. Don't you dare disrespect the marquis." Kyle growled in a tone of voice as sharp as the blades the prince held in his hands, and perhaps that hurt even more. Roland nodded, looked away and kept his gaze down. "Excuse me. Thank you, Marquis Burch."

With a twinge of irritation in his soul, Timothy thought that if the boy was behaving in that way, he really wasn’t as mature as the evening’s ceremony supposedly suggested. He kept the thought to himself, however, because if there was one thing Tim was truly extraordinary at, it was keeping quiet.

With a snap of his fingers towards his servants, Timothy instead said something else; that little speech he had rehearsed for the occasion.

"For Prince Roland, who will surely be as magnificent a king as his father is, I thought of the best steed."

Accompanied by two servants, a proud and mighty unicorn marched behind Timothy, his frightened cockatrice between his legs as the unicorn trotted along, so weightless that its hooves did not seem to touch the ground.

Roland rose to his feet with such vigour that he almost dropped the swords and jewels he held in his lap. "A unicorn, father!!!" he shouted with his voice full of emotion as never before that evening, as Timothy felt the hate-filled stares of the other elven nobles on his back.

The table was set and the food plentiful, but not excessively so. King Kyle was known not to overindulge in anything, and was renowned indeed for his skill in economy, aided by his genial cousin of the same name, Lord Kyle of the Windy Hills, who sat next to him at that moment. Lord Kyle had a notebook in his hands, and dark ringlets fell over his face, which appeared bluish-hued with how pale he was. Timothy was not close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two royals, but a few words still reached his long ears, including bard, and bad idea.

There had never been a bard at any party hosted by King Kyle, as far as he could remember. Timothy's ears twitched on their own, trying to pick up those words from tables away, as only he could - his condition was not only physical, but also magical, and this was little known in the elven community. Using his abnormal abilities among others was not a good idea, but Timothy did it anyway. He was usually skilled enough to be able to hide what he was doing.

Silence fell over the room all of a sudden like a curtain of smoke, and Timothy felt his blood run cold in his veins.

Were they watching him? Had they noticed his deformities, or his crooked-born cockatrice Gobbles, both of which all the elves he had known had remarked on so many times? Maybe they had caught him spying on the king with his cursed, secret magic?

Looking around, no, he realised that the attention was not on him, but on someone else.

Dragging his stocky, heavy legs behind him, came limping an elf of peculiar colours.

"Is it a drow?" Jason hissed to the elf seated next to him, whose golden ringlets tumbled over her long robe of red brocade. The warrior elf, Bebe, stood gazing in horror at the figure who was slowly walking down the hall, the same look all the elves wore in that moment, after all.

"No!" whispered Henrietta, the drow. “There are no malformed drow, perfection is in our nature! That thing is not one of us! What if it's a silver elf like you, instead?"

Jason hid a grimace of disgust only because he felt Timothy's neutral - but not quite so, really- gaze upon him.

The skin of the elf who was dangling in front of the royal table was not the pearly skin of silver elves, nor the sun-kissed skin of golden elves, nor the obsidian skin of drow. It was grey, like thunderclouds, and his hair was lead-coloured mottled with white - a disgrace to the elves - and his stocky body was bent in a way that was difficult for the eye to bear, for a creature that should have been synonymous with elegance. His spine curved in on itself, so that his head was nestled between his broad shoulders. His face was ungainly and his ears, which were long and curved with the tip bending down, were studded with different kinds of earrings.

"I o-offer my greetings to the king of thi-this beautiful land, very much." stammered the elf in an overconfident voice, miming a bow as deep as the crutches that held him up would allow. Removing his right hand from the handleof the crutch that was secured under his strong arm, he grasped the neck of a large lute which was slung over his shoulders. "I am the b-best b-bard in Larnion, my name is Jimmy. Today is a happy day for the ki-kingdom, is it not? I have heard that the heir has reached maturity!"

King Kyle gave a tense smile to his host bard. "Yes, noble James. I called you because my son Roland loves songs. Don't you, Roland?" his father urged him, but the boy instead reserved for him the same look of terror he had given Timothy moments before.

Disgust.

Timothy felt his face boil with anger, but he restrained himself. Living amongst the other nobles, who were all obsessed with the perfect genetics of their race, was so unnerving. He hardly ever left his domains for that exact reason, and his parents had lived a life of seclusion for that exact reason, too.

"Is there any s-song you want to hear, my prince?" the bard asked. Roland kept quiet. At his side, the little princess Ethel sank her face into her arms and burst into a loud cry, which increased the muttering among the nobles. King Kyle's golden eyes widened as he passed his gaze over his sons, then his cousin, and finally to his trusted elf guard behind him, Ser Stanley of the Marshlands, who gaped for a split second before acting. "Er... er what about... starting with the classic stuff? Eh, Roland, do you want to hear some jokes?" the elf warrior, strong of body and quick of intellect, who often and willingly helped his beloved king on difficult occasions like those, urged him.

Roland nodded, lowering his head as the princess was escorted out by her nanny.

"Wow, what a great audience!" chuckled the bard to himself, before leaning on his crutches with his broad arms and forking his lute like a weapon. "No shame, my king, it happens often. Children run away at my arrival, and adults laugh. I usually p-prefer the latter, and that is what I want from you all today! A smile on my audience's lips is sweeter th-than wine on my tongue. Well, certainly sweeter than this wine you offer, my liege. S-somebody spent a little short on these supplies, eh?"

King Kyle turned to Lord Kyle, who had blushed to the tips of his ears, while the king laughed heartily. The other lords also followed him in a general giggle. Timothy remained upright and tense in his chair, with no sign of hilarity on his face.

The crippled elf began to play light accompanying notes on his lute, while he continued joking.

"Wow, what a great audience. The n-nobles drive me crazy, I love them. N-not just because their palaces are a delight to wander around in and be ho-hosted! All their secrets and shady dealings... do you know anything about that, ser, you behind the King, wa-wa-waa-gging your tail like a faithful lapdog?" he turned to Stan of the Marshes, who took a step back as the crowd erupted in laughter. Eventually a smile came to his lips tanned by the strong Larnion sun, as King Kyle clasped his red face between his hands.

"Ah, nothing like being back among the elves." cheered the bard, Jimmy, launching into a lute solo as he continued to speak. "You can't imagine the chaos in Kupa Keep. I-I've just been there. I had to wash myself three times in a row to get the stench of humans off me, and the foul v-voice of their Grand Wizard out of my ears!"

There was another loud roar of laughter all around, so loud that Gobbles squirmed between Timothy's legs, his head barely able to stay up to find Timothy's hand under the table. Tim stroked the long crooked neck, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could return to the room he had been assigned in the King's huge palace.

The bard pretended to sniff the air, then turned his gaze in the direction of Timothy's table, his eyes- the irises almost white, the black pupils pointing in opposite directions- searching for more victims. "Ah, that's where the st- the stench came from. The wild elf who doesn't wash, what an ah-ugly stereotype that isn't so much a stereotype this time, eh?"

Petuski spat out the wine he was drinking, while at his side Henrietta the drow matriarch burst into hysterical laughter.

"Ah, the stench is also of bad wine. Very ba-bad mix for a noble's nostrils. Only a drow would d-dare to be around you,” the bard continued, approaching the table limply. Even Petuski eventually burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, Timothy looked up from Gobbles and at the bard, only to find his eyes on him.

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

"I didn't kn-now even malformed elves could sit at the nobles' table," he said loudly, and everyone turned their eyes towards Timothy, his face growing red and hot and his fists clenching under the tablecloth. He ignored the bard, turning his gaze elsewhere.

He felt the weight of the grey elf on the table, directly in front of him. "Oh, were you offended? But no, g-ginger, I didn't mean to offend you. Can we be two crippled friends? We can s-swap crutches and all that stuff!"

Jason pressed both hands to his lips so that he wouldn't burst out laughing at Tim's side, who instead felt the back of his neck freeze and his forehead burn with rage.

He stood abruptly and, clutching the golden handle of his cane in one hand and Gobbles' leash in the other, moved away from the table. "My heartfelt apologies my King, I must go," growled Timothy through gritted teeth, without turning around.

There was a clatter of metal on the marble floor, faster than he thought possible- or perhaps Tim's movements were simply too slow- the bard stood before him, a crooked, wicked smile on his thin greyish lips.

"Hothead, are we? I mean, come on, I didn't mean to upset you! You're cu-cute, I like you. Why don't we d-do a performance together, you and me?"

The bard, Jimmy, smiled sincerely as he did not let Timothy, who was desperate to get out of the room, pass. He felt the eyes of every elf on his back, studying him - watching those two only vaguely elven-looking beasts bicker, two freaks, less than sentient beings at their mercy.

"I p-promise you will like it. Maybe one day people will like you as much as they like me! Maybe. Maybe with a silly little hat on that b-big head..."

At the sound of the nobles' laughter behind him, and the sight of the satisfied smile of that damn freak in front of him, Timothy felt something in him snap.

He let go of the cockatrice's leash.

Fast as ever, strong and full of rage and hatred, he threw a fist into the bard's face, feeling the man's lip split under his knuckles, his teeth breaking flesh and blood bursting forth.

All the bard could do was shut his eyes, almost falling backwards with the force of the punch, his lute falling to the marble floor with an empty wooden thud and a cacophony of snapping strings. Timothy hit him again - in the face, on one eye, on the temple, until the bard fell to the ground. Still Tim hadn’t had enough, and kicked him again once, maybe twice.

When he realised that the laughter had faded and silence had fallen on the room, Timothy's mind cleared enough for him to grasp the rope that served as a leash to Gobbles from beside the elf on the ground, and to yank the cockatrice out of the hall with long strides, and towards his room.

The only sound throughout the entire castle was his heavy, angry breath.

CHAPTER TWO

Timothy's room was, fortunately, located in one of the most isolated wings of the royal castle, where no one could bother him.

Sitting alone on the large double bed, Tim gazed at the excoriated and bloody knuckles of his right hand.

He had never been a violent man. Violence suited neither his meek and reserved nature nor the race to which he belonged, yet he had just beaten the hell out of that malformed elf without a second thought.

The blood on his hand was both his and the bard's, and it was plain to see. Timothy's was a bright and brilliant red, while the bard's was dark and thicker, sticky against his white skin. Their blood mixed in almost psychedelic ways as it flowed over his knuckles, which had been cut open by the bard's teeth. He watched, transfixed, instead of medicating himself, heedless of a few drops ending up on the dusty rug.

He clenched his fist.

No one had ever dared to address him in that tone, using those words. The other elves certainly had those thoughts, but no one dared to express them in words, let alone address them to his face.

But no, that damn bard, all crooked and limp, had found the courage to express them, and laugh at him, and look at him defiantly.

Timothy was not a violent man, but neither was he someone who would be so easily pushed around.

Served him right, Timothy thought then, waking up from the numbness he had collapsed into after reaching his temporary room, and jumping to his feet, causing Gobbles to flinch in the corner of the room where he had been sleeping on a pile of old blankets. He didn't quite know how Gobbles perceived the world, with his completely white, harmless eyes, which Tim assumed were blind. Maybe they really weren't, and Tim didn't care - Gobbles was his lifelong companion, blind or sighted.

Advancing without a cane, his heavy, unsteady legs moving awkwardly and his feet dragging on the floor, he lay down beside his animal and stroked the sparse but soft feathers between his twisted, useless wings.

"It's ok, Gobbles," he whispered softly.

His only regret about that angry outburst was having done it in front of Gobbles, a meek and mild creature who had never seen his master in that mood. Timothy hoped he hadn't really seen it.

"Can you forgive me?"

The cockatrice's serpentine tail wrapped around his leg as its birdlike beak gently tapped and nibbled at his fingers. Yes, Gobbles was a gentle and docile creature, incapable of feeling anger or hatred or embarrassment, unlike Timothy.

The feathers on Gobbles' neck puffed up all of a sudden, and a few moments later there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Tim froze on the spot, regretting not having brought his cane with him. It was a few metres away, leaning against the bed, but he was closer to the door than to the bed.

Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again.

"Who is it?" Timmy asked, hoping for an answer, but no reply came to his rescue. Typical among nobles.

What if it was an ambassador of the king, recalling his horrible behaviour of a few hours earlier? Maybe it was Stan of the Marshes, ready to drag him by the arm to bow before the king and apologise for his amoral conduct in front of the whole court.

Feeling as though he was swallowing a boulder, Timothy stood up on his frail legs, and in a few short strides leaned against the door, removed the pin that held it shut, and turned the handle.

He had to lower his gaze at least half a metre to look into the elf's unnaturally pale eyes, with their pitch-black pupils in the middle of ice-coloured irises, one of them seeming to float in the blood-red sclera which was squeezed between swollen purple eyelids.

"Can we talk?" the bard said, a big smile on his bloody, broken lips.

Wow, Tim had really beaten him up. In addition to his disgustingly swollen eye and split lips, his cheekbone was bruised, and dried blood and dust in the shape of Timmy’s boots marked his tight, yellow hose. One of the crutches, little more than crudely inlaid branches held together by ragged metal pieces that split in two under his armpits, looked as if it would break in half at any moment.

"No." replied Timothy, trying to slam the door shut, only to find one of the bard's crutches stopping the door from closing.

"I mean come on, you owe me after wha-what you did to me. Look at m-me now! P-pretty p-please, Tim-Tim?"

"Don't call me that. I'm a marquis." hissed Timothy, glaring at the grey elf in front of - and below - him. He knew what he was doing, Tim was no fool. He wanted to play on Tim’s guilt, he wanted to try to manipulate him. Oh, by the gods, how stupid this bloody cripple was.

Timothy would have liked to slam the door in his face, right in his crooked mug, but perhaps beating him up again was not the best thing for his already poor reputation at King Kyle's court.

He opened the door to make sure no one was passing by, pushing the bard aside. No, no one was walking through these corridors. As far as he knew, the rooms adjacent to his were empty, because no one wanted to stay in that gloomy wing of the castle - no one wanted to stay near the marquis whose deformed body carried such a heavy curse, was the truth.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" asked Timothy, but the other elf had already passed him, walking limply into the room.

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Yes."

"You are a b-big meanie, Tim-Tim!" chuckled the bard - Jimmy was his name if he remembered correctly - dropping the large pouch he carried on his shoulders to the ground. It must have contained at least the lute and the green cloak, since he currently wore neither. Timothy closed the door, pushed the metal hinge into the wood so that it could not be opened from the outside, and leaned against it as he studied the slow, trembling movements of the bard who had infiltrated his personal chamber.

If he wanted an apology, he would get it. It wouldn't be sincere, but Tim wasn't the type to carry on such pointless squabbles. He approached him and took a breath, ready to express his most insincere apology.

The bard, on the other hand, had other ideas. As soon as Timothy drew near, Jimmy’s big fist crashed into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. The bard rested his other hand on Tim’s arm as he threw another punch at Tim's stomach, and then another until the taller elf fell to the ground, and then he was on him again.

Tim tried to resume breathing, the shock of the blows seeming to have closed off his lungs, but the bard's weight on his body prevented him from doing so. Jimmy forced a large forearm under Tim's chin, putting pressure on his throat.

There was primal and uncontrolled anger in his pale, disturbing eyes. "You made a f-f-fool out of me in front of the king, m-motherfucker.” snarled Jimmy, like a wild beast with blood between his crooked teeth and his grey face livid with fury and bruises.

Tim panicked. He had never been in a fight in his life. No one had ever dared to lay a hand on the scrawny, deformed elf. What was he supposed to do now? Was he going to die like this?

He brought his hands to the bard's face, pushing his fingers into his eyes, lips, nose, everywhere. He pressed on the open wounds and heard the other cry out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Jimmy bit his fingers; Timmy felt teeth sink deep into his bones, but pressed his thumb against Jimmy’s swollen eye until he felt the heavier elf roll off him, the air rushing back into his tired lungs.

Tim couldn't allow the bard to resume his attack, so he pounced, grabbing Jim by the hair and slamming his head repeatedly against the floor, which fortunately-for the bard- was covered by a dusty old rug. Jim screamed, his stubby legs flailing as Timothy sat on his pelvis in an attempt to block his every movement. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the bard's strength, who with a violent thrust of his hips knocked Tim off balance, throwing him to the ground at his side.

From that moment on, chaos ensued. He heard the bard shouting insults, and his own voice shouting obscenities in turn with little control. The two of them rolled on the rug in a riot of hands, fists, slaps and scratches, banging shoulders and backs and knees against furniture, cupboards and walls, shoving elbows into stomachs and fingers into eyes, giving painful headbutts forehead to forehead in a frenzy of sweat and blood and saliva and noise and screams and pain.

When Tim found himself with his back against the brick wall and one of the bard's hands in his hair, he surfaced enough from the fog of rage and heat of the fight to realise that this brawl was going nowhere. Why were they fighting?

"Stop it! STOP!" growled Timothy in a tone that was more animalistic than noble elf, slamming a hand into the face of the other elf, who this time did not bite him. His face was hot under Tim’s fingertips, his skin drenched in sweat. "Enough, this isn't leading to fucking anything!"

The bard's large fist clenched around Tim's slender wrist without squeezing. He pulled Tim’s hand away from his face, collapsing limply to the floor. "Fine." he sighed, voiceless and breathless.

Tim was not in much better shape, barely managing to sit up, his back twitching in excruciating pain as he leaned back against the rough wall with the last of his strength.

The room was half-destroyed. Well, only on the lower level, actually. They had knocked over a couple of chairs and all the clothes Tim had laid on top of them, the marquis' travel trunk was splintered, the bed was vaguely shifted, and the bedside table had been tipped over, the bedside lamp abandoned on the mattress.

Next to it, Gobbles was curled up on the covers, shivering and frightened. Oh no.

"Gobbles. No, Gobbles... come here, it's ok." Tim comforted him, trying to get back on his feet but failing. His back ached so much that every movement caused piercing twinges in his ribcage, and the punches he had received to his abdomen were so severe that even moving and sitting up straighter made him want to scream in pain. "Gobbles, come here, good boy." he called, and the cockatrice raised his heavy head, squaring Tim with his blank white eyes.

He stood up on his paws, jumped with difficulty off the bed and hobbled towards Tim, sitting heavily in the marquis' lap, who barely kept himself from screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose as the creature snuggled up to him. "It's all right, it's all right," he whispered, stroking the feathers now all ruffled in the terror the cockatrice must have felt during the fight.

Poor thing, he had nothing to do with it.

Gobbles flinched when the bard, Jimmy, moved from the supine position in which he had remained until then. He raised his head, looking at Tim and his pet with a smirk, and though it was not one of mockery, it was still unfriendly. "Well, we've let off st-steam now, haven't we? C-can we talk without biting each other’s throat now?"

"The only one who has bitten here is you." Timothy replied, his wounded and bloodied hand held down so as not to soil the cockatrice's feathers. He could not bend his fingers thanks to the bard’s bite, which had been as deep as it was ferocious.

Jimmy stretched out his big, trembling arms, and with difficulty dragged himself like a worm towards the wall, the same wall Tim was leaning against. He ended up at the marquis' side, too close for his liking, so that when he turned and sat down he ended up with his thigh against Timothy's, and his shoulder pushing him to the side.

"G-give me your hand." the bard ordered. Timothy did not react, staring at him resentfully and with distrust. The grey elf grabbed Tim's wrist, and Tim tried to pull back with a violent jerk, startling the cockatrice on his lap.

They both stopped, but Jimmy's big, calloused fingers stayed firmly around his wrist. "You do-do-doon-don't want to scare your turkey again, do you? I s-said, give me your hand."

No, Timothy did not trust him, not after spending that horrible evening in his company. But what could he do? Kick him out of his room, all bruised and bloodied, with his hose ripped and that lost puppy-dog look in those crooked pale eyes?

Timothy turned his gaze from the bard's face and offered his injured hand, looking away at nothing in particular.

Jimmy's fingers were wide, hard, warm and trembling; strong and weak at the same time. He felt the callused fingertips tracing the edges of his bites -made by him, by the way!- a warmth enveloping his hand that Tim knew well. When he turned to look at what Jimmy was doing, he saw a dim light between his fingers.

Magic.

The bard looked up at the taller elf, like a child caught red-handed in the biscuit jar.

"You know how to use magic?" Timothy asked, and Jimmy nodded, still a little confused.

"A little bit. Just the healing kind, you know, you may have no-noticed I have a bit of trouble containing my ah-anger."

Tim's fingers, which had previously been deep red with open flesh bitten to the bone, were now almost completely intact, a vague reddish wound on the middle and ring fingers the only reminder of that nasty bite.

"Would you be able to heal yourself quickly before leaving this room?"

Jimmy replied with another smirk, not letting go of his hand even though it was almost completely healed. He felt Jimmy's wide fingers slip between his own. "You want to send me away, already?"

"You've done enough already."

"Come on, marquis, it was just a t-tussle to settle the sc- the score. We have so much more to talk about. We're friends now, aren't we?"

The bard sighed, leaning his shoulder against Timothy, who was much taller than him even when sitting. "We could talk about our curses, or..."

Timothy sighed heavily, letting the bard at his side lean against him and run his hand gently down his arm in an all too clingy manner as Gobbles fell asleep heavily on his lap. That Jimmy thought he was smarter than he actually was.

Clearly, he had no room to stay in. Surely the king would not have wasted a room on that freak, whom his son did not even appreciate. Tim thought that perhaps it was also his fault. Perhaps, if he had not reacted that way, someone would have accommodated the bard in their room.

He suspected the bard had not performed in the hall for much longer after being beaten to a bloody pulp by Tim, since instead of getting drunk downstairs as all the bards Tim had known usually did, he was there, in Tim’s room, at that not-so-late hour.

Turning to Jimmy, who was looking him straight in the eye with a hopeful expression, Tim smelled the faint odour of smoke, and of alcohol, though not enough for the bard to be drunk. An elf did not get drunk with the same intensity and ease as other inferior species.

"I can even heal you! Those punches I gave you hurt p-pretty bad, huh?" chuckled Jimmy again, hope now mixed with despair in his eyes that pointed this way and that at the same time.

Timothy clenched his fists.

Could he leave that elf, malformed and injured, stranded in the harsh climate of the northern kingdom?

Was this something Tim's strict morals would allow him to do; was it a cruelty he could carry out without feeling guilty for centuries to come?

The answer was easy, unfortunately.

No.

As loud, bossy and annoying as Jimmy was, a ball and chain at Tim’s ankle and a thorn in his side, he was at the same time an imperfect creature just like himself. He was an outcast; an elf who could barely be considered as such and, above all, someone who desperately needed him.

"...all right, you can sleep here for the night. Shortly after dawn I will leave to return to my castle."

Clinging to his arm, Jimmy giggled, like a young girl might when attending her companion's wedding and dreaming of her own Prince Charming. "Oh my b-beautiful lord, you are so generous to let me sleep on your bed!"

"I am a marquis! And I never spoke of-!"

Jimmy broke away from him, beginning to crawl pathetically over the rug, rippling it and pulling portions of it behind him, all the way to the bed onto which he hoisted himself by clinging to its wooden frame, his strong biceps aided in part by his legs, which were not completely unresponsive. “I haven't slept on a bed in uhh... years? About ten or twenty! In Kupa Keep they used to m-make me sleep on the floor, in a stable. Straw is better than hard wood soiled with horse shit, th-that's true, but you can't imagine how many nasty little bugs luh-luh-luuh-... hide in it."

As gently as he could, Tim woke Gobbles, who struggled to raise his head, his long, thin neck turning in Tim’s approximate direction. Timothy lifted him up and leaned against his side as, clinging with difficulty to the bricks that barely protruded from the wall, he rose to his feet. His legs trembled, his knees ached with the strain of keeping the weight of his long, lean body on them, his back sent excruciating stabs of pain and his stomach had turned completely inside out from the punches. Tim tugged his shirt from his trousers, lifting it almost to his bony chest. Large, heavy purple bruises covered the alabaster-white skin of almost his entire abdominal region, from his ribs down to his navel. And they hurt like hell.

Timothy sagged against the wall behind him, sighing and searching for the strength to walk towards his bed. Why had he come here... couldn't he have just stayed at home and sent some servant to deliver that unicorn for the prince?

At his feet, metal clanked. His cane rolled towards him from where he had left it propped against the bed, before... everything happened.

He grabbed it with difficulty and leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Jimmy, now lying awkwardly on his stomach on Timothy's bed, who had tossed it to him. He was smiling at him, his broad arms dangling lazily off the mattress.

"You said you de-decided to leave at dawn. You'd b-b-better come to sleep, it's not that many hours until s-sunrise now."

He did not like how the bard was taking so many liberties with him, the Marquis of BlackLake, but at the same time it was a comfort to have someone who spoke so freely to him, who wanted to speak not to someone else but to him, and in such an intimate context.

Timothy regretted a little that it would all be over in a few hours, but at the same time he was relieved. That Jimmy was a bitch.

Tim slumped towards the bed, bracing himself wearily against the mattress, at Jimmy's side. He would have liked to wear his own soft and comfy nightgown, but undressing under the icy-white gaze which would surely be fixed on him the whole time was not really something Tim wanted to do.

He just wanted to sleep, now.

He lay down as far away from Jimmy as possible - difficult to do, since the bard had decided to lie right in the middle of the bed, and despite how short and hunched he was, his shoulders were wide enough to occupy a good portion of the bed - and with a gesture of his fingers extinguished the torches that hung from the ceiling. It was a little magic that had served him well in his childhood, growing up unable to move and confined to a chair in his lonely castle.

"Wow!" he heard Jimmy say. He would rather not hear his voice, in the dark.

With a rustling of blankets, the familiar weight of Gobbles settled by his side, the cockatrice’s head resting on Timmy’s chest, demanding attention and cuddles before sleep as he had done every night for more than a century, his feathers all ruffled and soft under Timmy's tired hand.

And then, similarly, came more blanket shuffling, and a far less familiar weight on the other side of the bed: Jimmy's heavy head on his shoulder and his large hand slamming clumsily just above Timothy's bruised abdomen, causing him to hiss in pain. He did not chase the bard away just because, in the darkness of the room, he felt the warmth and saw the faint light of the healing magic the bard was applying to his aching body.

In the half-light he observed the cockatrice sleeping peacefully against his chest, the twisted and mangled body of a deformed beast who had found a safe haven in someone who could appreciate and love him. And then he passed his gaze over the deformed elf resting limply against his shoulder, his back hunched and his ears curved in an unnatural position, his tousled hair falling softly over his injured face and over Timothy's shoulder, his face relaxed almost into a smile.

Timothy cursed himself under his breath.

CHAPTER THREE

At dawn, as punctual as the bells of the capital city, the sharp gurgling of Gobbles the cockatrice signalled that the new day had begun, and it was time to wake up. It had been so for Timmy every dawn for the last few centuries. What had not been so was the jolting weight that fell suddenly upon his body.

"Shit! What the fah-fuck!? So scary! Fuck!"

Tim opened his eyes, the smile fading from his lips.

Oh, yeah. Right.

Jimmy.

He opened his eyes to find the bard sitting at his side, a frightened expression on his grey face, which was decidedly less swollen and purple than the previous evening. Gobbles was still singing in the dawn, and only stopped his cries to the rising sun when Timmy began lazily scratching the spot behind his eyes.

"G-gh-good morning, my lord." mused the bard once he had recovered from his fright, leaning heavily on one arm, the sun rising behind him and tinting his lead-coloured hair, not blue and not grey, neither black nor purple, with a soft golden halo. In that light, in the gloom, with that gentle smile and broad shoulders and soft, tousled hair, he almost looked like someone Timothy would like to wake up next to every morning.

Sadly, Jimmy also had the gift of speech.

"I slept reeeeally well on this b-bed, my lord, but that hen snores, very much. You duh-don't snore. But you are a little still and cold. It doesn't m-mah-matter, I've kept you warm, scrawny as you are, you d-definitely needed it! Ah, I'm soooooo tired, I've sp-pent a lot of energy healing you... maybe you could let me sleep here a little lo-longer, huh?" he blurted, lazily settling back into the bed, his head on the same pillow Timothy was still lying on. Tim hadn't understood half the words the bard had blurted out. He didn't really care.

The bard shifted and rested his head right on Timmy's long ear, tugging on the earring-studded tip. Timothy had to pull back because Jimmy didn't seem to want to move, his face far too close to Tim's, his breath hot on the marquis' freckled, flushed face.

Timothy sat up, tired of the closeness, and tired in general. "It is time for me to get ready, I must leave for my castle. The journey is long."

He saw the bard's pale pink tongue sticking out from between his greyish lips. "You can undress in front of me if you want. Go right ahead, come on. It's fine with me... m-more than fine!"

Arrogant little grey bastard.

Jimmy pulled his big arms behind his head and arched his back in a motion which was halfway between the languorous stretch of a lazy cat and a disgustingly obscene pose. Nevertheless, Tim kept watching him, unwillingly bewitched.

"Do you want me to undress f-first, so that you might feel less embarrassed...?"

“No!”

The bard sighed, struggling to sit up on the bed. It broke the strange spell Tim had fallen into, and he could finally look away, away from that body, so deformed and yet, and yet so...

"I'm leaving now, d-don't worry. But first I want something."

Timothy grabbed the cane leaning against the side of the bed and clutched it between his fingers, ready to violently kick the bard out of the room if he dared to try blackmailing him, or ask for money. Tim would accept no compromise. What did that bard want from him? Why did he seem so obsessed with him, what on earth had his mind - not particularly brilliant or capable of complex subterfuges and plans, Timothy thought maliciously - found of interest in the deformed marquis of a distant and not particularly rich or famous region?

Yet the bard smiled slyly, his stubby, crooked legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. "A kiss?"

Timothy widened his eyes, which pricked with the sudden sting of wetness. He quickly blinked back the unshed tears. A kiss?

A kiss?

The marquis jumped to his feet, waking up Gobbles, who lazily ruffled his feathers and, with a slowness and calm which was at odds with the tension and embarrassment that had fallen over the room, jumped off the mattress and hobbled over to the corner, on top of the clothes that had fallen to the floor the night before, to continue his morning nap.

Tim did not pay too much attention to this, because his entire focus was on the bard and his proposal.

'I won't t-tell anyone, pinkie swear. I just want to steal a l-l-little kiss, so how about that? I'll disappear afterwards, I promise." continued Jimmy, whose words were certainly reassuring, but whose smirk and vague blush said otherwise.

Tim stood still, pondering the situation.

Physical contact was frowned upon in Elvish society, intimacy seen as something superfluous for creatures who lived nearly a millennium, and reserved for securing a future for their kind. To elves, it was associated with those inferior creatures whose minds and souls were confined to the lowest existential plane.

But... but Tim wanted to kiss Jimmy, and push him onto the mattress, and feel the heat of his body against him again, this time with more force and passion...

Ah, what was the point of abiding by the social norms of his race if he did not even meet its physical requirements?

“Why?” the marquis asked, hiding all those thoughts behind a simple yet difficult question.

Jimmy, arms outstretched behind him, white irises watching the floor and the ceiling at the same time, shrugged his arched shoulders dismissively. "Why not? You're c-cute. I like gingers, very much. And b-besides, you and I are different from all the other elves, aren't we? J-juh-just you and me in this whole castle. Maybe even in the whole kingdom. I've never k-kissed anyone like you... like me."

Timothy lowered his gaze, staring at the sack Jimmy had brought the night before; a medium-sized, filthy heap of fabric into which the entire load of Jimmy’s lengthy middle-aged life had been condensed. But his mind was elsewhere.

He sounded sincere. He had no reason to lie. If Jimmy wanted to find comfort in someone, who better than a similar soul; who better than Tim?

Could Tim find comfort in Jimmy, in turn?

"Fine." he replied simply, perhaps not completely lucid, newly awake after a restless night, still with the memory of the knuckles and elbows of that same elf that was now waiting on the bed with open arms.

The marquis made his way over, placing one knee on the mattress beside Jimmy, who was looking at him like a stray dog waiting for a hot meal, fervent and excited, his cross-eyed eyes wide open and his wet, pink tongue dampening his still-wounded lips.

"Will you leave afterwards?"

"I will do anything you want, my lord," whispered Jimmy, in a tone totally different from any he had heard the night before and that very morning.

Tim’s thigh brushed against the bard's, and he rested his hands on his broad, solid shoulders - it was the first time he had touched Jimmy without intending to hurt him, and under Timothy's fingertips the yellow shirt - what a clownish colour without dignity or seriousness! –seemed thinner than it looked. He could feel the warmth of his skin under it, the tense muscle of someone who walked and stood only by the strength of his arms, which were now stretched behind his body.

All right, it was about time. It wasn't the first time Timothy had kissed someone, of course, but... how many centuries had passed since he had refused to take a wife and continue his family, trying to break the curse that had haunted his family tree for who knows how many generations, so many that he had lost count of the millennia of elven history?

Timothy bent over the other elf, shorter than him by quite a bit, who did not seem to move in anticipation. He couldn't tell if he was looking at him, due to his eyes pointing in every direction except at Tim himself, but from his smile he really seemed incredibly amused.

Tim moved closer until he felt the tip of his nose against Jimmy's, and still the bard didn't move. His breath warmed Timothy's lips, and the instinct to pull back was as strong as it was to jump on him and shove his tongue down his throat.

"D-do it, what are you waiting for?" whispered Jimmy, close enough that Timmy could feel his lips moving, and for a moment Timothy just listened, unable to react. "I know you want it. You want it even m-more than I do. You hypocrite."

How he would have loved to hit him again-

He slammed his lips against Jimmy’s in a burst of anger, with his mouth closed and no more thought; he pushed forward with such fury that he tipped the bard back onto the mattress, Tim on top of him.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, He felt Jimmy's hot tongue against his lips, and his teeth against his tongue, and his breath like steam on his face.

One of the bard's big arms looped around his shoulders, the other around his waist, his thighs tightening around Tim's hips; Jimmy clung to him as though his very life depended on it.

The kiss was little more than a frenzied mess of spit and teeth, more painful than it was pleasant. Jim's teeth kept unintentionally clenching on Timothy's tongue and lips - or maybe it was all on purpose? - and Timmy in turn paid no attention to it, instead pushing, licking, and clinging to the body beneath him, which was soft and hard at the same time and hot, so hot.

Timothy only snapped back to reality when, beneath him, Jimmy struggled to break away from the kiss that was lasting far too long, tipping his head back and taking a loud breath at the top of his lungs. Only then did Tim remember to breathe too, his face hot and his lips aching.

Jimmy was chuckling, but this laugh was a lighthearted giggle of hilarity; the bard seemed genuinely happy. His face was now more pink than grey and his dark and silver hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead. His lips were red and swollen.

Without thinking, pushing aside the moral rules and the animosity he felt for that profiteer bastard, Tim reached out his hand and brushed the wet hair from his face. Jimmy responded with an almost innocent smile.

Ah, damn, he was adorable...

"S-se-second round?" whispered Jimmy, his face still close to Tim's, too close to say no. So Tim said nothing; unhurriedly closed his eyes and slowly leaned into Jimmy again, relaxing into the pressure of his soft lips and the tickling warmth of his breath.

The tension in both of them seemed to have dissolved completely. Jimmy's large hands were gentle as he stroked the bony expanse of the marquis' gaunt back. Tim's hands roamed across the hard muscle of Jimmy's shoulders and down his broad chest, and at Timothy's light touch on his large pecs, the bard responded with a soft giggle against his lips, shifting slightly beneath him.

The tips of their noses bumped a couple of times as they tried to find the right angle for a better kiss, and Jimmy replied with another whispered giggle, and Tim with a smile.

Gobbles started to sing.

And a few moments later, knock-knock.

The handle of the chamber door rattled noisily a couple of times, its hinges loosened by wear and tear and old age, with an annoying metallic clang.

"Marquis Burch?" came the voice of one of Timothy's servants, a distant, dissonant echo from outside the door. "The door is locked- Marquis? Marquis!"

Tim lifted himself up on his elbows with an angry snarl, but Jimmy was of a different mind, still clinging to him, his hands clawing at Tim’s back as he pulled him down, towards himself.

"What do you want?" Timothy growled at the servant beyond the door.

"Marquis, it is almost time to go, I didn't see you among the other nobles at breakfast in the..."

Timothy was barely listening, truth be told. Jimmy was still kissing him, leaving little kisses at the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, up to his ear, a dangerous game that Tim was not avoiding in any way. On the contrary. It tasted like adolescence, a boyish game in which Timothy, in his lonely youth, had never participated.

"Yes, I'm coming. Give me-"

That damned bard chose that exact moment to press his tongue behind Tim’s ear. Tim bit his lower lip to prevent himself from letting a loud moan escape, and the bard snickered quietly as he moved off the spot, leaving a cooling streak of spit between the marquis' ear and hairline.

Little arrogant bastard.

"Marquis, are you alright…?"

"I'm fine!" Timothy replied hurriedly, glaring at the bard below him, who was grinning with mischievous glee.

He wanted to play? Well then they would play.

"I'll get ready now, I just overslept," Tim said with confidence and pressed his hand to the bard's chest, under his crooked, pale, and now very curious gaze.

He caressed Jimmy’s chest through his shirt, barely touching the bard's nipples and feeling the telltale hardness of metal under his fingers. The bastard wore a nipple ring. Really, it was no surprise. Timmy should have expected it from him. He gripped the ring between his forefinger and thumb and, without warning, tugged it through the fabric. Jimmy hissed through clenched teeth, the tone of his voice high with pain - and probably something else.

"Is there someone with you?!" the servant's voice was all too surprised at the thought of Timothy with someone, and that annoyed the marquis quite a bit.

Was the thought of Timothy being intimate with someone so extraordinary? After all, who would ever lie with an ugly and deformed being, a cursed creature, if not obliged by the very marriage bond that Timothy had decided not to contract? This was what he thought, this was what everyone thought, even his own servants?

For just half a morning he had stopped thinking about the awful world he was forced to live in and the rules he was forced to abide by, but that society seemed to nag and follow him with even more relentless intensity than that bard did.

"No. It's just Gobbles," lied the marquis, letting go of the bard underneath him, whose hand immediately went to soothe the pain at his chest. "Now go away, what are you still doing here?" Tim finished, and the sound of the servant's receding footsteps indicated that he was indeed gone.

And now what?

Timothy should have shouted those words at the bard who had slipped into his room the previous night and dared to hit him, but instead that bard was in Tim’s bed, his calloused fingers on Tim’s face and, as soon as the servant's footsteps were so far away that they were indistinguishable, his lips on Tim’s again.

"You have to go." Tim's words were half-hearted and addressed to no one really. To Jimmy, or to himself?

Jimmy nodded, his eyes half-closed and his eyelids heavy and purplish, one swollen and darker than the other, though definitely less than the night before. He brought his hand to Tim's reddened lower lip- sore after so many kisses and bites, swollen and warm and delicate to Jimmy’s touch- and wiped away a streak of saliva which probably belonged to both of them, gently, almost sweetly.

"I know." he replied, with a disarming simplicity to which Tim could not respond. Too many feelings were coursing through him, all at the same time. He was intimidated by them, and confused.

Timothy slid to the side, over blankets cooled by the cold winter morning of the northern kingdom, limply abandoning himself to the mattress whose chill contrasted so sharply with the warmth of the bard who was struggling to sit up in the middle of the bed.

The bard’s crutches were lying on the floor, not far from the bed, close enough that Jimmy could grab one and, with its help, bring the other close.

Putting pressure on his large forearms, the bard stood, slipping the wooden and metal crutches under his armpits to hold up his heavy and massive - and warm and attractive and very comfortable - body.

The marquis lay tiredly on the bed and watched that enemy, stranger, lover, slip into the heavy green cloak which he kept in the tattered sack, covering his body once more. He watched him, sack slung over his shoulder, fight against the lock of the door with his clumsy fingers. And Timothy simply could not move, this time not because of the pain in his weak joints.

Jimmy turned one last time, a wide, crooked grin on his half swollen, half flushed face. "See you, my lord."

Without elegance, the elf drew himself slowly through the doorway and from the sight of Timothy, who still did not know whether to feel relief or bitterness at knowing Jimmy was now, once and for all, out of his life.

In the bed in the corner of the room, where he had been comfily curled up, Gobbles awoke, and tried to climb onto the bed, and failed the first time. His crooked little legs clung to the covers in vain, and he fell backwards onto the carpet with an almost comical thud. Timothy sighed, rolling onto the bed just to grab Gobbles and lift him up, helping him with his efforts. The cockatrice jumped awkwardly onto the bed, flapping his useless, crooked basilisk wings, and dropped right where Jimmy had been lying just before, taking advantage of the warmth left on the blankets by the elf.

More footsteps sounded, announcing the return of his servant, who this time found the door ajar. The servant opened it wide and looked to where the marquis lay on the bed, still dressed in the previous evening's clothes, rumpled and bruised, gaze lost in the void.

"Marquis...?" he asked again, and Timothy lifted his head to stare at him with hatred and anger, irises now green, now blue, infused with pure magic, iridescent and never the same colour.

"I know, by the Gods! Fine, whatever! Is my bath ready?!" barked Timothy, more nervous than usual, rising to his feet with snappy movements.

"Well, it was ready almost an hour ago..." the servant muttered as his lord retrieved his own walking cane. The marquis’ grip on the cane was strong and angry, his knuckles poking out from ivory-coloured skin.

"...but now the water will be cold!" the servant complained. Timothy walked past him, unconcerned.

“That's better." growled Tim, adjusting himself in the trousers that were fortunately large enough to hide the painful erection which had remained untouched until that moment- and hoping that a cold bath would take away the heavy feeling of guilt in his chest, and frustration from his crotch.

#South Park #Jimmy Valmer #Timmy Burch #i do things

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cassieuncaged · 2 years

Text

Grave Bound - Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Summary: '73 - the blind date has an unexpected outcome. '69 - Elias confronts Bob.

TW: allusions to sexual assault, violence, fist fights, blood, brief intense imagery, language, etc.

WC: 2.9K

1973

A comb ran through coppery tresses once more as she examined herself in the mirror; the reflection shone a ruddy face painted with freckles and makeup. Hair bobbed above her shoulders, a cloud of ginger against a mossy green dress.

Perfect.

“How do I look, Maddy?” the tangerine tabby meowed from the doorway. “Good, I hoped as much.”

Flipping the light off, she knelt beside her lone companion, scratching at the cat’s ears. She’d wanted to put today’s plans off, having only gotten three hours of sleep the night before. But she'd already done that three times prior; Sharon would be livid and the poor fella would feel absolutely dejected. A pang of guilt gnawed at her; no matter what man Sharon and Jimmy had handpicked, Maggie’s thoughts would always flee back to that of the long-gone soldier. If Elias had survived those brutal injuries, he likely moved on and hadn’t given his abandoned wild child a second thought. The nightmares that plagued a tired mind were haunting though the pleasant ones were worse: his smiling face while war hewn hands clutched hers. She didn’t like moving on, but it had to be done. For a sound state of mind. Even if her sister had practically bullied her into it.

“Oh come on.” Sharon griped, smoking a cigarette. “You barely leave the house.”

“That’s not true,” Maggie sat perched on the edge of the couch, bouncing her youngest niece on a denim clad knee. “I’m here all the time.”

“Babysitting doesn’t count, Margaret.” Sharon chided. “The guy’s nice enough; he works with Jimmy at the shop. Artistic too. Painted those sunflowers hanging above the recliner.”

Blue eyes had fallen on the mosaic brushstrokes of goldenrod and sage thoughtfully. The stranger was talented, in touch with nature with an eye for color. Maybe there’d be something to discuss after all.

“Tender hearted, that one.” Her brother-in-law called from the living room carpet, helping his oldest daughter piece together a puzzle. “Quiet guy. Invited him over for dinner but Kenny’s kind of a lone wolf.”

“Jimmy.” Sharon warned, winning an amused smirk.

“Relax. It’s his middle name, prefers we call him that at work.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“I don’t know why you’ve gotta be so damn secretive.”

“It’s a blind date!” The woman rolled her eyes, stubbing a cigarette in a glass ashtray. Maggie kept her eyes on the cooing infant, eyes widening with every bounce. To be young and innocent again. Though she often felt like she was treated like a child herself. Being discharged due to an injury only made Sharon more protective of her baby sister, oft being softer and gentler around the redhead than she had been before. She just wanted a peaceful life.

“Does he know I’m ‘damaged goods’?” She shot back playfully.

“Margaret, please. No one thinks that. I…I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Playful chatter came from where Jimmy and Maura sat, mingling with the upbeat Mary Tyler Moore Show theme. She couldn't help but imagine a heartwarming painting for herself. Sharon relieved Maggie of baby Abigail when she began to fidget.

“I’m not as lonely as one might think. There’re a couple girls from work I go out to breakfast with. I’ve been on a couple dates here and there.” Fighting a blush, Maggie continued. “It’s hard but I make it through.”

“Kenny was in Nam, too.” Jimmy piped up, “Not saying that means there’ll be wedding bells. But the guy understands, Mags. He wasn’t too keen on the idea at first either. I even listened to Sharon, didn’t tell him your name or anything.”

“What did you tell him, Jim?” Maggie shot back playfully.

“That you’re sweet and pretty with a good sense of humor.”

"It'll be good for you," Sharon added, eyeing her sister nervously. "Just give it a shot."

Sighing, the conversation had run through her brain like a cheesy sitcom. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to meet the mysterious ‘Kenny’; everything Jimmy was allowed to reveal sounded decent enough. Reserved and well-read, sensitive with a creative, even boasting a realistic side. Where there was an undying loyalty to Elias settled in a heavy heart, her brain was darkened by the distrust that Bob had thrust upon her. No matter how hard she tried, the woman would never be able to forget how he painfully pushed her against the hard earth, knife held against the column of alabaster skin…

Shivering, Maggie tried to suppress the thought before slipping her shoes on and heading out the door. Barnes wouldn’t steal everything from her; she wouldn’t let him.

……

It was cold outside, enough to make his lungs ache with every breath and muscles constrict at every step. Cane tapping against the asphalt, Elias tried not to think about the pain. Instead, he’d focused on the woman supposedly waiting for him at the restaurant a few blocks away. What had initially seemed like the best way to get his boss off his back began to feel like a mistake. The veteran wasn’t looking forward to the set up. Besides, it wasn’t like he needed help. Sex wasn’t as difficult to indulge in though long-term companionship seemed elusive in comparison. His gut churned the more he thought about it, not knowing the woman’s name made it all the more worrisome. Did she even exist or was this some elaborate prank at his expense?

“Get ahold of yourself.” he mumbled under his breath. Jimmy was a standup guy and seemed less enthused, only doing so to please his wife. It would probably be fine, having dinner with someone interesting instead of watching The Rockford Files alone with the dog.Though it was tempting to go back home to Major, to forget the whole thing. Christ, the gal had cancelled several times already; what if she stiffed him all together?

Running a hand through a shaggy mop of hair, he wondered if he should’ve gotten a trim. But it was the seventies; The Beatles grew out their hair, why couldn’t he? Paired with a black sweater and blue jeans, Elias thought he looked presentable enough. A pair of khakis or slacks seemed too dressy, especially being enveloped under his military coat.

Hopefully his mystery girl didn't have high standards.

……

Fidgeting in a corner booth, Maggie sipped at a glass of water. They agreed on six o’clock but she’d arrived nearly a half hour early. Only so much could quell her nerves from the now unavoidable. Every time the front door whooshed open, she jumped in her seat.

So far it had only been some older couples, soaking in the warmth before scurrying to an empty table. Maybe he wouldn’t show after so many cancellations. She couldn’t blame him for feeling hurt.

It was rather impolite of her.

The door opening drew Maggie back to reality and away from fretting. Nothing could have prepared her for the man waltzing into the restaurant. Even with longer hair and a paler complexion, it was still the Elias thought to be long gone. No one could forget the face of the person that had held them tenderly, like a precious jewel.

Brow furrowing the soldier hung his jacket on a hook with a blasé casualness, leaning on his cane before rounding on a good heel to scan the dining room. Familiar clear eyes landed on the only person fitting his date’s description, ballooning to the size of planets. There was a doggish cock of the head as he tentatively approached her.

“If it isn’t the prettiest girl to ever bandage me up.” Elias grinned boyishly, leaning against the booth. He scanned her face, trying to remember every line and freckle of soft skin. “Holy shit, this feels like a dream.”

“That’s funny, I was waiting for a ‘Kenny’ not an ‘Elias’.” She winked, earning an exaggerated eye roll before he was sliding into the bench across from her.

“I go by my middle name at the shop sometimes. God, I can’t get over this.”

“Me neither. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” A small hand tentatively reached across the table only to be plucked by a larger one. His skin was warm, rougher than before. It felt like home, to be touched by him, as he continued poring over her.

Elias breathed shallowly, the surprise having more of an effect on his ailing body than expected. Eyes traced her face, from the bend in her nose to cornflower blue eyes down to tendrils of ginger ringlets.

“Me neither. Let’s order before I start weeping. We can always share spaghetti, pull a Lady and the Tramp.” Maggie giggled, turning away from baby blues. “Missed turning those cheeks pink.”

“We have a lot to catch up on.” Murmuring, the woman took a sip of water, attempting to dissolve the lump in her throat. Especially as Elias sat staring from the opposite booth, moony eyed with a wry smirk.

“Glad you didn’t get cold feet this time.”

“Sorry about that,” shoulders sank, heart heavy with the thought of leaving him confused and hurt, “I’ve been so nervous and have barely been able to sleep.”

“Don’t I know it,” Elias cleared his throat, trying not to think of how much time he’d spent rolling in bed because of this date. Suddenly his nerves were no longer on edge, “Now we don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“I guess my sister had a good idea after all,” bow lips stretched into a sweet grin as the man felt his heart flutter against cracked ribs. He’d found his Maggie May.

……

The evening air was crisp, autumn leaves dancing in circles around parked cars. Elias led Maggie down the sidewalk, hand in hand as they traipsed through Brooklyn. Making up for lost time, they talked about everything and nothing at all. It was as familiar as it was brand new.

“Hard to make out any constellations.” Elias sighed, neck craning up. Flexing his fingers around smaller ones, Maggie struggled to make out any specific stars through the light pollution and smog. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the curve of his neck, sharpened by the soft glow of streetlights. “Nothing was quite as pretty as the sky out there. What do you think, Mags?”

Silence settled as a smaller hand stiffened in his own. Elias turned after a moment, meeting glistening eyes. One stray tear slipped down wind-burned cheeks. The soldier was quick to wipe it away, thumb shaking as he gently backed them under a shop awning. Storefront dressed for Halloween, they were bathed in a spotlight of bright orange.

“What’s wrong? You’ve got me nervous, Wild Child.” Cupping one cheek, Maggie nuzzled into the warmth that was Elias Grodin. Paler and scruffier, yet still as bright as the sun itself.

“Nothing, nothing.” Swallowing hard, her hand covered his, “I thought I lost you forever. And finding you, here. Elias…”

There was nothing else to say, before she buried herself against his chest. Arms locking around a lean neck, a damp cheek was buried in a canvas jacket. His hands instinctually fell against the curve of a slim back as a sharp nose was buried in a mass waves. Strawberries and sandalwood tickled flared nostrils as he inhaled the essence of all that was Maggie. Quivering in his arms, their grip tightened as a few passersby hardly paid the couple any attention.

All Elias knew was that he wished that moment would’ve lasted forever.

1969

Bob was going to pay. He’d rip his throat out with bare hands, beat him to a pulp if he had to. The privates in the Bravo Squad were hot on their sergeant’s heels. King, Harold, and Crawford tried to reason with him while Taylor and Lerner nervously followed.

“Barnes!” Elias roared, storming to the barracks. A hush fell over the camp at the interruption. Harris and Caldwell were out of sight as Wolfe started running to meet his subordinate. Threading a hand through sweat laden hair, Elias knew this was the wrong decision. But when Maggie had admitted what the man had done to her, blood boiled beneath his skin. Anger had been swallowed while the nurse sobbed into his chest, mounting until he couldn’t fight the urge to bring Bob to justice. The burly sergeant ambled out of the ramshackle tent.

“Bee in your fucking bonnet, Elias?” Barnes sucked lazily on his cigarette, agitating his equal. The smaller of the two rolled his fingers into hard fists.

“We’ve got a few things to sort out.” Gravelly voice dropping an octave, blue eyes flashed with fury. “Just you and me.”

“Don’t tell me this is about Wilson?” He scoffed indignantly, cigarette dropping to the sod. A heavy boot ground the cigarette into the earth. “You shouldn’t believe the shit those girls tell you, y’know? They say anything to get themselves a quick fuck.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” voice booming, Elias charged Barnes before knocking him into the mud. Fists collided with a hard jaw, over and over. A crowd formed, remnants of all four squads hurling insults at the other while Wolfe sheepishly tried to intervene.

“How dare you lay a finger on her! She's a human. Maggie isn’t yours!” Elias growled, trying to land another blow as Harold and Rhah struggled to get a grip on slim shoulders and biceps. Barnes’ stole a hit, splitting full lips.

“She’s not yours either!” The incapacitated man spat, wrapping his palms around a slender neck. Neither was ready to stop, wanting to wound badly. Fatally.

Suddenly, Captain Harris was emerging from the infirmary tent. The older man jogged over to his brawling insubordinates as a Caldwell and a few nurses lingered outside.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” pushing his way through the throng of onlookers, Harris roughly pulled the squirrelly sergeant off of Barnes. Bob was left on the ground, bare torso caked with mud as a shiner bloomed beneath one eye. Blood congealed under his nose and in the corners of his mouth. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”

O’Neill and Junior pulled Barnes up to wobbling feet. Elias eyed the man with furiously, blood dripping from a cut above one brow and swollen bottom lip. Clear eyes darted to the nurses in the distance, seeing a plume of red shake before darting away. One word and he could get a court martial ordered on Bob.

“Misunderstanding, captain,” At this, Harris loosened his grip on Elias as the younger man wriggled free.

“Yeah. Misunderstanding,” The larger of the two men gingerly pressed his hand at a busted nose before wiping at the blood pooling at his mouth. Harris looked between the two suspiciously before marching away and muttering something under his breath.

“Mariano, Wilson: get the sergeants to the infirmary.” Caldwell called as the Harris disappeared into a tent.

……

Her stomach twisted as she dabbed at an angular face with a lukewarm rag. Blood had dripped through a thick eyebrow and dried on one eyelid. He looked horrific, what she often feared would happen to him out in the jungles. Instead, the sergeant had initiated this battle himself.

“I never should’ve told you.” Gauze was pressed to the laceration, tape being firmly applied against tan skin. She dabbed gently at the broken lip. “Can’t do much for this. Just be careful when you have your rations.”

“Thanks.” He was grateful the sweaty headband had restrained thick hair; blood was a bitch to clean. “Sorry I let my temper get the best of me. I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. He had a fight coming anyways.”

“Wasn’t your fight to begin with.” Dark blue eyes grew glassy as the nurse attempted not to cry. His heart was in the right place but she just wanted to forget more than anything. This stung even more. “Could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Could get killed at any time,” Chuckling darkly, he watched as Maggie grimaced before padding away from the cot to clean the blood-stained basin. An uncomfortable silence settled as water sloshed in a makeshift sink. “What Barnes-”

“Enough!” Spinning on the heel of one boot, small hands rolled into fists. Nails bit into tender skin. “I know what he did, Elias. You think I wanted that? The man has had it out for me since I set foot on base back at Củ Chi.

The nurse wanted to forget it all, yet no one would allow that. Every tear had since been shed, leaving an empty vessel in its wake. All Maggie could do now was crumple to the ground, shaking desperately. Approaching carefully, the most Elias could do was drop to her side. Reaching out, a large hand fell upon a shuddering back. Rubbing soft circles against her steadied shaky breathing.

After a moment, she carefully rose to her knees. A small hand reached out, a soft thumb slid across the gash on his lower lip.

“Sorry, about everything.” Eyes dropping, Elias lifted her chin.

“Don’t be sorry about a thing. If I could, I’d make him pay for it. Nothing makes me sicker than how he and his squad treat women, like you’re not people.”

“Let me dress your wounds. Please.” She didn’t want to talk about Bob anymore; she wanted every bit of time that was allotted with Elias.

That was precious.

#fanfiction #otp fanfiction #otp: dog tags and flower crowns #maggie x elias #platoon 1986 #q

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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

Text

heart of gold (chapter three)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse (god sorry), jimmy bein’ a simp :)

words: 3.4k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: new oc alert!! this character was based off a little friend of mine... who’s helped me like. immensely. babe ily. also god this one hurt to write i'm sorry guys. hope you enjoy :)

chapters: 1 | 2

masterlist

playlist

------

The waning light of the late afternoon sun filters in through the grand windows, stained glass painting the room a myriad of colours. Polished maple shelves line the walls, packed to the brim with dusty tomes. Comfortable armchairs sit around a side table, the gilded siding gleaming. On its surface sits a dainty teacup, still steaming.

Florence strides through the aisles of the library, trailing a finger along the worn spines. The lady of the house divides her time most often between the beautiful music room and the library, as Allen leaves her to her devices, most of the day. Running a city, he always says, takes a lot of work, dear. She’s not complaining at all, if it puts her at a difference from the barbarian she is lucky enough to call a husband.

Stopping, finally, she pulls a book from the shelf, running her fingers across the letters decorating the cover, fingers catching lightly on the grooves. ‘Wuthering Heights’, the cover reads, and Florence nods, content with her choice. Drifting across the room, she settles comfortably into the plush chairs, reaching a hand out to grasp the handle of the teacup beside her. Soft spice settles over her tongue, and her chest fills with warmth, the steaming beverage warding away the slight chill in the room. Cracking open the cover, her eyes drift over the slightly yellowed pages of the novel.

“I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society…”

The woman recites the words on the page, voice drifting high into the rafters as it flutters past her lips. Florence has always enjoyed reading aloud, as it made her feel as though she was not alone. That someone hears her, and cares to listen to the words that flow from her mouth. Allen hated it, in the beginning. When he had given her the time of day, and cared for her. Promises of forever tumbled from his lips then, instead of the insults and hurt that dripped, like a slow poison, from them now.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she continues. An hour passes, then another, and Florence loses herself in the narrative. These characters, brutal and flawed, intrigued her. They enchanted her, and she was unable to put it down.

Until a set of heavy footsteps, thunderous against the polished floors, near the door to the library. She knows exactly who it is, spending as much time as she had training herself to recognize his gait. Shutting her novel with a loud snap, she looks around the room. Everything is in its place; the room is pristine, as always. Smoothing down her dress, a bright yellow with lace at the hem, she waits for the inevitable. The click of the door opening rings through the suffocating silence of the room, and Allen strolls in, perfect image maintained by his coiffed hair and expensive pinstripe suit.

“Florence, my dear. I knew I might find you here.”

“Allen, is there something wrong?” Florence replies, the hands that rest on her lap subtly trembling as she gazes at her husband. He seems to be in a good mood today. Florence only hopes it can stay that way.

“We will be putting on a ball in the coming weeks, to celebrate my proficiency as mayor. Now,” Allen slips closer to his wife, and brings a hand to her chin. Holding her in place, he presses closer, looking directly into her hazel eyes. “I hope I won’t need to reiterate this. Please do try and behave.”

“O-of course, Allen, I will—”

“We wouldn’t want a repeat performance of recent festivities, would we?”

His words make Florence’s blood boil. She sees the world in shades of angry red, and clenches her fists as tight as she can, hiding them from Allen’s view. Her knuckles are painted white with the strain of keeping her composure. A few weeks have passed since Allen rained pain and devastation upon his household, but the wounds both mental and physical are not so easily hidden, swept aside.

Pasting on an agreeable smile, cheeks straining with the effort, she nods her head. Florence knows that if she plays by his rules, she’ll remain unharmed. He’ll finally leave her alone.

“I will be on my best behaviour. Please, do not worry, dear.”

Allen tilts her head up further, to stare right into her eyes. Florence would love nothing more than to deal him the pain that he had dealt to her. To John, and to James. Instead, she raises her hand, laying it across Allen’s, as she gazes earnestly back. Touching him feels horrifyingly wrong, and it's as though fire laps at her palm.

“You will need a gown, no doubt.”

“I was planning to go into town with Ms. Weston. You remember, she—”

“I do not care who accompanies you. I care, darling, that you do not embarrass me,” The man smiles at her, sharp canines glinting dangerously in the fading sunlight, and he presses his lips to her cheek. His scent, sharp and cloying, nauseates her. Allen stands up to his full height, which, admittedly, was not much, and moves for the door. Turning back to look at her once more, he takes her in almost hungrily. “I wonder, Florence, if you still look as lovely unclothed as you do in this dress. Perhaps tonight, we may find out?”

With a sneer and a chuckle, he walks out the door, closing it behind him.

Florence’s hands unclench, finally, as subtle pain rips through her palms. Gazing down at the skin of her hand, she sees deep pink crescents. One of them is streaked lightly with blood. She had broken the skin, it seems.

Trembling hands retrieve the book from the table it had been left on, and Florence opens the cover once more. Eyes drifting down to read, she can’t seem to make sense of the words, anymore. Florence is shaken, and she knows that it is precisely what Allen wants.

It is but a game for him; a battle of control. He’s winning.

---------

“You mean to tell me that he… Oh, Florence…”

The chime of nails against delicate china rings through the luxuriously decorated sitting room, as Florence passes a teacup, the steam wafting from the top following the scent of rich spices, to the woman sitting on the plush divan. Her dress, a pastel lavender, meets the floor in a stream of tulle. Dark tresses, pulled back in a small, loose braid, curl as they fall across her shoulders.

“Emma, I have no idea what to do.”

Emma Weston had known Florence longer than she could remember. They had met when they were young, and since then, they’ve been almost inseparable. That is, until Allen came along. Slowly, almost inch by inch, he had pushed Emma out of the picture, further isolating his wife. The women seemed to meet less and less over the years, now coming together a few times a month. Emma was unmarried, and rather educated, which almost seemed to scare the man. A favourite quote of his pops into Florence’s head, then: “Educated women, well, they’ll bring the downfall of humanity.” To the women, of course, it served as a nice bit of comedy.

“My dear friend, I… Is there anything I can do?” Emma lays a hand on Florence’s shoulder, earnest eyes locked on those of her friend. Florence meets her gaze then, and the glassy hazel eyes unnerve the woman. They look defeated. “Florence, we will fix this, somehow.”

“If that is possible…”

Emma shakes her head, eyes blazing with a incendiary anger she must keep hidden from the woman sitting next to her. Florence, naive as she might have been upon entering the relationship, has done nothing to warrant this treatment, this violence. Every mention of the horrors; the atrocities, that have been committed in this house makes the woman’s blood burn in her veins. Emma settles her hand over Florence’s, rubbing calming circles into it. She knows how the other woman ticks, after the years they’ve spent together, and she can see the slight tremors that pass through her. She’s scared. Why wouldn't she be, with a husband like that, Emma thinks.

“Florence,” The sentence almost tumbles out, but she catches herself. Florence has always disliked pity, felt that it was counterproductive and useless. It does nothing to help the situation, so there is no need for it. Emma changes the subject swiftly, a bright smile tilting up the corner of her painted lips. “What else have I missed? Surely you’ve gotten up to much, with your lovely husband gone so often.”

A moment of unusual silence passes, as a blush darkens Florence’s cheeks, pink shades dancing with the freckles that linger on her skin. “Well,” Florence starts, hands fidgeting in her lap as she looks anywhere but at her friend. With a fortifying sigh, she releases the words trapped in her throat. “I’ve… I’ve been writing to a man. An actor, from the theatre we frequent.”

“Oh? How long have the two of you been corresponding? Do tell me more!”

“A month, as of next weekend—”

“A month? Florence, it’s been a whole month, and you didn’t think it right to tell me? I thought we were friends… ”

“Emma,” Florence starts, scrambling to reassure her friend, until she glimpses the smirk that dangles from her lips. A relieved sigh fills the silence that had fallen over the two, and Emma’s giggle lights up the room. “You were joking…”

“Of course I was! Now, tell me more about this mysterious actor. What do you know of him?”

“Well, I do not know his name, unfortunately. This… this is my fault. If he knew who I was; if he knew Allen, he would never give me the time of day. Emma, he is beautiful, of mind, body, and soul.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was his appearance, initially, that attracted me. He was simply irresistible,” Florence’s cheeks flush deep scarlet, as an unconscious smile blossoms across her cheeks. Her hands slash through the air as she recounts her first sighting of the elusive actor. “…James and John, thankfully, had the mind to encourage me to contact him. Emma, he is poetic and charming, yet he isn't haughty in the slightest, like some who share these traits. He’s always been perfectly kind, and charisma drips from every pore. Every letter I receive from him… Goodness, Emma, it has the same effect on me that his performance had.”

“Perhaps you should invite him to the ball.”

It was a simple statement, yet those 8 words ring like sirens in Florence’s head. Her blush deepens, and she stammers out a response, nervous hands smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles on her gown. With a deep breath, she recovers, and locks eyes with Emma, who hides a smile behind a dainty hand.

“Have you gone completely mad?”

“Think about it,” Emma starts, revealing the amused smile that she had tried to hide. Taking in the way Florence’s mouth hangs open in shock, her eyes wider than saucers, Emma continues, a giggle fluttering in the air of the expensive room. “You could slip away from the other patrons, somewhere Allen would never find you, and meet the man that stole your heart.”

Florence remains frozen, as though she were a component of a still-life painting. Her blush-pink lips form an O, and her eyebrows creep close to her hairline. Her hands, the only thing in motion, are a flurry of movement as she fidgets under Emma’s watchful gaze.

“Florence, honestly, is it truly that preposterous of an idea?”

“O-of course it is! Emma,” The woman of the house shakes her head emphatically, mind racing to come up with the perfect excuse as to why this idea, although tempting, was utterly absurd. “Look, if Allen ever… I could never subject this… this angel to that.”

“If you think it’s best not to, then I will stand with you. This is, of course, common knowledge. What I will never do, however, is sit idly by and watch you throw away your happiness, again.”

Silence sits heavy over the two women, the only sound being the light slurping of tea gone cold. Emma, chancing a glance over at her long-time friend, takes in the quiver and shake of her hand. Florence sets the fragile china cup, painted a pale sky blue, on the wooden surface of the table that rests in front of them, and relaxes back into the comfortable settee.

“Is… Is James able to attend? The ball, I mean.” The relative quiet is broken by Emma, voice faltering as she curls into herself. For as long as Florence could remember, Emma has only had eyes for James. Whenever she came to the manor, her eyes would roam the chiseled marble hallways for even a short glimpse of him, and a deep blush seemed to dust her cheeks whenever he was in the room.

“I believe he and John are working that particular night, although… perhaps you could steal him away for some time alone?”

“Florence!”

The peals of laughter that fill the room muffle the hurried footsteps fast approaching, a choked gasp and the sound of falling papers finally making the two women look up. James stands by the door, shoulders hunched as he locks eyes with Emma across the room. A collection of envelopes litter the floor, and James, scrambling to his knees with a squeak, rushes to retrieve them.

A wordless glance passes between the two friends, and Florence nods, a subtle smile lighting up her face. Emma stands, flattening down her dress with clammy hands, walks up to the man, and he looks up at her under his eyelashes, hands stilled by her appearance.

“E-Emma! H-hello, I…”

“James, your face… are you alright?”

The man nods emphatically, almost thrumming with nerves as he replies, “it was nothing, Emma. You need not worry for me.”

Her hand, palm up, rests upon his cheek as she takes in the bruising, subtle now after the days that have passed, that mottles his pale skin. Florence can almost hear the rapid beating of his heart as he gazes up at her from his position on the floor.

“I can't help my worry for you, James,” Clearing her throat awkwardly, Emma shifts her gaze to the tiled floor, her eyes widening when she glances at the stationary strewn across the ground.“May I… or rather… Do you need help?”

The servant gulps audibly, and nods, cheeks an angry scarlet to compliment the fading tones of purple. The woman kneels next to him, and retrieves the fallen letters. Glancing at it briefly, her eyes light up excitedly, as she gazes at James.

“Are these invitations for the ball?”

“They are. I was to go around the town handing them out, just now.”

Two hands brush as they reach for the last envelope, and pull back, as if electricity had struck them upon contact. Florence hides a beaming smile beneath her hand as she watches her friends. They simply cannot look away from each other. James coughs, breaking the tension that had settled over the two, and they scramble back, each holding a portion of the letters. Two piles become one, and Emma steps back, the hand rubbing at her arm betraying the picture of calm she was trying to emulate.

“M-Miss Weston, always a pleasure. How are you?”

“I-I am well, James. And you?”

“Very well. May I say, you look… lovely.” The conversation peters out as their gazes flit to the ground, and Florence, from her perch behind them, can’t help but giggle. The sound propels the servant into action, and he thrusts an envelope into Emma’s hand, backing away as if he was burned by the feel of her hand on his.

“I was supposed to stop at your residence, but since you are already here…”

With that, he turns tail and rushes out of the room, leaving Emma standing, slack-jawed. Slowly, she turns around to meet Florence’s eyes, and the disbelief present on her face is almost comical.

“Perhaps you will be the one to slip away for a moonlit dance in the end, Emma.”

With well wishes, and an earnest promise to find dresses for the ball, Emma departs, stepping into her own carriage. The flush on her cheeks was still visible.

---------

“Of all the times to run out… Just my luck.”

Soft footsteps spatter like rain across the staircase, as Florence mutters to herself. Dashing into her bedroom, she searches every nook and cranny, pulling back with a grunt dripping with frustration. The supply that had sat on the desk against the wall was usurped, and there were no traces of any sheets in the rest of the mansion’s many rooms. Except for one.

Rushing across the hall, Florence stops in front of a pinewood door, intricately carved as most things within the manor happen to be.

Allen’s study, as she’s been told time and time again, was never to be entered, by anyone except the man himself. It’s rarely ever locked, though his intimidation serves as enough of a barrier from entering, until today.

All she needs is paper, after all. About to pen yet another letter to her nameless angel, she lacked the most important element: the paper itself. Where better to find a much-needed slip, than in a study, Florence thinks as she turns the gold-gilded knob. She opens the door only to be greeted with beautiful, wide windows of stained glass, which turn the sunlight into vibrant shades of red and green. Against the wall, a bookshelf stands tall, books of every genre imaginable lining it. Against the far wall, a well-polished mahogany desk, complete with winding embellishments around the edge, sits before an elegant leather armchair.

No paper in sight, of course.

A sigh reverberates off of the maroon walls, as Florence pulls open a drawer, careful to leave things as proper as possible so as to not alert Allen. Shuffling through the first, she finds a variety of legal forms and journals, and her frustration simmers inside of her. Moving on to the second drawer, she tugs on the wood-furnished handle, and her heart shatters.

Sitting prim and proper, face up in the drawer, was a letter addressed to Allen. In a curling script that, distinctly, was not hers, reads: “To my beloved, Allen.” This one note, this blasted letter, lays on a bed of dozens of others, all addressed in the same way, in the same sprawling hand. Florence can feel streams of crystalline tears trickle down the flaming apple of her cheeks, and a violent scream catches in her throat. Her insides burn in rage, in fury, in betrayal, and if not for her grip on the desk, she would have crumpled to the floor. There were no dates printed upon the envelopes, though, judging by the sheer amount, it is safe to say that this had been going on for quite a while. Long before she had laid eyes upon her actor.

Under the pile of deceitful notes, almost mocking her, sat the coveted paper. Ripping it out of the drawer, Florence turns, eyes sweeping the room for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing perfection, she tears out of the room, crossing the hall into her chambers. She sits herself down, defeated, on the chair adjacent to the small desk. Her head falls forward into her palms, resting there until, suddenly, she slams a hand down onto the lacquered tabletop.

Allen Bennett has stolen her livelihood. He has stolen her happiness; stolen everything that he saw worth taking. Greed seeps from every pore, and there are no consequences. Allen Bennett is a foul, demonic man, and Florence must play the role of the angel. The perfect wife. She must act as Allen’s toy, only of use to him when he needs a night of pleasure.

Curling her hands into rigid fists, the woman nods resolutely, and lunges across the desk. Trusty fountain pen in a clenched hand, Florence seizes the newfound sheets, and soon enough, a river of ink flows across the page. Teardrops that trickle down the slope of her nose serve as the signature.

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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @thebeatlesuniverse @dreamersdrowse (let me know if you want to be added!)

#robert plant #led zeppelin #robert plant fanfic #robert plant x oc #led zeppelin fanfic #robert plant fanfiction #classic rock fanfic

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Brother Dearest Pt 45

Nausea came in hard and fast and a try to make tea for Norma had her slumped back in her chair at the table waiting to the sound of the water boiling. Something was wrong and the new phone line in the house came in handy as a way to get the Doc on notice of what was going on. “Almost done Jeanie.” You said readying the mug and bag of tea that you poured the warm water over so she wouldn’t scald herself. Some honey was added in a hope to calm her stomach and over to her. The smell however had her stomach lurch and you turned with hand extended to the trash bin that zapped over to float in front of her to catch the little she could get up. Over her back your hand smoothed and you said, “Just breathe, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled accepting the towel you zapped over to wipe her own mouth and catch your eye to the lower of the can. “You made me tea,” with shaking hands she accepted the mug and forced down a few sips.

Beside her you sat with eyes fixed on her in each of her calming breaths to the mental count back to when they guys would be coming home. Dawn was with her family and had taken the kids with her that just left the dogs and even Mr Whiskers who were showing hints that they were catching signals the birth would be coming soon. All attentive and crowded around while she finished her tea and you sent the mug to the sink and rose to help her to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed and off your feet.”

A splash around her feet once up had your eyes drop and in a sway from her your hands steadied her in her groan at the sway of the room. “I’m not doing this on purpose.”

That had you giggle and reply, “Jeanie, I would never peg you for a purposeful splasher in my lifetime. Just mean’s baby is getting ready to come, Ambrose spent about an hour mid labor with her head in the bin. Let’s get you to bed sweetheart.” Against you she leaned as her nerves amped up and right to her bed you went to lay over the rubber sheet she laid over the bed each day in hopes of meeting her child. Carefully you helped to ease off her stockings she refused to stop wearing and her garter belt after she had slipped out of her now wet shoes. As easily as possible you helped to change her into a more comfortable dress she’d picked for the birth for her to lay back in and focus on her breathing between sips of water you ensured she took to stay hydrated.

Sight of the Doc’s car in the driveway however had the brothers’ hearts racing and once the truck was parked they both shot out of it not even closing the doors to the truck on their race inside. “Nora?!” Victor called out once through the front door you knew to warn the Doctor to leave propped open.

You came into the doorway with a sigh right into their wide eyed view and calmed them in saying, “Bout five centimeters. Just had to call the Doc she was nauseous for the past few hours, but he gave her something to help.”

Victor nodded and looked to the door that he passed by you hearing, “In bed, Vicy. I feel better now.” Right up against her side he curled with eyes on the Doctor who was explaining the simple powder he’d given her to drink in water you got her. His nerves eased with his hand smoothing over her stiffening belly that was shifting lower revealing signs that the baby was coming soon. Right off he could sense the only issue was the period of nausea that she’d scooted past. Though through the doorway however he caught your pause to rest your head against James’ chest for a melt into the hug he offered with hushed murmurs that he would take you to get something to eat to calm your own tilt to the room at the ordeal that had put off your lunch after a sliver of breakfast due to an accidental knock of your plate by Teddy off the table while Dawn was readying him to go that morning.

Gently he pressed his lips to your temple and with an arm across your back he led you from the door, “Let’s see what we have in the fridge hmm?”

The last of the fish was fixed up with some veggies for a meal you felt a bit guilty size wise that he fixed up to his setting it in front of you with a smile, “Eat up Darling. Been a hard morning. We’re off the rest of the week easy so Teddy can’t steal your meals from you.”

You sighed and said, “I don’t know why I’m so light weight these days.”

Down into the seat beside you he sat with hands on your leg and hand closest to him with eyes fixed on yours, “You are in no way a light weight. You need to eat and you need to sleep. Now eat up and get your strength up before Doc has to come and check on you when you pass out.”

A check of the progress had Victor sent out and had him curiously in search of you and on the empty seat beside you and asked, “Hard morning Pipsqueak?”

While your mouth was full James said, “Teddy knocked her breakfast off the table and lunch was put off.”

Victor softly murmured, “Pipsqueak,” still knowing about the lingering effects any amount of hunger had on your body only compounded by stress, of which you had plenty at the moment that had explained why the doors and drawers in the bathroom and kitchen he noticed had been open upon their return.

“I’m ok,” you said after swallowing. “I am.”

Victor, “Doc said her nausea was extreme and you got her through that, you kept her drinking and sucking on spoonfuls of honey and ice cubes. Thank you, now look at the kitchen.” Your head turned and your lips parted eyeing the open drawers and cabinets you eased shut again mentally then looked to him again, “You needed a break. Relax, Dawn’s off till tonight, Eddie too so I’m going to be in that room with you and Jimmy. Take a breather, pace on the patio, we got some time.”

The Doc however called him back and proved otherwise, merely enough to rinse off your dishes and take a moment in the sunlit patio where Mr Whiskers was stretched out in the warmth.

“Hey, what did I say about the face?” You asked the infant lying halfway underneath your propped up shoulders and face that was curling it’s legs and hands to bump into your nose after another waking stretch. Twelve pushes in an awkward array of positions for little Leanora Iris Creed to be born was endured and now Norma and Victor slept after a long night up staring at their daughter who once she had her first meal slept soundly. Two parents so worried about her safety had worried themselves to needing to sleep. The bald little girl with almost shimmering hazel eyes stared up at you with grunts and coos galore in a try to say something to you. Lowly however a chuckle from the returned James with tray of food in hand he had gone to fetch came to take over staring duty for the girl soon to be cradled to his chest lovingly so he could cuddle closer to you. “Come here Petal. Just wait and when you’re grown your auntie Bunny will teach you some serious tips on dishing out bruises.”

“Petal?” You asked with a wide smile at the now smiling man who inched even closer to your side with hands fixed to cradle his niece.

“Vic always wanted a Petal. We’re slipping it in, Shh.” Softly you giggled and turned your focus back to the food as he began to speak to you about any and everything to keep his mind off your own babies you’d have one day he pondered the faces and adorably perfect hands and feet he’d never let go of once here.

Arguments of course ensued with the tiny girl caught in the battle of nicknames, Sunshine vs Petal. Compromise was found by the common renditions of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to the girl who would have to grow up with two nicknames from her parents related to her first two names. Help was given by means of your dad’s nickname for you contrasting your mother’s. And the early summer found Victor off work to stay with Norma and Leanora while you were granted shifts at the diner again and private drives with your loving husband who on the way back used the privacy to his benefit and took the long way home more than once to always steal just one more kiss.

Post signing sales however brought business back to your mind between trips to the comic book studio to Freckled Moose’s headquarters where they shared that availability was being expanded to England and America. Negatives were shipped back and forth again to ready the shipments and restock the shelves to fulfill back orders that by the end of June had your muffled squeak behind your hand to the number on the check sent to you for your cut of the first round of sales on the initial supply printed and bound. James handled the bank trip for you with a massive proud grin at the amount that was agreed to help pay off any tuition for yourself when the amount your father had saved for you was depleted. With the remainder to be added to the funds to come from the rest of the sales of this book and any others to go towards school funds for Erik and your future babies.

There was no way that would ever be a hard sell. Erik wasn’t that much younger than you and needed help to reach his goals and James wanted his daughters especially to be well educated and his sons to be able to have a good footing for their own futures and families they may have. Years ahead you had planned and even with a spreadsheet on a legal pad you had found a huge gap of funds that would be left over you couldn’t comprehend ever having earned that now spoke to how vastly your circumstances had changed from Steve’s watch to being under the protection of the Howlett brothers and Eddie.

Even had you not met James or Victor your future would have been far cushier compared to the nothing that had been willed down to you. All you truly had was that school fund and even on that you would have struck on your own to make a life for yourself under the legal watch of the Brocks until you could be claimed by someone else. Still, for the price near to an ironing board and far less useful in day to day life hundreds of thousands of copies of what you had snapped with an inherited camera for class was now a joining factor in countless lives and stirred conversations once impossible between strangers until that book had been released. Manhattan and Washington however would come calling soon enough as you were guaranteed two dates there as well.

“So what do you have planned for school?” You asked Erik in his path past yours in the diner where he’d been back to helping out since the baby had been born once his spare summer month long course had helped to catch him up to the final credits he’d need to graduate on time after being so behind.

Food was settled out for the table of truckers and his empty table had been cleared and wiped down for your paths to meet again behind the counter where you collected the next trays worth of plates and utensils. “Um,” he muttered on your way around the counter again almost reluctant to say his aspirations after his recount of his collected tips so far.

Back again at his side in the break where all the tables had been seen to between the both of you he stood lost with a drifted look on his face after having counted his cut of the tips from his cleared tables. “Erik?”

His eyes snapped up and he grabbed the coins and slid them into the slot of his tip box built into the counter and forced out a grin. “I might just work here a few more years first.”

That had you lean in and place a hand on his arm in the turn of the cook back to his grill after having taken notice of his expression in handing off Dot her lunch she was taking after her cousin had gotten off hers. His eyes widened a tad and you could see the deeply held fight not to cry in them and you said, “If it’s about the money for school I have money left over from the book after the rest of what I have mapped out to spend for mine that I was considering putting in an account for you.”

Instantly his arms shot around you and a smile eased across your lips to his right hug you returned gladly as he mumbled into the top of your head, “I can’t thank you enough I won’t let you down.”

“Oh I never doubted that Erik.”

In his draw back he looked you over ensuring he hadn’t messed up your uniform and said, “I have almost a thousand saved up already so it’d just be whatever’s left over after that. Will that be much?”

“Depends on how far you want to go,” you said with a smirk to his creeping grin.

“Far as I can. I wanna try for Columbia, like you.”

Softly you giggled and turned your head to a throat clearing at he counter to signal politely a need for a refill for a driver needing to go soon but wanted a top up first. In a turning reach for the coffee pot you answered, “Then we can see about the Brocks hiring you at the bar on weekends if you like.”

One more year was all that was left and the seventeen year old couldn’t be more excited to be able to head to Brooklyn with you, hopeful that he could get good enough grades to get into the fantastic school to be closer to his cousin and learn in one of the top schools in this side of the world.

Nose deep in the lake you tread water with watch of Eddie on his day off and Teddy in hand letting the boy get his first swim lesson. Victor on the deck sat with hold of his girl to Norma’s bashful drop of the towel around her. Dawn was off at work while James was helping a neighbor with something. Timidly Norma crouched to ease into the water from the deck eager to hide her belly you had been joining her a few times a week for some laps back and forth across the lake. “Norma it’s the water weight, no need to be bashful,” Eddie said luring a smile across her face.

“I just have to be camera ready before the premier in October,” she replied.

“Norma you’d have folks lined up even with Leanora still in your belly.” You said in her dunk neck deep into the water to Victor’s lift of his daughter’s body to kiss her forehead in her grunt at a passing dragon fly. Chatter continued in the cool off break between each lap you ticked off the weekly roster before you went inside to get out of the heat.

Irritating twinges in your belly now had you inside your tub while the hand scrubbed swim suit you’d left to hang on the sink to get the telling blood stain out from the unnoticed streak down your leg Eddie had warned you of on the way back from under the bottom of your towel. There was a promise to wait on babies but still another cycle had come and now you were nose deep in the tub after having scrubbed up and wound your washed hair on top of your head to simply seep in all the warmth of the water while it lasted joined by stray tears. Footsteps from the bedroom had you wipe warm water over your face and stopped in a knock on the door.

Victor through it asked, “Hungry Pipsqueak?” He had questions he wanted to ask but held back to wait for James to get home so he could pamper you back out of this troubling week that even the girls could tell wore heavily on you. Even Norma had suggested her own tips to the guys surrounding her own monthly troubles and painful cycles that had her wondering if you faced the same condition she had been enduring.

“Little bit,” you did reply and leaned back with eyes closing to the stretch of your legs irritating your cramped hips and lower back.

“I’ve got stew on the stove for you when you’re ready.” He paused a moment and asked, “You need anything else?”

Over your eyes your hand laid and you answered, “I am okay, just feels like I’m being stabbed from the inside out.”

You could hear his forehead press to the door in a sigh from a trapped sense of helplessness against this physical pain you faced. “Nothing?”

To give him something to help with you asked, “Do we still have some of those warm honey buns?”

“Honey buns, on it.” Back he stepped and to the tug on the drain chain you heard him sharing with Eddie once downstairs, who let Venom take over and get him into town to the bakery in his own urge to help.

Dried and changed into some comfy shorts and a blouse to join the others in the living room where Erik joined you also smoothing his fingers through his hair while you did the same to yours. Five minutes after Eddie’s return James had returned home with Dawn and your husband caught onto the tell tale signs and adoringly swept away right into extra cuddles and massages between spare snacks he could add to your afternoons and evenings.

August was the month to ready and September had the house boarded up for the lengthy drive back to Brooklyn. A couple days were used to freshen up the nurseries as you and James traveled for the two book signings. Washington came first and upon arrival you were taken straight to the Blair House, a guest home to dignitaries and others visiting the President, where you were gifted a lovely room that seemed a bit over the top for this simple stay. You had arrived in late and it wouldn’t be until the next day that Truman could meet with you in the planned dinner after your morning and afternoon for the signing.

A school nearby was used for this backdrop with the auditorium for the questioning afterwards. Far beyond what you had expected collectively over all the eight dollar paperweight now spreading through this country as well as England to those who had expressed some sort of demand had grown to be the unthinkable. True you were about fifty miles below Rembrandt or other staple artists in any country but still it was a bit flattering to say the least that this book and not just your comic books had been picked off the shelves by thousands of strangers.

Even here more children had brought their favorite issues for picture worthy moments to be flooded through papers, including a boy who hijacked his mother’s question time to ask about his favorite now signed comic book. A separate picture however even on your own picture was taken with the President and other members of the White House staff who had their own copies. All of which you signed before and after the planned supper with the First Family who were glad to hear all the details of your travels and possibly catch hints of what your next book might be covering.

The train back scattered across the hours had random people that had seen you who milled through the train to pass by and ‘casually’ work their way back to your spot to ask if you would sign something of theirs. After a stop at the house for the night up to Manhattan you went to be on time for the next signing. Familiar faces from random years through the state had come to pop up again with proud grins at their silent ties to the famous face so many had come to greet and hear from. Absolute love however came from your own town and block that by household took turns delivering their books to you if they wanted it signed between others who just wanted to ask about some of their favorite images.

The back of the line however from a fancy car Howard Stark joined the line a few people behind where Albert Einstein stood. The former lingered to the side while you greeted the others between him and the final book clutching guest, Howard. “Refrigerator magnet science, you really put that as how you managed the floating objects?”

With a smirk you accepted the book he held out for you and replied, “Well, I would give you the technical answer but that would be what it would be simplified to anyways. How is the floating car coming?”

Howard sighed, “Not well, been scrapped to help on some tech to help search for Commies.” His hand outstretched to accept the book back again he eased the cover back to smirk at the comment written there with well wishes for his flying car you wanted dibs on the first model up for grabs. “So you’ll have to wait on dibs for the first car.”

“Pity.”

Einstein, “Truly the pity that now battlefields turn to hidden spies on home soil. Can only turn the world darker, brother un-trusting brother.”

James sighed and took your hand in the reminder that the questions were to start after your lunch the duo now tagged along to a nearby eatery with a reserved table set for you. Howard had his hand fixed around a not so shocking shot glass and said to break the silence, “Saw the wedding. Paid a whole ten cents for the ticket to catch that reel before some absurd little ditty filled nonsense I didn’t stick around for.”

That had you smirk and say, “I feel like I should say I’m flattered.”

Howard, “Oh don’t be. I don’t know how you managed it.” He looked to James, “Forty five minutes, I timed it. How did you manage that without screaming?”

James grinned replying in almost a hum, “Almost did, but we waited five years and I’d have waited hours through any ceremony to be hers. The length of the ceremony is irrelevant, I know the traditional ceremony would have made her parents proud while mine would have wished it to be longer, amusingly enough.”

Einstein chuckled and stated, “My wife loved the ceremony. Very beautiful dress, quite close to hers though hers was, silk? I believe, something shiny.”

You smiled and said, “Thank you. I’m just glad we are married now and nobody can add anything else on the ceremony to what they wanted.”

“Ah,” Howard said with a smirk, “And there you are. Didn’t take you as the Princess the film reel made you seem to be acting up to from our meeting. How’d you talk them into filming it?”

James, “King George offered, well, he didn’t really offer, just said the cameras were coming. Even brought their Royal Photographers that handle their own ceremonies, also insisted on noting the title I inherited for the papers from my grandfather.”

Einstein, “Obviously had you chosen the titles yourselves you would have insisted to be named as a Baron upon our first meeting.”

James, “Just a another word.”

Howard scoffed, “No it’s not. If I was a Baron I certainly wouldn’t be out living in a forest. I would be living it up.”

James smirked, “Forest helped to bring me Bunny. Had hundreds of chances to walk away but never could seem to let go of the land something said to stay put. Enjoy the silence and space and just wait.”

Einstein nodded, “Land is always a welcome home to return to. For its small size New Jersey had quite the offer of actual patches of land around houses we chose between.”

“Bet it’s beautiful, we have a tiny patch out back of our place. Thirty by thirty, if that. But the dogs do appreciate it.”

Howard, “You don’t like the yard?” He asked with a smirk.

After a pause that had his head shift to look you head on you said, “I grew up in that building, there’s more than a few of my old neighbors who tend to pass through time to time.”

Howard, “You need a good fence and a new gate.”

Einstein looked to him after taking notice of the food approaching, “She means their souls Howard.” Parting his lips in a glance between you.

The food was settled on the table to ample thanks and he asked, “Your house is haunted? Like murderous ghouls and screaming cabinets and all that.”

“Just a few pass through the yard, mainly on anniversaries. The only screamer we had was when the guys moved the furnace and fuse box.”

James chortled, “Ya, found a buried box Jaqi knew whose son should have gotten after he died, but he was deployed and got evicted when Hildi’s uncle who owned the place stopped renting and boarded it up. Left after that.”

“Ya, he never really got along with his neighbors but he was a good challenger in checkers. Liked to have another Polish speaker close by to ramble off at on occasion.”

Howard, “I don’t get you.” You smirked and he said, “No, every time I talk to you or see you it’s another crazy pony in the derby to crazy town. You don’t match up, I’m a scientist, everything has a pattern and you’re just dots all over the damn page. You were a kid, sent to a war, somehow built this unmatched weapon you won’t share with anyone else that can tear planes out of the sky and tanks apart. Now you have a book on photography of all things, are in school for who knows what and now you live in a haunted house when not living in the middle of nowhere Canada.”

“Well you’re not wrong there, not likely to make sense to many.” You said taking a slice off of your food to the twitch of his eyebrow.

Einstein chuckled saying, “As it should be, if everyone knew all the secrets to the stars no one would look up towards the light in the dark. Mystery is key.”

Howard looked to him and said in his own bite of food, “You are not helping,” making the physicist chuckle around his mouthful.

James said, “Can’t imagine what you would be expecting to find.”

Howard said to him after a glance at you, “No one is that good.”

Smirking to yourself slicing off another bite you said, “Good thing you never met my brother Steve, according to him and his friend I was born a monster.”

Howard scoffed finally lifting his utensils, “You’re no monster. No fairy princess either but not a monster.”

“Trust me if I had magic things would be completely different.” You said easing the fork between your lips while he chewed.

Enrollment came around again and your class list had you back in line again wading through the sea of open books you signed and answered a few questions on each. English, English Composition, two Advanced Mathematics courses, Chemistry, Astronomy, Psychology, Literature, Sociology and Rhetoric were your chosen courses; the first two English courses being the only ones alongside Literature actually on Barnard campus. Though each woman married or otherwise took time to bring up the wedding and questioned the honeymoon afterwards and summer that everyone seemed to just love a romantic break away from the city with your adoring husband. And tucked between every few women was the hand off of hushed tips shared on how to have babies to get started on your own little family with the man who clearly loved your nephew and nieces beyond words.

In passing your Advanced Mathematics Professor ensured he had a moment at your side with pipe lowered to ask, “Did I hear this correctly, you have a young cousin near to college years?”

Subtly the end of your brow ticked up under the edge of your bangs and you replied, “Yes, my cousin Erik, he’s got his final year in school starting in a week.”

The smoke from his next listening puff on his pipe billowed between you as he said, “Where is he looking for his studies after he’s graduated?”

“Well, here, actually.”

A smirk eased across his lips and he said, “Well I can’t wait to see what sort of student he is compared to his cousin and uncle. Even Elliot is anxious on the wait. All of us on the admissions essay pool judges are going to keep our eyes peeled for his application. What’s his last name?”

“Lehnsherr, Dad changed his to Rogers when he moved to Brooklyn.”

After a glance at someone calling his name he let out another puff of smoke and nudged his pipe at you briefly to say, “I will remember that name and keep an eye out for it.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it,” you said in his nodding step away that had you glance up at James in his smirking reach for another book from the stack that the freshmen that rushed back with to complete the required textbooks you’d need. “Sounds like fun times are coming. Might as well pick a room I guess for Erik.”

James chuckled and said, “Me and Vic have been sprucing up some of our ground floor rooms he could pick from so he won’t have to be surrounded by babies the whole time.” When he took another book and you gave a soft sigh just making him chuckle again and claim the final book so you had hands free to get your paperwork and sign the paperwork to get the tuition paid for in advance again for the fall and spring semesters.

Dawn and the three babies were waiting for you at home and she relaxed while you and James got lunch ready then took charge of Teddy as the younger girls were down for their naps.

Monday this year was the day this semester began on. English on the Barnard campus was how the day began. Ready in a peach dress and cardigan from James tied seamlessly to your figure by a sash you settled into your seat trying to ignore the title of the article that had been apparently counting down on your baby clock since the big ‘I Do Day’. Even now the public’s image that you were a real life Cinderella who had come from the very bottom as a penniless orphan who had nabbed yourself a Baron and had changed your life now simply requiring a baby to make it all picture perfect. You hoped the pressure would die down but where the Congressman’s comments on your roots had high hopes on conceiving fairly early like most Irish women were perceived to be able to simply fall pregnant with ease and would remain pregnant for a good chunk of their lives afterwards until too old to get pregnant anymore.

Mama Brock however recalling the same weight had encouraged her girls to not put any pressure on that movement and to try and spread through town as best they could that the hope would be for you to get your degree first. Halfway almost to getting the first of them most women did accept that a couple years wouldn’t a spinster make as you were still just 22 and had years ahead.

Relief however came in your second class with the same Advanced Mathematics Professor for Trigonometry who welcomed you and the other females up to his course for this and the next three courses on the Columbia Campus until your final class. Minimal female interaction between classes aided in that the men were less likely to enforce that public biological clock countdown. The air seemed different in this upper level course with male students who already knew how talented you are and that you had well earned your seat in their courses and could head up against any guy who tried to test you academically.

A second Mathematics Professor for Calculus came next just a few doors down. Across the campus to another wing you had to weave your way to your Chemistry course that would come up after your lunch break. Portia animatedly upon meeting in her car spilled her exciting new course list and her plans for this year she had used to double up more of her own courses for her own degree.

From desks to stools at stations around the room in groups of three you settled in timidly formed groups. Yourself with two of the left over guys who you’d known loosely in their tries to get to know Portia and your lunch group the hour prior as the other females had grouped up leaving just you and the rest of the male classmates. At least for them they hoped to possibly at the least have some good word shared about them to their hopeful future dates. And around you they took up the stools so you wouldn’t have to be near the gas burner or the sink on the ends and settled in for the first class that would have your first group assignment to warm you all up to the process of each in class experiment and assignment afterwards.

Psychology came next, the most interesting of your classes you had read ahead on in the textbook that could have a great impact at least on some of your own internal struggles and those that your family might have faced. The lengthy class opened with just full speeches and presentations you took notes through to the end when you would have to get up and head across to Barnard for your Literature class you had with Portia. After which the first meeting with the paper came with the proud group who got started in the opening meeting with a list compiled of topics to ready for the paper to be put out in a couple days. Five sketch topics were given to you for various sections of the paper that you had a basic draft of each they commented notes for you to add to each of them through the rest of the days until they were due.

“I’m so glad we’re back in school.” Portia said with a smile you shared on the stroll to the front entrance of the school where James and her driver were waiting. “Been such a long summer apart.” In a glance your way she asked, “James still being as romantic as ever? A couple of my cousins said their hubby’s seemed to switch once they traded rings.”

Softly you chuckled and said, “Surprisingly more romantic than ever.” Widening her smile even more, “He’s excited for me to have another year of schooling under my belt too.”

“Maybe I should take more trips up to Canada for a fella like him.” She teased with a giggle matched by yours.

“I’ll keep my ears open, and two of the fellas from lunch happen to be my lab partners in Chemistry if they tickle your fancy.”

“Oh it’ll take more than small talk over chicken cold cut sandwiches to win my heart in just a year with kind words and flattery. Any man wants to come courting has to step up and set a meeting with my daddy first or they’re all just howling at the moon.”

“Fair tip, send them up to Big Sir for him to bite them into shape.”

She smiled saying, “Exactly.”

Pt 46

#James Howlett x Reader OC #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Petal is here #Eddie Brock x OC #baby countdown #Peer Pressure #Book Signing #Howard Stark #Einstein #Back to Barnard

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sparkles-and-trash · 4 years

Text

Craig and Those Guys, Headcanons Masterpost ~

Craig Tucker

Looks:

tall and gangly

has really pretty, thick black hair, but is always wearing his chullo so he always has hat hair lol

light blue/grey-ish eyes

long face, defined jaw

really smooth skin, which is odd since he has no routine what so ever

casual style, lot’s of hoodies and those Adidas pants with the white stripe at the side?

Personality:

he has a resting bitch face, but like, as a personality?

like, when he’s not thinking about anything special or talking about something he cares about, he’ll just sorta tune out and look pissed and/or bored

but he isn’t grumpy or careless

just a little aloof lol

cares a lot about his boyfriend, friends, family and pet(s)

doesn’t always feel confident when showing it tho

dorky, he loves space and his niche shows and likes tidying haha

has the dorkiest laugh and is super embarrassed about it hehe

Friendships:

isn’t that good with people tbh

but he really values his friends, and enjoys spending time with them

will fight for his friends, hands down

is weary around new people, like the the two boy gangs started to hang out a little more, he was the one who took the longest to open up and be chill with it

likes seeing his friends having fun and being passionate, so he always tries to keep up with their interests etc

which sometimes surprises people

but like I said, he is really a nice guy, he just has a rising bitch personality

Family:

has a healthy and good family dynamic

is kinda awkward with showing them affection tho

his dad and him have a “slap each other on the back and huff” type of relationship

but deep down they both know there’s a lot of love and acceptance there<3

Laura is a cool mom, fight me

not like, too cool, she has rules and is an authoritarian person

but she is also funny and sees through her kids’ bullshit

Tricia is really similar to Craig in a lot of ways

they stay out of each other’s way mostly, but sometimes hang out casually

doesn’t really fight that much?

Ships and relationships:

y’all know it, it’s always creek time around here

I usually see Craig as demiromatic gay

he and Tweek totally have that best friends and lovers type of relationship

like, not too lovey dovey, but sure as hell passionate at times

Craig genuinely have so much fun with his bf man, he just wants to hang out with him all the time

isn’t too creative when it comes to dates and stuff, but he really tries

often gets help from Token and the others when it comes to it

actually doesn’t mind PDA, at least chill PDA like handholding and kisses etc

Token Black

Looks:

pretty tall and broad, but not like, super fit, he’s just naturally like that

around the start of high school he started growing his hair out a little, he keeps it in a short and manageable length

he has very remarkable eyes, dark brown at the edges and they get almost golden by his pupils

handsome, simply put haha

I would describe his style as preppy/casual?

like, he dresses nicely, and likes looking sharp, but he isn’t a snob about it!

I feel like he would look amazing in purple and wear it often!

Personality:

always writing in a little notebook

loud, contagious laughter

big conscience, always tries to do the right thing

while his friends and classmates loves the perks of his wealth, Token himself feels bad about it a lot

he has a tendency to get a little down about the state of world and it’s unfairness

he works with a lot of charities and is a volunteer and both the pet shelter, the homeless shelter and the children ward of the hospital, and he really, genuinely loves doing it

Friendships:

very protective of his friends

because he volunteers a lot, he started running into Stan and Kenny at both the pet shelter and homeless shelter a lot, as Stan is a huge animal rights lover and Kenny genuinely likes helping both people and animals

the three of them start becoming better friends because of this, eventually brining the two groups closer together

he is one of the few people Craig will actually go to for relationship advice etc

which is kinda funny because Token is a casual dater all through High School

nothing wrong with that! and like, he still has great advice and is very good with people in general

very good at making people feel included

the mom friend 100%

comforts Clyde, keeps Jimmy’s antics under control, keeps Tweek from killing Cartman and helps Craig actually communicate dhslkfhb

Family:

has a good relationships with his parents!

but feels like he has to live up to a certain level of expectations at times

his dad is a bit old-fashioned in some senses, but he means well

and both his mom and dad loves him a lot and is super proud of what a wonderful person he is (so am I ilu Token you’re doing amazing sweetie)

Ships and relationships:

first of all, I think Token is bi!

I like Tyde, but my OTP for him is Tokenny!

I just really like the dynamic potential and think they would make each other the best versions of themselves?

Token is great at being suave and charming in general and on first dates that’s casual, but if he already has a crush and/or feelings he is a mess

but like, a cute mess

anyways, here’s a tiny Tokenny fluff one-shot I wrote a while back lol

Tweek Tweak

Looks:

big, soft & fluffy hair

big, nervous looking eyes

either electric green or lively brown

soft sweaters and big flannels

sweater sleeves always covering his hands

pale, perfect skin

soft freckles on his nose, shoulders and hands

crooked smile

slight gap between his front teeth

a little shorter Craig, slightly more defined much wise naturally

Personality:

very confused

doesn’t know what day is it

has gotten a lot better at dealing with his anxiety, but still twitches a bit because of the meth coffee his parents had him drink as a kid

juMpY

very funny when he chills enough to be funny haha

has a kind heart, esp when it comes to people and animals in difficult situations

he has so much compassion in his heart, man

but also has a short fuse

is pretty scary when he gets pissed

will get into a physical fight

esp if anyone insults his friends

which is why Cartman is terrified of him

Friendships:

his friends makes him feel very lucky and grateful and he tries to make up for it a lot

often bakes as a stress relief, which makes Clyde love him even more lol

is pretty good friends with Kenny

he likes to just hang around people sometimes, doing nothing together, and Kenny enjoys that too, so they often do that

Tweek loves these dudes a lot, but there’s always so much going on yanno

good friends with Wendy!

they share a lot of the same values

he has a secret talent when it coms to drawing, only Clyde knows (by accident)

always tries to include those who is a bit on the outside

Family:

complicated

his parents have always taken a lot of advantage of him, let’s be real

I often headcanon them selling out to Harbucks at some point, but they keep running the store

but they have to hire more people and is under more surveillance now, so that saves Tweek a little

he still works there tho

so does Kenny

honestly, Tweek avoids his parents as much as he can, there is a lot of resentment there

he loves Craig’s family tho, and they love him back <3

Ships and relationships:

yeah, Creek it is

I also like Twenny tho, but creek is my OTP!

I usually write Tweek as gay, but I’m open to other interpretations

but he likes boys in any scenario to me

often has his hands in Craig’s jacket pockets, or hands onto his arm, just likes being physically near him

Craig likes it too, so

Tweek still struggles with sleeping, but always sleeps amazingly with Craig around :softeyes:

blushes so hard when Craig manages to catch him off guard with compliments and soft stuff

is pretty good at being romantic, and does really sweet stuff for birthdays and anniversaries and stuff!

Jimmy Valmer

Looks:

thick mop of brown hair that’s purposely messy

would never admit it but he spends time every morning making it that way

light brown eyes that turns golden in the sun

had braces for years, so now his teeth are very straight and white and perfect

a few cute freckles on his face

actually pretty tall, but because of his crutches he slouches a bit so it doesn’t always show

Personality:

has the best one-liners

living legend for having the record for both the best grades and highest number of detentions at once

can’t shut up in class

sarcastic lil’ shit

sometimes speaks before he thinks but never means harm

good at seeing when he’s out of line and has no problem apologizing!

on the fist day on freshman year the current quarterback (a huge senior) was being horrible to Butters so Jimmy simply smashed the guys toes with his crutch

Friendships:

often takes on a comic relief role in groups

him and Clyde have big “brooo” energy

he is the best wingman

very supportive of his friends, no matter their interest, he always tries to lear about it so he can be there for them and cheer them on!

Jimmy and Stan bond over their interest in writing in an English class Freshman year

whenever Stan has a bad day or week, Jimmy or Kyle is always the first two people to notice and do something because of that

Family:

has a pretty superficial relationship with his parents

nothing really bad in that sense, but it ain’t that deep

doesn’t share too much of his private life with them, but if they ask he won’t lie either

because of his good grades and general intelligence they tend to be gullible with him, so he gets away with a lot of shit

Ships and relationships:

I usually think of him as pan!

I see him dating around quite a bit in high school and college!

hooks up quite a bit, but isn’t a fuckboy, he’s very upfront about what he wants and what he doesn’t

never wants anyone to get hurt

but doesn’t have the best attention span when it comes to dating lol

falls hard when he does tho!!

Clyde Donovan

Looks:

looks like a chocolate Labrador that got turned into a human shdghsdg

soft, dark brown hair

big, puppy like brown eyes

medium tall?

kinda soft, like, has soft features, chubby cheeks etc but isn’t fat

isn’t ripped either, normal to slightly pudgy I would say!

wears a lot of old, comfy jeans and hoodies, often red ones

likes silly graphic t-shirts!

Personality:

the guys who cries at parties

a real good guy, there’s no denying that

he and Token both cried while watching The Kissing Booth on Netflix, promising each other to always support who the other dates. They swore to never talk about it again

loves his friends SO MUCH

generally loves being around people, he is very extroverted!

notices stuff others may overlook

both with people and scenery and stuff idk

compassionate to a fault

Friendships:

when Tweek and Craig started dating, Tweek was a bit nervous about being with the group and feeling like he took up too much space?

and Clyde noticed right away and made sure to really get to know him well and they became great friends, to Craig’s somewhat surprise

Clyde can be a little intense and Craig figured Tweek might find him too much, but it ended up being the opposite, they really enjoy each other’s friendship and their differences works well together

thinks of all of these dudes as his best friends!

his first real crush was Bebe who turned out to be gay

they’re real good friends now but deep down he’s still a little heartbroken

but he values their friendship so much so he’s working through it!

Family:

ohhh :(((

sad hours offh

is still very emotionally raw from his mothers’ death

blames himself very much

his dad is really trying to bond with him tho

and be a good dad

like I said on the main 5 post I like the AU/headcanon that Clyde’s dad and Cartman’s mom gets married

in that scenario I think Clyde would be very resentful at first, feeling like his mom got replaced

but Liane is kind and warm to him and he warms up to her eventually

calls Cartman his brother

actually really comes to care for him tho (it’s mutual but Cartman will never admit it)

Ships and relationships:

bi disaster

bad luck with love

he falls fast and hard

gets sooo happy when things work out!

but sooo heartbroken when they end

he has no problem getting the dates!

but he gets nervous and a little too intense too fast

loses his confidence fast, but his friends are always there to pick him up <3

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rustandruin · 4 years

Note

Can you just drop Robert's return and Robrons reunion out into the universe now please?? You seem to have......ways of predicting future canon. Please make it so!

Hey Anon!

This is very sweet of you, but I think the instances you’re referring to were just really me giving Robert and Aaron my own personal interests because I thought they fit well! (So please approach this with multiple grains of salt scattered liberally over your shoulder.)

That said, I think a really cool way to bring Robert back would be with everyday soap logic. Something happens so he’s released for good behaviour or something within the next few. Now what? He’s given up Aaron (and Liv and Seb), the only thing that really mattered to him, so he’s unmoored. He tries to live an Aaron-less life, settle down in Leeds, get a job in some marketing firm doing the accounts, starts small again, etc. (I like to think he somehow reads and studies a lot while he’s away in fancy white-collar prison, but I digress.)

For the most part, he’s doing fine. Only October 5th hits and it’s his and Aaron’s fifth anniversary. He goes to a bar after work because he’s a bit maudlin and maybe gets hit on by a cute bartender, but turns them down because he really meant what he said to Aaron all those years ago. It’s him. It’ll always be him. He doesn’t want anyone else. Five years in prison and all he can think about is how good Aaron looked on a suit on the day he officially made him his husband.

And because he’s full of booze by a certain hour and getting quite sentimental, he does what any emotional bisexual does: he calls himself a taxi to a little village in the dales, because he wants to visit a certain gazebo.

Unfortunately, Aaron has done exactly what Robert had told him to do. He’s moved on. He doesn’t have Seb in his life anymore, and Liv’s moved out and is working in Manchester. (Thanks to Robert’s guidance and Doug’s and Belle’s, she’s working at a start-up in Manchester, living her best life.) So he’s currently in a longterm relationship with Jason, a handsome accountant friend of Ryan’s who ran into Aaron when Ryan was helping update the Holey Scrap website, and politely flirted with him enough that even Jimmy King noticed and told him to take him up on it. (Aaron doesn’t know this, but Jimmy has secretly taken it upon himself to hold up his “Robert’s second best friend” duties even though Robert’s not here, because he knows that’s what Robert would want.)

Jason, who is also the new accountant at Home Farm and helps the new owner figure out a whole money scandal with the business, knows about Robert and how special that date is, so he offers to take Aaron away for the weekend as a form of distraction. With some more of Jimmy’s egging (because he’s also pulling double duty as Aaron’s secret second best friend atm), Aaron does take Jason up on his offer and goes away to Manchester to see Liv with him.

While there, Aaron has a ton of fun and realises that Jason really is a great guy and that if he had to move on from Robert and marry someone else, Jason would be an ideal pick. The sex is good, his family likes him, and Aaron actually does love him underneath it all. Of course, it’s not the earth-shattering love he had with Robert, because nothing will ever match that, but it’s enough. He never thought he’d move on from Robert, but look! He’s found it in himself to look at another man and get butterflies. It’s progress!

He doesn’t tell Liv or Jason, but the whole ride home he’s thinking of his wedding day with Robert and how he might propose to Jason. (Jason’s always floated the idea of marriage, but has never pressed because he has enough sense to ignore Paddy and Chas and listen to what Aaron’s not saying: i.e. that he doesn’t want to get married again.)

And THAT’s when it strikes! The massive week-long event that Emmerdale has been hyping up all month: A plane crash that causes a multi-car pile up. (The plane crash has to do with the new owner of Home Farm confronting the person related to the embezzlement of funds.)

Aaron and Jason are caught up in pile up it but aren’t hurt. Unfortunately, Cain is and it’s serious, so they rush to the hospital. Aaron has flashbacks the whole time and can’t help but wonder if this is how Robert felt when it was him.

They get to the hospital and Jason goes to park the car and Aaron goes rushing in, and a familiar blonde nurse says “Oh! You’re here. Thank goodness. He won’t settle.”

She grabs him by the arm as she drags him to a room, Aaron asks if Cain’s alright, and she says they don’t know. They still have to run tests. Aaron tries to text Chas with one hand because his phone is blowing up. The Dingles are trying to make sure everyone is accounted for.

It’s not until he finishes sending his text that he looks up and his heart stops. There’s no way the face looking back at him is the face that is right now. There’s no way those eyes and those freckles and those lips can belong to anyone else.

He must be imagining things. “Robert?”

And that’s when he hears it. The voice he’s practically memorised off a short video message and several others they’ve sent each other during their time together; fleeting snippets of a life shared.

“Aaron!” Robert exclaims looking at him with nothing but love and happiness. Then he frowns, brow furrowing as he frowns and looks Aaron over. “Thought you’d at least dress up for our honeymoon.”

(The doctors find nothing physically wrong with Robert, just a special kind of soap-induced memory loss. And because he still thinks Aaron and he are married, he moves back into the Mill with Aaron, thus kicking off a three-month love triangle of Aaron and Robert and Jason, where Aaron must figure out which man holds his future and Robert has to slowly come to terms with how life has moved on and changed around him.)

And there you have it! This is how I would do it if I were an Emmerdale producer with a billion dollars in the bank. Or just a new producer. Bring Ryan back with the promise of a juicy storyline (amnesia), a clean slate for Robert and Aaron to move forward from (amnesia), and a way for them to revisit their relationship and work through the pain of what he did in prison and how he stayed away while getting out, thus moving them towards a third reunion/wedding. (This time in the gazebo, when Robert finally has his memory back and is really giving himself a hell of a reunion tour.)

In any case, it’s the perfect way to hide Ryan’s return (a big event which they can keep promoting), while giving said event a banner ending, especially if you want to give Danny/Aaron a nice juicy storyline moving forward. (Being torn between two men who love him and he loves in turn. Though we all know he’ll be back with Robert within a month or so, or at least by Christmas, where maybe they can have their own Christmas special, but this time it’s like a sliding sideways type deal where Aaron sees how his future would be with both men and he truly has to choose.)

Though, in my hypothetical universe, I do think the news will be “leaked” and then we’ll all tune in and they’ll get the high ratings they want. I dunno. I hope it turns out this way and we all get surprised with Robert showing up in a hospital bed thinking that time hasn’t passed at all because that would be such a good parallel to him walking into the pub like he did when he returned in 2014.

#robron #emmerdale #robert sugden #aaron dingle #ryan hawley #rust and ruin has thoughts #rust and ruin answers #Anonymous

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littlemorals-a · 4 years

Text

even now, there are certain days when joel has to stop himself from calling out: “sarah? ‘m home!” some nights that old house feels especially empty and he swears he can hear the chime of her laughter, small feet putting on a one woman show to the bash or halican drops. on occasion he’d dance with her too despite the knots in his back or the burn in his arms from a long day at work. a rare cup of coffee (he savors every drop, these days) has joel chuckling to himself, recalling sarah’s very first taste and how she’d stuck her tongue out exclaiming “it tastes like dirt!” tommy will jab at him with his snide little jokes and in the corner of his mind, he just knows she’d join in.

the ache comes creeping in once in awhile; a sharp dagger in his chest some days, a mere surface scratch on others. the whiplash steals breath from his lungs and leaves him gasping for breath on the loneliest of nights. the grief is like a terminal illness, always looming...but luckily, he’s found remedies. more often than not, in the form of a shit-eating, freckled grin.

he’s not sure if a real cure was ever a possibility, or simply wishful thinking. but somewhere in between boston and salt lake city, that girl had cured him.

joel grins wistfully from the dim light of his porch as he watches ellie go, off to raise god knows what hell alongside dina and jesse. just like that, her childhood, too, fades away. hazel hues fall to broken watch.

"here!”

“what’s this?”

“your birthday!”

a heavy sigh. he turns to go inside.

up the stairs he trudges. christ, she’d be thirty - five. instead, immortalized far too young in the old man’s memory -- smiles messy with s’mores, victorious squeals after a big win and still the sweetest damn voice he’d ever hear. it’s how she deserved to be remembered. he stops at the desk in his room whereupon his younger self is framed with her. it’s a perfect snapshot of happiness. joel picks up the photo, traces sarah’s image with his thumb. that day, he’d hoisted his pride and joy on his shoulders and she celebrated herself sick with ice cream and still he recalls how she’d called it the best day ever. suddenly, there’s a small pool against the glass. and another. he’ll blink the sting from his eyes, wipe tears from them and then the photo before setting it down.

joel approaches his bed and grunts lowering to one knee. he digs around for a moment before retrieving an old, rust colored shoe box. coming to a stand, he opens it, sets it on his mattress. from his back pocket comes that trusty revolver. he feels the cool metal weigh in his hand.

“jimmy?! jimmy, just stay back! jimmy, i am warnin’ you! don’t -- !”

BANG!

“y-yo-you shot him...”

into the box it goes.

joel raises his left wrist, staring down at that sad, old watch with its broken face like he has so many times before. the hands point to 2:15, frozen forever, right down to the minute when her heart stopped beating. she’d died in his arms but he hadn’t let her go. not for twenty - three years. joel sucks in a breath as his fingers work to unbuckle the strap. in seconds, it’s off. and there it is, sitting in his palm. his lungs start to burn as he stares...then he remembers. exhale.

he’ll run a thumb over cracked glass and then, ever so gingerly, he places the watch over faded blue fabric. joel lingers in the moment, looking down at his past, his pain, his grief...then closes the lid. he tucks the box away, back to where he found it.

boot clad footsteps carry him towards the doorway. a pause. over his shoulder joel finds sarah’s face framed beside his own, smiling brightly as ever. he smiles back at her with his hand at the doorknob.

“g’night, baby girl.”

#this was a weight off both of our chests

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johnsbleu · 5 years

Text

Hold My Hand: John Wick & Reader Chapter 47

warnings: nsfw-ish, some shit goes down and i don’t mean john.

Your phone has been ringing non-stop for the past twenty minutes and you know it’s Tess. Without looking, you reach over to grab your phone and peek one eye open to see her named scrawled across the screen.

“What?” you answer, a little annoyed.

“I'm getting married today!” she sings, then squeals loudly.

“Yes, you are. But it's like five in the morning, you’re not getting married until later this evening.” you whisper and roll over to see the bed empty. You hear the shower running and figure John is already up for the day.

“Can I come over now?”

You sigh and close your eyes, “Yes, you can come over. The door should be unlocked, John is already up. Don’t forget Jimmy is here, so you two have to stay from each other. So stupid.”

“Shut up, it’s not stupid! It’s for good luck.” she says, laughing quietly. “Can you believe I’m getting married?”

“I know, it’s wild.” you laugh, “I have to go shower, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Tess doesn't even say goodbye, she screams as she hangs up and you throw your phone on the bed. The shower is still running and sit up to stretch, feeling your head spin from the lack of sleep.

“Oh, no.” you groan and rub your temples, “Not today.”

You look around the room and see your dress hanging in the closet, reminding you what today is all about, and you hope like hell your headache will go away. Walking over to your dress, you hear John singing quietly in the shower and walk over to knock on the door.

“Yes?” John's voice is deep and amplified by the shower.

“Are you singing?” you ask as the steam from the shower moistens your face. “Can I come in?”

John opens the shower door and nods, his body dripping wet. You're still naked from the night before and you hop into the shower with him, lips puckered for John and he presses a warm kiss to your lips as you hug each other.

“Hi.” you whisper and lean against his chest, warm and wet from the water.

“Hi, beautiful.” he says, then he pours soap in his hand and starts to wash you off.

You're perfectly capable of washing yourself, but something about the way John's hands are so soft and gentle with you makes you melt. His hands slide over every inch of your body and you close your eyes as he massages you. Of course his hands slide to your ass, and you peek open one eye and he smiles as he pulls you closer so he can kiss you.

The kisses start out closemouthed until John opens his mouth for you to slide your tongue into his mouth, gliding against his. Running your hands up his biceps, he pulls you closer to deepen the kiss and you run your fingers through his hair. He lifts you up as you wrap your legs around his waist and you open your eyes to look at him.

“You look really handsome today, your freckles are so cute. It’s kinda killing me.” you whisper.

John turns around to press you against the shower wall and he kisses down your chest, licking over your breast. He looks back at you and slams his mouth onto yours, tongues sliding against one another and you let out a quiet moan with your lips pressed to his lips.

“I don’t remember the last time we just made out.” you laugh as John puts you back on the ground, “It usually always leads to something with you.”

John smiles and shrugs as he moves under the spray of the water again. You watch as he washes his hair and you quickly wipe away soap that’s sliding down his forehead to the corner of his eye.

He squeeze his eyes shut and laughs, “Thanks.”

“I forgot to ask you last night, but what about the basement? Is everything…put away?” you ask and John opens his eyes to look at you. “Your guns.”

“Yeah,” he nods and moves so you can get under the water with him, “I already have everything locked in the safe anyway, but I covered it up with a blanket. Put some random books on top, looks…normal down there.”

“Looks normal.” you laugh loudly and it echoes throughout the bathroom.

John laughs and slaps your ass, “So, are you excited for today?”

“Yeah, it's going to a very romantic day.” you laugh as you begin to wash your hair. “So get ready to hear about how much I love you.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Oh, Tess is already on her way over.” you say, lathering the shampoo in your hair and keeping your eyes closed to avoid getting bubbles in them.

John starts to laugh and leans down to kiss you, “Well, I'm going to get some breakfast started then.”

“Okay.” you whisper, sad to see him leave already. He opens the shower door and you watch as he puts a towel around his waist. “Wait...”

“What?”

“I have a request.” you bite your lip to hide a smile.

“You want chocolate chip pancakes, I know.” he starts to smile, eyes raking over your wet body.

“No, not that.” you laugh, “Actually, I kind of want donuts, but I got a different request.”

“Okay…”

“Well, I've only seen it like twice so, can you, um...” you swallow and shake your head, “Never mind.”

You start to close the shower door and John stops you, pulling it back open. “No, you're telling me.”

You stand in front of John, rinsing the shampoo from your hair and laugh, “It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid. Stop saying everything you think is stupid.” he says, staring at your breasts.

“Hey! My eyes are up here, big guy.” you say and John rips the towel from his waist as he gets back in the shower with you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you passionately. He kisses you slowly as he backs out of the shower and you almost fall out as you try to keep your lips pressed to his.

“What is your request?” he asks, wiping the spit off of his face.

“You’re wearing a suit?” you say and he nods as he puts his towel back around his waist. “Obviously. I saw it, you’re going to look so fucking handsome.”

“Mouse, what is your request?” he asks again.

You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, slicking it back and you smile. John starts to smile and nods his head, picking up on what you want.

“I’ve only ever seen you comb it back twice. Once when we first started dating, but you were leaving for work and another time when I came to see you at the hotel. But you didn’t have it slicked back for long.” you wink.

“I thought you liked my hair when it’s fluffy.” he says and presses a kiss to your wrist as you remove your hands from his hair.

“I do like it when it’s fluffy.” you say, leaning out of the shower to kiss John.

“Well, I’ll comb it back today, just for you. Finish showering, I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, so maybe I want to marry you instead,” Tess starts to laugh and takes another bite of her pancakes, “Or maybe we can hire you as our personal chef.”

You lean against the doorway and watch as Tess and your mom fawn over John's cooking. The kitchen island is covered with pancakes, sausage, bacon and eggs. John always goes overboard when it comes to food, but he loves to cook. You know anytime John is cooking, it’s going to be a whole meal, and dinner always ends with dessert.

“Jonathan, where did you learn to cook like this?” your mom asks and wipes off her mouth with a napkin, “This is amazing.”

“Mom, he was literally hatched from an egg.” you say and John turns around at the sound of your voice. He smiles wide at you, as if he’s only seeing you for the first time today. You immediately fall into his arms and look up at him. “He's good at everything. It's a little annoying at times because there is no way someone can be this perfect.”

“Not true, you're pretty perfect.” John says, pressing his lips to your forehead. He reaches over your shoulder and holds up a box, “I got you a donut.”

“What?” you look in the box and see a chocolate frosted donut waiting for you, “I literally just mentioned that like, 45 minutes ago.”

“Well,” he scoots you to the table and places a plate in front of you. Pancakes, bacon and a cup of chocolate chips. “Thought you could save it for later, but you need a big breakfast for now.”

“Look, he even knows my favorite pancake topping.” you point at the chocolate chips and John steals one before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“They're gross, aren't they?” Tess says and looks over to your mom, “They’re always like this, too.”

Your mom starts to laugh and shakes her head, “Oh, to be young and in love.”

John sets a cup of coffee in front of you and raises his eyebrows, “Drink it, you barely slept last night.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” your mom asks, looking at her plate and Tess starts to smirk.

“Yeah, I was just…ya know, worried about everything for today. Hoping it goes as planned. I did sleep a little eventually.” you say and kick Tess under the table when she starts to laugh.

“Oh, did John help you?” Tess asks and looks over your shoulder at John.

“I’m gonna bring Jimmy his food.” John says, quickly leaving the kitchen.

“You know what? He did help me sleep.” you say and Tess bursts out laughing. “Not like that, you weirdo. He hums.”

“He hums?” she asks incredulously.

“Yeah, he hums and it helps me sleep. He has a really good voice, too.” you look over your shoulder as John walks back into the kitchen and sits next to you at the table to eat. “I was just telling them how you helped me sleep last night. Eased my mind about today.”

John looks up, wide eyed and shocked, “Oh. Uh…”

“You sing, Jonathan?” your mom asks, seemingly unaware of what Tess was implying.

“I try. I’m not good by any means.”

“Liar. He’s so good.” you say and reach for his hand under the table.

“So, how is Jimmy doing?” Tess asks and shoves a piece of bacon in her mouth. “Is he dying because he has to stay away from everyone?”

“Pretty much, mostly because he has to stay away from you though.” John laughs, pouring syrup onto his pancakes, “He got a little too…drunk last night, I had to carry him into his room.”

“That’s what that was. I thought I heard something bumping around last night.” your mom says, finally looking up at you and you quickly dodge her gaze.

“No, it was definitely these two.” Tess says, pointing at you and John, “He helped her sleep, remember?”

You put your head in your hands and laugh, “Tess, I swear...”

“Well, you said he helped you sleep.” she laughs and nudges your mom’s shoulder as they both laugh.

“I’m not as dumb and old as you like to think I am.” your mom says and winks at Tess.

“So, what is your technique, John? How does one help someone fall asleep?” Tess asks, holding her side as she wheezes.

You look over at John and notice his face is completely red. He grabs his plate and stands up, “I’m…I’m gonna go eat with Jimmy.”

John and Jimmy have been helping out with the last touches on the decorations, and somehow John has managed to hang more twinkly lights over the patio and it looks amazing. You told him there was no way he could hang them over the patio, but he figured out how. Of course.

You peek out the bedroom door and see John greeting people. When he sees your mom, he leans over and hugs her. She cups his face in her hands, probably telling him how handsome he is since you notice his cheeks flush red.

John points over your mom’s shoulder and he waves at Amanda holding Harper, who is already reaching out for John. She’s wearing a fluffy pink dress and a headband with a huge bow, and John is melting, you can see it from where you’re standing and you smile to yourself.

He bounces her in his arms and your mom leans close to Harper, talking to her and they all laugh. John looks up to where you’re peeking out from behind the door and waves at you, then points to Harper. You smile at him and put your hand over your heart, then close the door and turn back to help Tess.

“This still fits you perfectly.” you say as you zip up the back of Tess' dress.

“I actually talked to my doctor about that, I guess it’s just like…a thing that runs in families. I guess when my mom pregnant with me, she hardly was showing until the very end.” she says, looking down at her stomach. “Mommy is going to feed you soon, I promise. Just let mommy and daddy get married first.”

“You can’t wait that long! Feed the child, Tess. They’re hungry.” you laugh and peek your head out the door to look for John. When you spot him, you wave him over and he quickly runs up the stairs to you. “Can you get a pack of crackers? Tess is hungry.”

John heads back down the stairs, and moments later you hear him knocking on the door.

“Hey,” John slowly opens the door, his eyes are squeezed shut and he's waving his hand to get your attention. “Here are your crackers. Also, baby, can you hand me my jacket from the closet?”

“John, my name is Tess.” she says, putting her hands on her hips.

You look at Tess, rolling your eyes and laughing as you walk over to him. You take the crackers from him and throw them at Tess, “You know you can open your eyes, right?”

“I can?” he asks, taking his jacket from you.

“Yes, I’m not the one getting married.” you laugh and John lets out a small chuckle. “You’re not going to jinx them if you see Tess before the wedding. And also, we’re not naked, you’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” he says and slowly squints one eye open. When he sees you standing in front of him in your dress, his eyes are glued to you, fixed on just you. “Wow.”

You attempt to hide your face, but John grabs your hands, pulling you into his arms. His skin feels warm and he smells like peppermint when he kisses you. Feeling your face burning, you pull away and smile at him. He pushes you back a little and you slowly spin so he can get a full look. He looks up at Tess as she poses in the mirror and he laughs.

“You both look very beautiful.” he says and looks back to you. He smiles and taps you on your nose, “I'll see you out there, baby.”

John closes the door and you turn around to see Tess still posing in the mirror. You watch as she starts to tear up, and she takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Well, should we do this?” Tess asks and grabs her bouquet off the dresser.

A wide smile spreads across your face and you nod, “Let's go get you married.”

The ceremony was short – just what Jimmy and Tess wanted. John stared at you the whole time, smiling every time your eyes met, and watching him walk Tess down the aisle was the sweetest thing. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tight before handing her off to Jimmy.

Jimmy told the story about their first date, recalling how Tess made him dance not even an hour after they met. He thanked you and John again for introducing them, and together they announced that they're expecting their first child.

The reception has only just started, and you could swear there are way more people here than intended. Jimmy and Tess are having their first dance to the song they danced to when they met, and they’re laughing and pressing kisses to each others face. You look over and see your mom crying and taking pictures as fast as she can. Typical.

You're looking at the flowers on the table when you feel a warm hand on your back. John. You close your eyes and smile, leaning back into his arms as he moves the hair off your shoulder and lightly kisses it.

“You look beautiful, mouse.”

You smile and turn around to look at him, “You look so incredibly handsome today, it's unfair.”

“Unfair?” he whispers and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Yes, it's unfair because I want you so bad.” you lean up and whisper in his ear.

He pulls you even closer and you can feel him growing hard in his pants. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and whispers, almost too quietly. “This dress is amazing.”

“It would look better on our bedroom floor though, wouldn’t it?”

“You gotta stop.” John laughs and tries to push you back a little, but you keep a tight grip on him.

“Guess what?” you lean closer, lips brushing against his ear when you talk, “I'm not wearing any panties.”

“I want you so fucking bad.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. His hands start to move towards your ass but they stop and move back up to your waist.

“Then take me.” you say and pull away to look at him.

He almost moans at the thought and he flinches when everyone starts to clap for Jimmy and Tess. He looks up at everyone and smiles when he realizes you're still staring at him. John look back at you and licks his lips.

“Excuse me, can I take your picture?” the photographer asks. She’s a tiny little thing, and she smiles wide, waiting for you to answer. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, and I don’t usually just…ask, but you two were talking and you looked very in love. Perfect for a photo at a wedding. And I was instructed by the bride to take as many pictures as possible.”

“Of course.” John says and wrap his arms around you tight as you lean your head against his chest. You look up at John and smile as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Perfect.” she takes several photos and looks down at her camera, “Oh, these are going to be great.” she looks back at you and thanks you as she walks away and begins taking pictures of Amanda dancing with Benji.

“I’m surprised she didn’t quit.” you laugh and look up at John, “Did you see her earlier when she was taking our group and family photos? She was overwhelmed. Poor thing.”

“I’ll give her a really good tip.” he nods.

“Don’t smoke in bed.” you joke, and John stares at you blankly before he finally starts to laugh.

“John Wick! How long has it been?” a woman says and you look over at her as she immediately reaches out to hug John.

John stumbles back a little and pats her back uncomfortably, “It’s been awhile.”

You watch her closely as she caresses John’s bicep and you look away, trying not to seem like a overly protective girlfriend. She starts to make small talk with John and you can tell by his responses that he’s not interested. She’s clearly very attracted to John. Hell, who isn’t? You understand completely, he’s hands down the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. After seeing the way she’s looking at John, you begin feeling uncomfortable and you start to walk away when John reaches out for your hand.

“Get back here.” he says, pulling you closer to his side, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Hi!” she instantly reaches out to hug you, and you stiffen up a little and look at John as he shakes his head, laughing quietly. “I’m Zoe.”

“Hi.” you say and she lets go of you. “I’m--”

“Zoe!” Jimmy yells and she laughs as she runs over to hug him.

“Okay then.” you laugh and look at John, “She’s…”

“Jimmy’s cousin.” John says and turns you so you’re facing him, “She was living with him for a while. We went out a few times -- with Jimmy. It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh,” you nod and watch as Tess hugs Zoe. “That’s cool.”

“She took you by surprise, didn’t she?”

“She did.” you nod, laughing. “I wasn’t expecting to just hug me like that. I mean, I hug people. I love to hug people, but not random people I’ve never met before.”

John is looking at you and he shakes his head as he laughs. He looks so handsome today and you understand why Zoe couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

“She has a pretty big crush on you, you know that, right?”

“She does?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

You laugh loudly and nod, “Ooh, yes, very much so. I saw the way she was touching your arm and looking at you. And I do not blame her, you are very, very handsome.”

“But…”

You look at John and smile, “But you’re not interested.”

“That’s my girl.” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you stand there in silence for a moment, watching everyone in the backyard as they laugh and dance. Aurelio is dancing around with Harper, Tess is dancing with your mom and Dan is taking pictures of everything -- your mom’s request, you assume.

“So, still gonna dance with me later?”

“Of course.” Something catches John's eye and he focuses hard on it over the top of your head. You try to turn around, but he cups your face, “Don't worry about it.”

“Worry about what?” you pull away from him and see Leah walking through your house. “Why is she here? I haven’t even seen her since Christmas, I was hoping she’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

“Why is she here?” Tess says as she walks over to you, “I told mom not to invite her. The evil rat.”

“God, Tess.” you laugh and look at Leah as she starts to talk to random people. You roll your eyes and look at John, then at Tess. “She only goes after my boyfriends, so I think Jimmy is safe.”

“That's true.” she laughs and shrugs, brushing it off already. “Well anyway, it's time to dance.”

Tess grabs your hand and leads you over to the DJ – the one John insisted on hiring. You and Tess both fought him on, but in the end, he won.

“What will get Jimmy to dance?” you ask, hiding a laugh.

“Anything from the 80s. Whitney Houston, usually.”

The music starts and you both look around for Jimmy. He dances his way to the middle of the patio and he points at Tess, waving her over as she laughs. He's all arms and he's throwing them in the air, barely missing people. You look around for John and see him sitting in a chair, laughing his ass off at Jimmy.

When you walk by, Jimmy grabs your hand and pulls you into his arms as you yelp. He spins you around and pulls you back to him, laughing and singing the song as you laugh loudly. Tess finally interrupts and you thank her as they fall into each others arms, dancing and singing.

“That was interesting.” you walk over to John and sit in his lap as he laughs.

“He's drunk, well, getting there anyway.”

“I still want to see you dance, by the way.” you say and look at John.

“Okay.” John says and you immediately stand up.

He grabs your hand, pulling you into the crowd of people dancing and stands there, frozen in place. He looks around at the people dancing and looks back at you. You smile wide as he shrugs and starts moving his shoulders a little.

“Oh, my god.” you laugh and John starts bouncing on his knees. You cover your mouth and laugh so loud you’re sure you could hear it over the music. “Oh, my god! Jonathan!”

“Come on!” he reaches out for your hands and spins you around as the two of you laugh.

Tess sees the two of you dancing and makes her way over with Jimmy trailing behind her. He’s singing the lyrics loudly and trying his best to do the robot, and you look over at John as he starts to laugh at Jimmy. The song fades into a slow one, and John instantly grabs your waist and pulls you back to him.

The sun is starting to set and it’s shining on the backyard, making John's eyes a warm, delicious brown. You trace your finger over the freckles sprinkled on his cheeks and nose, smiling when your eyes meet. You notice a tiny scar on the apple of John’s cheek, and you run your finger over it as he closes his eyes.

“Today has been really good, hasn't it?” he says, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yeah, it has.” you close your eyes as you sway back and forth to the music. John’s grip is firm on your waist, and the warmth from his hands is seeping through your dress and onto your skin.

“Everything went as planned.”

“Yeah, weddings are still stressful though.” you say with your eyes closed. “This wedding was small and it was still stressful as fuck, well, it was to me anyway.”

“Well, do you still want to marry me?” he asks and his voice is a little shaky.

You open your eyes and see him looking at you, “Yes, as long as you want to marry me.”

“I do.” he nods his head, grinning, “What if I asked you to marry me right now? Right this very minute. I'm not, but if I was...”

“I would've said yes the day I met you.”

He starts to laugh and kisses your cheek, “You would have?”

“Absolutely.” you nod and he tightens his grip on your waist. “God...just the way you look at me, John.”

“What about it?” he laughs, crinkles forming around his eyes when he smiles.

“You just look at me like I'm the only person in the room. The only person in the world.” you smile and you wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. “I can see how much you love me.”

“I do love you.” he leans down to kiss you and you see a hand land on John's shoulder, stopping him and he turns around to see your mom.

“Can I dance with you, Jonathan?” she asks, smiling.

“Of course.” he says, letting go of you and you already miss the feeling of his hands on your hips.

Tess walks over, shuffling in place and leans close to you, “Ya know, being pregnant...you really do pee more often and I have to pee now. I need help though.”

“Duty calls, I guess.” you smile and lean up to kiss John.

Holding hands with Tess, you walk through the living room and head for the bathroom. From the corner of your eye, you see Leah talking to some guy and you pray she doesn’t walk over to talk to you and Tess. She quickly stands in front of the two of you, blocking the way.

“Hi, Leah.” Tess says through gritted teeth.

“You look beautiful, Tess. Congratulations.” she says and reaches out to hug her, “I met your husband, he's really nice.”

“Thank you.” Tess puts on a fake smile and turns to you, “I'm going to piss myself, come on.”

“Sorry.” you say to Leah and she rolls her eyes at you.

You quickly get Tess in the bathroom and hold her dress up as she uses the toilet. “Why was she so nice to you?”

You pretend not to be hurt, but you have to admit that it bothered you. Tess and Leah have always hated each other, their bold personalities clash a lot. Leah was never nice to you, but she was always friendlier to you than to Tess.

“Because she doesn’t want my husband, she wants yours -- well, she wants your…John. Okay, I'm done.”

You lean against the wall as Tess washes her hands and she turns around to look at you. Her hands are still damp from washing them and she flicks the water at you.

“It's working.”

You tilt your head, “What is?”

“Whatever she's doing to get under your skin, it's working.”

“Well, I certainly don't think John would leave me for her.” you start to laugh as you open the bathroom door and immediately see Leah talking to John.

He’s taken off his suit jacket and he has his hands stuffed into his pockets, and it's pulling on the back of his dress pants, making his ass look incredibly good. Leah is talking away and John is trying his best to look interested, but he's looking around the yard, and you assume it's for you. Leah reaches out to touch his bicep and John looks down at her hand on him, politely scooting back a little. He finally looks to the left and sees you, smiling wide when your gazes meet. He nods slightly to Leah and widen his eyes a little, almost begging for your rescue.

“You're not worried, are you?” Tess starts to laugh.

“Nope.” you smile and walk back out to the patio.

“Oh, hey. I was just saying hi to John. Don't worry.” Leah says and reaches out to hug you.

“I'm not worried.” you shrug.

You know Leah is trying to act like the bigger person, trying to impress John, and he couldn't care less. Since you've walked back out to the patio, he hasn't stopped looking at you.

“Wanna dance?” you push yourself in between the two of them and wrap your arms around his neck. You raise your eyebrows at John and he nods.

“Yeah, let’s go dance.” he says and walks into the middle of the crowd of people, holding tight to your hand.

He looks around and his hands slide down your back to your hips, biting his lip when you move in closer to him. You're thankful for the heels you’re wearing, they make you taller and you can get closer to John's face. You sway your hips a little and rub against John, and his eyes almost fall out of his head. He looks around again, scanning the crowd for your mom.

You spin around in his arms and you feel him press against you as he wraps his arms around you. You bend forward a little, sticking your ass out and rotating your hips against the erection growing in his pants. As you look over your shoulder, you see John close his eyes and he quickly pulls you back into his chest as he continues looking around the yard.

“You're looking for my mom, aren't you?” you start to laugh and lean closer to him so he can hear you.

“Yes, I can't let you grind on me with your mom around.” his lips brush against your neck when he talks and you close your eyes, gasping when he holds you tight to him and bucks his hips slightly.

“I want you to fuck me so bad right now.”

“Shh!” John pulls you closer to him and laughs.

“No one can hear me, the music is too loud.” you say and almost scream when Tess grabs your arm and pulls you to dance with her.

“I heard that. Totally understandable. He looks fucking hot tonight. His hair pushed back like that, his suit is tailored just for him. Perfect.” Tess says, smirking.

“Oh, my god...” you start to blush and she shakes her head.

“What? I don't blame you at all. I bet he's really good.”

“Tess!” you cover your face with your hands and laugh.

“I know he is.” She looks over at Jimmy, who is trying his damnedest to get John to dance. He's nudging him and shaking his shoulder, but John is frozen in place, laughing with his hands in his pockets. “We gotta get John to dance again.”

“We do.” you nod and make your way to the DJ.

The song starts and you look over at John, and he spots you in the crowd and starts to smile. You wave him over and he quickly joins you and Tess. She grabs your hand and John's and starts to jump in place.

“You promised me.” you point at John, “You said you would dance to whatever song I wanted and to how many I wanted."

April joins in and the three of you start to dance as John watches. You reach for his hands and he still stays frozen in place, but he begins to laugh.

“Come on, Jonathan.” you jut out your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes. “You were dancing earlier!”

“I'm the bride and I demand that you dance, Jonathan.” Tess laughs and grabs his hands.

Slowly and reluctantly, John starts to dance and he bounces in place a few times as you spin around him. You lean back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as you sing the song and move your bodies together.

“Remember the first time we danced to this?” you tilt your head back to look at him and he nods.

You spin around again and Jimmy joins in too. You all start to dance and sing the song loudly, and the happiness on John’s face makes you melt. You’re surprised by how much he’s dancing and you’re starting to wonder how many drinks he’s had.

“How much have you had to drink?” you ask as you stop dancing.

John stops dancing and laughs, “I haven’t had anything to drink.”

“Just happy?”

John nods, “Just happy.”

“Well, I need some water.” you say, out of breath.

When you get to the kitchen, you turn around and see Jimmy laughing with John. As you walk past the back door, you see Bleu outside looking sad and alone, and you figure it won’t hurt the party if you’re gone for more than a few minutes.

“Hi, baby.” you say, slipping into the backyard and sitting on the steps.

He whimpers and lays down next to you, placing his head in your lap. You rest your head on your hand and pet Bleu, taking a much needed break from all the people. It’s not that you don’t like to be around people, you just like the quiet life that you and John lead. Just the two of you and Bleu. And Jimmy and Tess, of course.

“I know you hate being away from everyone, especially dad. But we love you and we don't want you to get in the way, or get scared of how loud it is.” Even from the backyard, you can hear music and people laughing from the other side of the house.

You've been away longer than intended and you know John is wondering where you are. As you stand up, you duck down when you see someone in the kitchen searching through the cabinets. You don’t recognize the back of his head, but when he turns around, you recognize him immediately.

Matt. Why? Why is he here? You don’t even remember the last time you saw Matt. You rack your brain, trying to remember and it clicks. The last time you saw him was at the grocery store months ago. You haven’t seen Matt in months, and to be honest, you kind of forgot all about him.

“He doesn't even know Jimmy though, and he met Tess, like, twice. Has John seen him yet? Well, obviously not, he wouldn't be standing here if he had.” you whisper to yourself and look down at your hands as they begin to shake.

Matt continues looking through your cupboards, and he gets dangerously close to the drawer where you and John keep a journal of notes the two of you have written for each other. Just small reminders of what you need to get from the grocery store, but usually it’s full of love notes.

You open the door in a fury and yell at him, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm looking for a glass, but...” he looks up, then smiles when he realizes it's you. “Hey, I'm here for a wedding.”

“Why?” you ask and Bleu rushes past you, cautiously sniffing Matt.

“...Because I was invited.” he starts to laugh and walks closer to you, “I didn't know you were going to be here.”

You back away and laugh, “It's literally my house.”

“This is your house? I thought you lived in that house across the street.” he says, shocked as he looks around at your kitchen, “It's a nice place.”

He's lying. He knows this is John's house.

You fold your arms across your chest and look out at the patio. John is sitting in a chair talking with Aurelio. He catches you looking and he smiles big, waving at you. You give him a small wave and you turn back to Matt, shaking your head.

“You should probably leave.” you say as you grab Bleu by the collar.

“Why? My date knows the groom.” he laughs and walks closer. As he gets closer, you know John is going to be able to see him and you take several steps back.

“You came with a date?” you ask, relaxing at the thought of him coming with someone else.

“Yeah, she's cousins with Jared.”

“Jimmy.” you correct him.

“What?”

“His name,” you hold tight to Bleu as he lunges forward a bit, “His name is Jimmy.”

“Damn, I can never get names right.” he laughs and leans against the counter.

“Well, anyway...enjoy your night, I guess.” you say and walk past him to bring Bleu back outside.

Matt grabs your arm tight and stops you, “You look gorgeous.”

Bleu barks loudly and growls, and it catches you off guard seeing as you've never heard Bleu be aggressive. He's never even growled at a squirrel as far you know. Being aggressive just isn't in his nature.

When Matt shoves you back a little, Bleu jolts forward and he growls loudly again, baring his teeth. Disgusted and shocked, you try to pull your arm out of Matt's grip, but he tightens it and you're sure he's bruising your skin.

“Please don't touch me.”

Placing his hands on the counter top behind you, he leans close to your face. Alcohol is wafting off his skin making you dizzy and it burns your nostrils. “I never got to kiss you.”

“Because I never wanted you to kiss me.” you say and look down at Bleu, still barring his teeth and growling.

“Are you still with that guy? I never liked him. Didn't like how he acted like he owned you. The night we went on our date, he just stood there, watching and waiting for me to leave. Waiting for you. And this damn dog ruined my chances to kiss you.”

“Get off of me!” you yell a little and know people can probably hear you. Bleu begins to bark and you’re sure it's alerting John.

“I was always jealous of that guy. Getting to touch you and kiss you whenever he wanted.” Matt leans back to look at your face and he smiles. His eyes are blood shot and glazed over, obviously drunk. You squeeze your eyes shut as he leans forward to kiss you and your back is starting to hurt from the counter top digging into it, and you try to shove him off of you once more.

“Get the fuck off of her!” John yells, and his voice reminds you of thunder: dangerous and full of rage.

Opening your eyes, you see John on top of Matt, and his fist is a blur as it repeatedly strikes Matt in the face. John grumbles something in Russian, causing your arms to become covered in goosebumps and you realize how scary he sounds.

Jimmy runs into the kitchen and for a moment, you're surprised by how fast he's sobered up. With help from Aurelio, they manage to pull John off of Matt, but John is far from done as he tries to escape their grasps. You squeeze your eyes shut again, covering your face with your hands and John is back on top of Matt.

You hear Jimmy and Aurelio trying their best to calm John down and pull him away from Matt, but he doesn’t stop. When you call out to John, the hits finally stop and you hear Matt groaning on the floor, cursing under his breath. Someone touches your shoulders and you flinch as their hands pry your fingers away from off your eyes. You open your eyes and you see John speaking in Russian, and you shake your head as tears spill from your eyes.

“I don't...” you cup his face, shaking your head, “John, I don't know what you're saying.”

“Are you okay? Baby, are you okay?” John is leaning in front of you and he rubs your shoulders gently, waiting for your response. You nod your head and he turns back to Matt, who is still on the floor. John moves you to stand behind him and you cling to his belt, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

After a moment, you peek around John and look at Matt's face, a bruise is already forming around his eye, his nose is bloody and definitely broken. He looks at John and shakes his head, “Fuck you, man.”

You move to stand in front of John and you're surprised by how calm he is, almost like he’s done this before and when you remember he has, it gives you goosebumps. His expression is intense and threatening, and his eyes are fixed on Matt, on his every move. His usual warm brown eyes are almost black and he’s clenching his jaw every few seconds. You shiver when you see it and think about how you'd never want to wrong John, he's scary as hell. He’s a force to be reckoned with.

You’re still looking at John, and a part of you is scolding yourself for how incredibly hot you’re finding him in this moment. You know it’s inappropriate, but fuck, he looks hot.

“I wasn't doing anything wrong.” Matt says, and you see John's body tense up again.

“Take her, I'll deal with this.” Jimmy says and throws paper towels into Matt's lap as he kneels next to him, “You're ruining my wedding, dude. What the fuck did you think you were doing trying to kiss her?”

“I wasn't even touching her!” Matt says, laughing and holding his nose. “She wanted me.”

Aurelio begins to laugh and shakes his head, “You’re a fucking idiot, man.”

“How? This was all her!” Matt yells loudly, trying to cause a scene.

“You’re clearly drunk, man.” Jimmy says, calmly. “Maybe you had a few too many drinks and you need to just go home. Sleep it off.”

“I’m fine.” Matt snaps and looks up at you. “It wasn’t me anyway, it was her.”

Holding tight to John, you feel him jolt forward and you try your best to push him back, tears pricking your eyes. “Jonathan!”

“She wanted to kiss me, John.” he says as he stands back up, “She said she wanted to be with me and that she made a mistake choosing you over me.”

You and John finally lock eyes and you know he can see the anger on your face. Without thinking, you turn around and slap Matt hard across the face, “Fuck you.”

Matt closes his eyes and lets out a small laugh, “You don’t want him to know?”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” you say and feel John’s hands on your arms. You look over at Jimmy and nod to Matt, “Get him out of my house.”

Matt starts to laugh again and looks up at you as you turn back to face John. His hands are shaking and you try your best to shove him out of the kitchen, but he's rock solid and hard to move.

He balls up his fist and you know he wants to hit him again – knowing John, he wants to do more than hit him. He’s probably trying to calculate how he can get to him and snap his neck without everyone jumping in the way to stop him. John stays planted in place, clenching his jaw and still staring Matt down. You stand on your tiptoes in front of John, making eye contact with him.

“Jonathan,” you say, trying to calm him and his eyes soften when he sees you, “I wanna talk to you upstairs.”

“I don't want him in our house.” he says to you and his voice is pure anger, but you know it’s not directed at you.

“I don’t either, but I want to talk to you right now.” you lean closer to his face and whisper, “I know that if you don’t come with me, you’re going to do something…to him.”

He moves with you to the living room and cups your face, “Let me deal with this, then I'll meet you upstairs.”

“John--” you get cut off when he kisses you hard. He pulls away and he’s completely breathless as his eyes flicker on your face. He leans his forehead against yours for a moment, then presses a kiss to it.

“Let me deal with this.” he says, firmly. A tear slides down your cheek and John wipes it away with this thumb, “Peach, please.”

You look at the people outside, laughing and dancing, completely clueless as to what is happening in the kitchen. Tess is twirling around with April and for a moment, you wish you were with them.

“Don't cause a scene, please.” you say, backing away.

“I never do.”

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #i literally wrote this chapter MONTHS ago #literally like....7 months ago fjsdklf;jdsklf;#sorry things are getting hectic in my personal life i hope yall enjoy this #please be kind ifdklfsj #fic: hold my hand #i also have some IG edits im going to post too bc theyre fun to make

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cupidmarwani-archive · 5 years

Text

Sunshine and Forgiveness

Summary: It’s Yom Kippur and, after the year he’s had, Connor is ready for forgiveness.

WC: ~2.3k

Tags: Jewish!Connor, forgiveness, prayer, religion, love and support and found family, fluff

The sun rose. Piercing light bled through the blinds, cut into Connor’s vision even before he opened his eyes in a command to awaken, even though his alarm was only a few minutes away. He blindly smacked the alarm clock until he knew he had disabled the alarm, that way Will could keep sleeping because he’d managed to get the day off too. It’ll be relaxing for him, Connor knows, to be able to sit around and eat chips and watch TV without worrying as much about everything. He isn’t even on call. Connor is, but he has faith they’d call in Bekker before him.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes until it doesn’t burn to open them, and the first sight to greet him is that of warm rays cast over Will’s body. They highlight a line of freckles on his nose, push contrast onto the little hickeys across his chest Connor left behind the night before, follow the V on one side of his hip to where the covers are just low enough to reveal the first dustings of hair. He’s beautiful, even in rest, and Connor almost wants to lay in bed with him for hours and kiss him awake. He lets Will rest, though, and gets out of bed carefully so he can get dressed and walk to service. It would be faster to take his car, but the sun brought him into the day, and he wants to stay in it as long as possible because the sun feels like healing.

Last night, he had laid his outfit out on top of the dresser, complete with socks rolled into a ball. Usually he doesn’t give the time, but it’s a new year, and he wants to begin to live a little more like someone worthy of love. Not that he ever hasn’t been, but he hasn’t always seen himself that way. Connor pulls on his jeans, his shirt, his socks, his shoes. It’s comfortable and unfamiliar, as used to his scrubs as he’s gotten. He should take more time for himself to do things like dress in normal clothes and go for walks in cool morning air. His reflection in the vanity as he pins his kippah to his hair is half alive. In truth, he had nearly lost himself. But he’s going to heal, one way or another. He takes his pills while he remembers, swallows them dry, and before he leaves, he can’t resist bending over the bed to press one lingering kiss to Will’s forehead. He shifts a little in his sleep, but doesn’t wake up.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Connor whispers, and takes care to leave quietly.

The sun outside is warm, but not burning, the perfect temperature for a leisurely walk. It’s one of those days that Connor’s back is giving him a little trouble, but not enough to miss out on this. The exercise is good for him, anyways. A little vitamin D, his heart pumping blood, his chest working. There’s peace in it, and he doesn’t mind the faint pain when he finally arrives at synagogue with the sky above him and free.

Already, Maggie, Sarah, Jimmy, Natalie, and Owen are there, talking amicably. Maggie and Natalie are close, arms pressing together in a taste of what could be if they weren’t both so afraid of change. And Sarah holds Owen, cooing at him while he bats his hand playfully against the wrap she always wears for special occasions while Jimmy pretends not to be amused.

“You got a new scarf,” Connor says as he approaches, gesturing toward Sarah. Every time he’s seen her wear one, it’s been one of two she’s seemingly always had- a silvery one with bright thread lacing through it, and one with busy patterns that make him dizzy. But this one is definitely new, a soft peach with white lace-like details that she’s tied intricately. It probably took her a long time, because he’s never seen that style of wrap on her either. “It’s pretty.”

Sarah smiles and pulls the end out of Owen’s tiny fist. “Thanks, Maggie gave it to me.”

“That’s because I’m the only one of us who has taste.”

“I take offense to that,” Jimmy interrupts, gesturing at his collared shirt so pristine he must have ironed it this morning. It’s simple, a soft green to offset his eyes, and complemented by the star hanging down around his collar and the pale white and grey tallit over his shoulders.

“You would.”

Natalie rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, and Connor returns the gesture before they head inside. He watches this small family of his and the way they bounce off each other so easily. Maggie adjusting the way the braid of Natalie’s wrap circles her face, Natalie brushing a stray strand of hair from hers in turn. Jimmy takes Owen from Sarah’s arms long enough for her to pick up the prayer books for them and tell Maggie and Natalie to get a room. If he wanted to, Connor could easily fall into the banter. At this moment, however, he is content to watch and know that there’s still love and hope.

In the beginning, as the hymns rise and fall, Connor can almost feel the stress sinking from his body. He always feels so at home here. Everything else, it can’t hurt him because he is protected and loved and welcomed with open arms, no matter what else has happened to him in the world outside. Here, he is at peace.

The sound and feel of the prayers, and of the words read to him with soothing voices, put him at ease and it’s like his chest is opening up and releasing so much of him that has built up over the course of the year. Ash and dust piling in his lungs frees itself, and when Maggie, Natalie and Jimmy leave for a few moments, he feels their hands on his shoulders and their love in his chest. It’s him and Sarah for a long few moments, Owen in Sarah’s lap, and they pray for the people they’ve lost. Owen probably thinks about applesauce, actually. Or Sarah’s scarf. But Sarah and Connor pray, and they feel, and even more weight abandons Connor. And when others return, they continue to be together and to feel and to pray, and when the blessing comes, Connor is so glad he got out of bed.

They take a break outside, then, during which Connor stretches his irritated back and Natalie gives Owen a sandwich, apple juice, and a banana. Usually Connor is pretty good about keeping back the hunger during fasting, but his stomach gives a formidable growl. His mouth actually waters a little at the smell of peanut butter, which has never happened before.

“This is torture,” he says simply, rolling his shoulders. “I’m baby. I deserve a snack.”

“Do you actually need one?” Natalie asks, opening her purse to reveal a second banana.

“No.”

They all laugh a little, and it feels good to laugh after everything they’ve gone through. They made it to the way the sun beats down on them, making a little sweat bead on the back of Jimmy’s neck and Sarah push the tail of her wrap off her shoulder for a few minutes. Beneath them the grass is lush and fertile, it too having grown and recovered.

“I’m proud of us,” Connor says. They all fall silent and study him carefully. “This hasn’t been easy, and I’m proud that we made it here.”

“I am too,” Maggie adds.

She takes one of his hands, and Sarah the other, and just that small contact is life changing for its duration, which lasts until they go back for the afternoon service and the wave of air conditioning. There is more connection, more reading, more community that wraps around Connor like a warm blanket. Some of the things said he has long since taken as a memory in his heart, obvious in the way his lips trace words.

Come Neilah, he has reached more peace with himself than in the many months the last year has brought. He struggled, and he hurt. He lost his father, he lost patients, he lost Dr. Bekker. He nearly lost Will. So much pain came upon him. But he also remembers the smaller, good moments that had nearly been overshadowed by the rest. He got married last fall, and watched Sarah come into her own as a bright young doctor. He managed to at least somewhat make amends with his father. He started therapy and medication for things that have always hurt. And his pride and joy, the hybrid OR, came to life. Good things happened, even if he struggles to bring them from beneath the shadow of the pain sometimes. And this coming year, he will do everything in his power to make better choices and feel better, feel more worthy of the love that is never as abundant as it is in this moment. He gives himself over, fully and truly, to Adonai and whatever the next year will bring him because he isn’t going to let things happen this time. His own life, his own health, matter just as much as everyone else’s. Connor is done pushing himself past his limits. Everything is going to get better, because he’s going to put in the work to make it so.

When the prayer is over, and people begin to leave, he feels alive and well, more than he has in a long while. He walked here, but allows Sarah and Jimmy to drive him home because his back is angry with him now, and he’s always a little nervous walking by himself at night. But the stars are still beautiful through the window, and their chatter soothing as they approach home. They’ll get a meal, warm and together, to become themselves again and recognize who they are, and Will is going to be right beside him, holding Connor’s hand under the table and stroking his palm with his thumb.

Jimmy steadies Connor a little on the way up to the apartment, chastising him for walking all the way to services today when his muscles were sore. Sarah walks behind them, followed by Natalie and Maggie, with Owen sleeping in Maggie’s arms. They’re all tired but fulfilled, and Connor wishes he had thought ahead and cooked yesterday so he wouldn’t have to do it tonight. But as he fumbles for his keys, there’s a smell in the hallway, sweet and warm.

“Did Will light candles or something?” Maggie asks. “He knows we’re all coming, right, and not just you?”

Connor shrugs and gets the door open, and promptly blinks away tears. Their formal table is all set up with plates and the blue tablecloth Will said they’d never use. Piled along the center are so many things, most clearly homemade. A handful of lox bagels in not quite round shapes, a coffee cake still in its pan, a plate piled high with challah in dented braids, a bowl of fruit, a stack of latkes accompanied by a thing of applesauce, and about six different bottles of juice.

“I uh,” Will says, where he’s adjusting a fork that has tilted at an angle. “I knew you guys would be tired, so I thought I’d do the cooking. I hope that’s okay. I got like, every kind of juice I could find and there’s a lot of rejects in the trash and-”

“If we weren’t already married, I’d marry you again.”

Laughter like overflowing soda bubbles up, and Connor finds himself wrapped in Will’s arms. His face buried in Will’s neck, his chest struggling to take in normal breaths, he realizes that he just loves him so much, and every day he loves him more, and he’s so glad that Will is here and loves him and does things like this because he cares.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

Will kisses the top of his head, holds him until Connor pulls away and goes to the closet for the high chair they use when babysitting Owen.

“So let’s eat, then.”

Dinner is both chaotic and peaceful, a dichotomy Connor never expected to experience in such a distinct way. There’s laughter, jokes, smiles. Natalie pours Maggie’s juice and Jimmy argues with Will about whether or not his button down- a nice one, because Will put forth so much effort tonight- suits his complexion and Sarah criticizes Connor’s choice in latke topping and Owen makes a mess and it’s messy, but it’s theirs. At no other time has Connor felt so at ease. So loved. It crashes over him and he doesn’t realize how overwhelmed he is by the renewal until Will gently cups his face and brushes a tear off his cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently.

Connor nods, can’t help laughing a little because he’s more than okay. He’s happy. “I’m just- I’m so…” he has to take a deep breath because he’s always been an intense cryer, and now that he’s aware, it seems to be wracking his body. “I’m so happy. I love you so much, I love all of you so much, and I’m so happy that we’re all here.”

He falls forward enough to hide his face in Will’s neck again, and he allows himself to cry because he’s earned it, and he can and will heal. After a moment, the chatter falls, and then it’s not just Will’s hands on him, but a careful hand against his shoulder that he knows is Sarah’s. Then the weight of Jimmy’s. The security of Natalie’s. The warmth of Maggie’s. They’re all here, with him, and although many would call his tears weak, this time they prove to him that he is strong and he is not alone.

He is loved.

And for all the pain he has dealt with this year, inside and out, he is forgiven.

Note: I am not Jewish! I did try my best to put research into this + had a lot of help and support from @jimmylanik but nonetheless, if something is wrong/bad, don’t hesitate to let me know so I can fix it!

May all my Jewish readers have an easy and meaningful fast this upcoming Yom Kippur.

#rhodestead #connor rhodes #will halstead #chicago med #religion //#mine #fic

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casbeanwrites · 6 years

Text

Duck And Berries (ao3)

A story about a meet cute, a duck confit, and a small matter of mistaken identity.

tags on ao3, deancas, no warnings, explicit

Chapter 1/6

Castiel has started to notice it happening.

The looks. People have begun staring.

Whispering, even, sometimes. He's not sure what it's about. It makes him feel anxious, self conscious. He always checks himself, wondering if his pants have a hole in them or if he forgot his shirt, if he has food on his face or toilet paper stuck on his shoe.

And then he meets him. And he suddenly doesn't mind the staring as much.

He's grocery shopping at the organic store around the corner. There's a guy. Cas spots him as he's picking out some pomegranates. He only sees his back - broad, thick shoulders nicely filling out his t-shirt. He can spot freckles on the back of his neck and along his arms, and he likes it.

The guy turns around and Cas almost stumbles backwards. So many freckles. Golden specks running across the most perfect face Cas has ever laid his eyes on, and pink shiny lips in the shape of a bow. A bow shooting an arrow straight for Castiel's heart.

And his eyes - Lord Almighty, so luminous they could shine light in the darkest forests. Eyes that are currently devouring Castiel, sliding up and down his body, that perfect mouth tugging into an appreciative grin.

He's doing it.

That man is doing that thing that people keep doing, except he - he looks like he's... actually... enjoying what he's looking at. A lot.

"Hello," Cas says, because the man keeps staring, and he doesn't seem to realize that his eyes can't actually undress him, and Cas is getting the urge to use the pomegranate to cover his crotch.

A sudden and gorgeous blush spreads on the man's cheeks.

"Oh. Uh. Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Do you want a pomegranate?" Castiel offers.

The guy stumbles back against the fruit display, knocking out several grapefruits and sending them rolling to the floor around them.

"Sorry. I - no - sorry."

Next thing that Castiel knows, the man has ran out of the store, leaving his basket half full in the middle of the alley and Cas utterly puzzled.

Castiel takes more notice of the looks people give him after that. They're definitely not negative ones. Men, especially, seem... appreciative. Which is nice. New, though. People never really took notice of him before. He's pretty ordinary looking. In high school he was a thin, skimpy kid who kept to himself. His brother Jimmy managed to make their blue eyes and sharp jaw look cool with his punk outfits and his tattoos, but Cas was never that bold.

Sure, now he runs and does yoga and fills out his sweaters, but it wouldn't suddenly make a quarter of the population check out his ass like it's a piece of meat, would it? And it's not just the men. Some women, too. Really, it's as if his nudes have gotten leaked all over the internet. Cas would worry about it except that he has never, ever taken nude pictures of himself. No one else has either.

The last time he had sex, cameras had barely been invented.

So.

What the heck?

Cas can't stop thinking about him. The guy from the grocery store. With his apple green eyes and those insanely gorgeous lips. He liked the way the man looked at him. A lot.

Cas sees him again a few time, but he always seems to flee when their eyes meet. Usually because Cas turns around and catches the guy staring at his ass. Eyes green like grass pastures under the sun... Sun kissed skin, freckles like the country night sky...

But Cas can never gaze at him long because he always bolts out the door whenever he gets caught.

Until one day he doesn't. Cas walks into the store and finds him standing in front of the spice shelf, hands on his hips, wide shoulders squared. Cas moves silently behind him and peaks into his basket.

"Duck confit. Audacious."

The guy startles and jumps around, almost falling back into the rack as he trips on his heels. Cas grabs him by the arm and waist, avoiding him a most humiliating fall that would definitely have knocked down hundreds of spice containers and probably several rows to the floor.

"Thank you," the man says, breathless, as he lets go of his grip on Cas' shirt.

His breath tickles Cas' mouth. It smells like fruity bubblegum. He leaned into him when Cas caught him, their faces are inches close, their bodies intertwined. Cas steps back.

"I'm sorry I startled you."

"Yeah. You're like a ninja or something."

The man's cheeks are very red, and it makes his freckles stand out. It's stunning.

"What were you looking for?"

It takes the man a moment to answer, his eyes wide, staring at Castiel like he's not sure he's real.

"Um, Juniper Berries."

"Oh. You won't find them here."

"Really? Damn it." The man's face falls, his composure changes. "I've done like eight grocery stores to find them. This is the fanciest place in town."

Cas grins, preening a little.

"I know. They're impossible to find. That's why I grow my own."

The stranger runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

"Guess I'm gonna have to do my confit without them. Most of the recipes don't need them anyway."

"It's much better with, though. Disappointing without, really, I wouldn't bother."

Green eyes squint at him.

"Well since I don't grow weird berries in my garden, I don't have much of a choice."

Cas wets his lips. The man already seems to be regretting his impertinence. He shifts his weight, rubs the back of his neck. He's still flushed. Cas wonders if he always gets this flustered around strangers. He also wonders if his lips taste as sweet as they smelled.

"Maybe I could help you out, then."

Cas' heart pounds a little faster - he doesn't remember a time in his life he's been this bold. But there's a definite curiosity in the man's eyes. A hope. And Cas is enraptured by it.

"Yeah?"

"You bring the duck, I bring the berries. We could… share a meal."

The man's gorgeous mouth falls open. And then he smiles.

"That's an idea."

He stretches out his hand.

"I'm Dean."

Castiel takes it. It's broad, warm.

"Castiel."

"Castiel? Really? That's your real name?"

It's not the first time Cas gets that question.

"Yes. My parents were... special. Castiel was the angel of Thursday. It's quite a mouthful, I know. Call me Cas."

"Right. Cas."

They exchange phone numbers, fingers light and shaky, and then make their ways to the register. Dean keeps shooting Castiel quick glances, and Cas isn't sure how to interpret them. How to decipher these eyes constantly on him, detailing him from head to toe. Not that he minds, exactly. They're gorgeous, and warm, and he doesn't get enough of looking at Dean either.

They walk out together in silence, until Cas reaches his car. Dean looks at him. He fidgets with his bag. He's absolutely adorable.

"Is it, uh - is it like-" He bites his lower lip. It's so plump, so pink. "Is this like a date thing?"

"Only if you want it to be."

There's that boldness again, coming from God knows where. Cas holds his breath.

Dean grins. Wide.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

Cas wonders if he should've kissed Dean, but it feels too soon, and then he's gone.

He should probably have waited more than ten minutes after arriving home to text Dean. But he sucks at this whole... dating, or whatever, etiquette. He wants to see him again, he wants to see him soon, and who cares if he looks overeager. He is.

Dean responds so fast it's almost as if his phone was already in his hands. They can't seem to find a date that fits them both for the coming week, which Cas is disappointed about, but in discussing their hold-ups they get to talking about other things. About Dean's family - his mom, his brother. His other mom and his step-sister.

They talk about Cas' life as well, his friends, this stupid cocktail parties he has to attend at school. He hates those, but networking is important, especially right now that he's just graduated and is looking for a job.

He learns that Dean has studied history, specializing in medieval weaponry. Which springs a very long and deep conversation between them that last between one and four a.m. about their favourite weapons and time periods and the coolest artefacts they've ever found. They're talking on the phone by then - Dean called around midnight because the text bubbles just couldn't contain all they had to say.

"Archeologist, uh," Dean says when Cas tells him his own degree. "That's hot. Like Indiana Jones. Or Brendan Fraser in The Mummy."

"As an historian, you should know movies like that never depict our jobs accurately. Field work very rarely results in vengeful spirits being released or heroically fighting off Nazis. Sadly."

"I'm still gonna picture you running around with a whip and a plunging neckline," Dean replies in a salacious voice.

Cas' breath catches in his throat a little. "Please do."

They hang up around five a.m., bickering about who's fault it is that neither of them has gotten any sleep.

"I'm sorry about having to cancel," Cas says as he walks around his apartment, grabbing things and shoving them in his suitcase.

"Hey, I get it."

Dean's voice is warm through his phone. They finally found a night that fit them both and were supposed to have their duck confit date tomorrow, but Cas actually got the field job he applied for months ago and needs to catch a plane to California in the morning.

"I don't want you to think it's because I'm trying to get out of it. It's a last minute work thing. I didn't think I had gotten in and I just got the call..."

"Don't worry about it."

"I might be gone a month," Cas stresses out. "I'm very sorry."

"A month? I didn't know shoots took so long."

"Shoots?" Cas frowns.

"Isn't that, um - aren't you... shooting...?"

"No. I'm going on a dig. What would I be shooting?"

"I -um - it's-" Dean stammers. "Because you said California. I thought - L.A., y'know. Show business. I assumed you were going on a shoot."

"I don't do any consulting, unlike you," Cas says. "I'm going on a dig."

"Oh. Hey, that's great! You got a field job like you wanted! That's awesome, Cas. 'M real happy for you."

"Thank you," Cas grins. "I'm just sad I have to cancel on you."

"Postpone," Dean corrects.

"Really?" Cas bites his lips, trying not to grin too wide, even though Dean can't see him.

"You kidding? I'm getting that date, Cas. Don't care how long I gotta wait."

#destiel fic #deancas fic #deancasfanficnet #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural #m writing #m #multichapter #first meeting #falling in love

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maggiemaybe160 · 5 years

Text

Regarding Us

Get ready for some ANGST based on the episode Season 12 Episode 11: Regarding Dean. THE FULL 4 CHAPTER FIC IS ON MY AO3! Major Character Death Warning

A light knock comes at the door and Dean looks over at… Sam. He looks over at Sam briefly before turning back to the Scooby Doo episode on the tv.

“How bad is he?” The deep voice rocks Dean to his core and he can no longer focus on the cartoons. He turns off the thing with the button thing and leans over so he can see who Sam is talking to.

A man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes stands. He looks worried and maybe like his hands have run through his hair too many times.

“Bad.” Sam and the man look over at Dean who blushes. He grins and waves from his spot on the bed. “Dean, this is Cas. He’s going to tell you a story.” “I’m going to what?” Cas asks at the same time that Dean asks, “He’s going to what?”

“I need to talk to Rowena. She’s still trying to figure out how to reverse this. He likes stories. Just… Please, Cas?” Sam looks from the man to Dean and back. He looks sad and Dean wonders why.

“Of course,” Cas nods. Sam thanks him and leaves the room, leaving Cas and Dean alone. “Hello, Dean.” Cas walks into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, leaving space between himself and Dean. “I’m going to tell you a story.” “I like those,” Dean says, grinning and turning to face Cas. “I think.”

“This story is a special one. It starts on September 18, 2008. There was a man who had sold his soul to save his brother which is why he was in Hell that day. He had spent thirty of his forty years in Hell refusing to join the demons in torturing others. When he gave in, his angel knew he was too late. The plan had been to rescue him well before that breaking point, but Castiel had been forbidden until Dean, that was the man’s name, said yes.

“So on September the 18th, Castiel was finally given permission to fly into Hell and rescue the man. He gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him out, raising him from perdition. So Dean was saved, in a way. He woke up on Earth and climbed out of his grave. Castiel watched and knew that he had done the right thing in rescuing this man.

“He also knew that he was in trouble. Castiel was an angel of the Lord. His job was his life and his life was following Heaven’s orders like a toy soldier. He was never meant to care about the human he saved on a personal level. He was never meant to fall in love. It was against the rules of Heaven and Earth, forbidden by God, angels, and humans.”

“Is this a love story?” Dean asks.

“Yes. This is a love story,” Cas smiles and it lights up the room better than the light stick. His eyes are gorgeous and intense, blue with all the colors of the ocean and sky.

“I like love stories,” Dean says, moving to make himself more comfortable for the long story.

“I know you do.” Cas runs his hands over his knees absently as he continues. “Castiel didn’t know what love was, but he later learned that he was. He was in love with Dean. From the moment he saw him, his hands gripping his soul, he belonged to Dean.

“He watched Dean walk alone in the heat of the afternoon, parched from his four months in Hell. When he made it to the gas station, Castiel tried to talk to him. He needed to tell him that everything would be fine. He needed him to know who had rescued him and that he was safe. He needed to tell Dean that Heaven had work for him. The rescue from Hell came at a price.

“When Castiel spoke, the sound pierced through Dean’s eardrums and shattered the windows. He had hoped that his feelings toward this human weren’t one-sided. Usually, special individuals could hear the true voice of an angel. Dean couldn’t. Castiel was hurt as he watched Dean cover his ears in pain. Pain that told Castiel that Dean couldn’t hear him.

“He continued to gaze upon this Winchester as a guardian and with affection. He watched him locate his family, arriving on their doorsteps and treated as a monster until proven otherwise. He watched and waited to try speaking again as he worked on gaining the trust of a man named Jimmy Novak.

“Jimmy was the kind of man who loved God with his entire being. He had room reserved for his wife and daughter, but he was a man of faith first and foremost. His union was divine, and he knew felt it. Cupid had laid a hand on him and Amelia, giving them to each other. Their union was as holy as a nun’s promise to God. So, when Castiel spoke to him and Jimmy heard his voice and answered, Castiel knew that he had found his vessel. Gently, he persuaded the man to let him in.

“Dean was misguided and scared. He was brought to a psychic who refused to listen to Castiel when she asked to see him. Castiel knew what would happen to the poor woman if she gazed on his true form. He tried to ignore her and save Dean from the horrible vision that was Pamela having her eyes melted. She would not relent and Castiel was forced to show his face to the psychic. He heard her screams and watched Dean’s horror-stricken face. He was ashamed as he watched Dean recoil.

“Castiel was finally given a vessel and opened his eyes to see Earth from an entirely new perspective. He was confined to one spot and no longer had the liberty of birds-eye view. He was limited and in the only form that Dean would be able to look at him and hear him without becoming maimed. He had to get to Dean Winchester.

“It was September 20th when Dean met Castiel. His green eyes were wide with fear as he raised his gun and shot into Castiel’s chest. He somehow looked even more perfect from the point of view of a human. His freckles stood out on his tanned skin under the exploding lights. His lips, pink and pursed, parted when his sigils and rock salt rounds did nothing to hinder Castiel.

“Dean didn’t believe Castiel when he was told that Castiel was an angel. As proof, the angel unfurled his wings and drew them out to their full length. He knew Dean wouldn’t be able to actually see them. If he hadn’t been able to hear his true voice, he wouldn’t be able to see even this small display of his true form. Still, Dean’s face reflected the astonishment as he took in the sight of what must have been shadows of the actual wings on the barn wall.

“The longer Castiel stood that close to Dean, the stronger their bond grew. A bond had been forged between them when Castiel had pulled him from Hell. Heaven refers to this bond as a soul mate. Usually, soulmates are helped together by the Cupids if they don’t find each other by themselves. Soulmates are also usually only human. It is forbidden for an angel to love a human, but that didn’t stop the bond from igniting the second Castiel touched Dean. The only way to describe the invisible, yet very strong, tether, was to call it a profound bond. So that is exactly what Castiel called it.

“Dean felt it too. He felt it the second he came face to face with the angel. While Castiel masked his love, fearing Heaven’s wrath, Dean hid his, fearing rejection. Dean was afraid of both Castiel’s rejection and his own self-hate. He had learned to let himself enjoy the company of other men after years of rejecting that side of himself, but to fall in love with a monster? A creature? Something that could be shot at and stabbed without any kind of reaction? He had never allowed himself the possibility of falling in love with something to hunt. He never had to. Then, he was never faced with a soulmate of another world before.

“Castiel was held back when jealousy raged through him at the sight of Dean laying with another angel. He was experimenting, unwilling to test the waters with someone he cared for, no matter how new Castiel and Dean’s acquaintanceship was. Anna was about to give herself back to Heaven and she asked for Dean. That night, Castiel was robbed of a moment he had wanted for himself. Uriel, another angel, grew spiteful. He was beginning to learn the feeling of hate when he found himself disgusted with Castiel’s jealousy. When Uriel found out about Castiel’s love, he told Dean, hoping to disgust the human. Disgust the hunter of monsters with the revelation that a monster was in love with him.

“It was only after Dean prayed for the first time that Castiel got the nerve to speak to Dean about the way that he felt. He walked into Dean’s dream, ready to profess his love unto his human. He told Dean where to meet him and when he stepped out of Dean’s dream, effectively waking the hunter, Castiel was dragged back to Heaven. He screamed as he was tortured for his love. The idea of loving a human was such a disgrace to the other angels that they tortured him endlessly, pounding the lesson into his being. He served Heaven, not man. And he was nothing to Dean Winchester. The words didn’t stick. They hurt him deeply.

“It wasn’t long later that Dean prayed again. He prayed, screaming Castiel’s name into the night for hours. Castiel listened, pained and restrained for two hours before he was finally released. When he came face to face with Dean, he knew.

“ ‘What the hell happened in Illinois?’ Dean demanded. His heart was in his eyes, filled with the betrayal that Castiel knew landed on his shoulders though it was the other angels’ fault.

“He had to lie and tell him he didn’t remember or that it didn’t matter. ‘Nothing of import,’ passed his lips while the truth carved itself into his heart, branding him with a DW.

“Cas still didn’t have the words to tell Dean how he felt. He didn’t have the human knowledge to realize that what he felt was unconditional love. He didn’t have the need for such an idea before he had met Dean. He opened his mouth to answer but no words came.

“ ‘You got your ass reamed in Heaven, but it was not of import ?’

“ ‘Dean,” Cas pleaded. ‘I can’t.’ He couldn’t tell Dean. He wasn’t allowed these feelings. Dean’s eyes pierced through him, digging for the real answer. The answer that would only strengthen their bond and incite the fury of Heaven.

“Dean was the one who made the first move. Cas had been about to walk away when Dean’s hand caught his, pulling him back. Their eyes locked and Dean’s hand moved up to caress the side of Cas’ face in a way that he had never had the right to hope for. The kiss that followed was everything. It was defiance and freedom on both of their parts. It was a confession and answer when Dean kissed Cas and Cas kissed back.”

“Who are they?” Dean breathes, fully entranced.

“Who?” the man asks gently, his eyes swallowing Dean whole.

“Them.”

“Dean and Cas,” the man says softly. “You and me.”

@telefunkies @castibella-shipper-of-the-lord @adventurous-blob @royalrowena @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @blueeyesandpie @ain-t-bovvered @deanwinchesterswitch @righteouscomeuppancejogstheliver @qenericqueer @destielhoneybee @k-lewis @thekingofselfloathing @skittles-rainbow-cat @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @spn-thot @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @destiel-honeypie @soloarcana @fandom-is-my-middle-name @lily-t2019 @anarchiana @samatedeansbroccoli

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #destiel fic #fluff and angst fic #angst fic #mcd warning #ao3 fic #ao3 #regarding dean #s12e11 #maggiemaybe160 #dean winchester #castiel #cas #dean x castiel #dean x cas #destiel #love story #memory loss

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comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog · 5 years

Text

Karen McCormick

out of character info

Name/Alias: Alison Pronouns: she/ they Age: 21 Join Our Discord: Already there b Timezone: mst Activity: 7 Triggers: n/a Password: jimmy can fastpass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Karen McCormick Favourite ships for your character: Karen and a shower is my otp

in character info

Full name: Karen Ashe McCormick Birthday: April 14th Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Bisexual, cis female, she/her Age and grade: 16, sophomore. Faceclaim: Meandra [ig: meandradri]

Appearance:

From afar, Karen looks like a pretty brunette in flowing clothing, like her loose blouses and skirts, and her mom jeans with iron on patches to cover fraying. When you get closer, she has pretty honey brown eyes, freckles, and she’s bony. Her skin often looks pale or even yellow from the years of malnutrition, fine downy hairs cover her arms, shoulders, her back. Lanugo is one of the body’s last efforts to keep her warm. She’s not very tall, standing barefoot, she barely scrapes the 5’3 mark, and wouldn’t tip the scale at 90 pounds sopping wet.

She likes to wear loose clothes, because it hides her wiry frame, her swollen joints, and the lanugo. It’s not something she’s proud of, she’s just been underfed for the majority of her life, and pop tarts and toaster waffles don’t offer much in terms of nutrition. She had to save up money from babysitting to pay for her braces, though she still feels insecure about needing them, it makes her feel better knowing one day her teeth will be straight. Personal hygiene is a big deal to Karen, after growing up a dirty poor stereotype, she got a gym membership so that she could take regular showers, and she makes sure to do her laundry at a laundromat frequently. A lot of her clothing is things she’s gotten at thrift stores or made herself, as buying brand new clothes isn’t something she can afford to do.

In terms of her actual style, she likes to wear things that don’t look out of place on her. Things like knee length dresses and baggy pants are her go to, as they’re just fashionable enough she won’t be made fun of, but just conservative enough her parents won’t be upset, and her poor health won’t be made public knowledge. Just about anything she wore could go with her spring complexion, and her soft youthful face.

Personality:

Despite growing up loved by her brother and friends, the bullying she underwent severely affected her self esteem. That coupled with her body that she thought to be abhorrent, she’s very self conscious. Though she doesn’t like to bring attention to herself, there are times she snaps. She can only handle so much, and with a deteriorating physical state, her mental health only would naturally grow weaker as time passes. For the most part, Karen likes to put on an optimistic facade, because it made everyone worry less.

Due to the fact, a parents job is to care for their kids, a job her parents ultimately failed her in, she has deep trust issues. She often insists she’s fine and everything is as perfect as it could be, because she’s terrified of getting used to things being better just for everything to be taken away from her. Like when she was temporarily put in foster care, and the fear of it happening is still there, even though she’s the only one still living at home.

Karen is as neurotypical as she can be, she isn’t depressed, she only gets anxious is certain situations; this one beacon of health in her life stems from knowing what the root cause of her trauma is. Poverty, instead of feeling sorry for herself and letting the self pity and victimization consume her, it gives her a drive to succeed. She’s dedicated to the work she does, and hopes to one day own a successful restaurant that makes enough to be able to donate meals and goods to others in need. She has a very good heart, good intentions, and a love for the world. The world just doesn’t seem to love her back.

History:

Ever since her birth, Karen was never in charge of her own life, she watched her parents fight since before she could talk, before she could really understand what was going on. The air of fear in her childhood home throughout her crucial developmental stages left a lasting impact. Since she started school, though the first grade, she was treated poorly by her parents and classmates. At first she thought it was her fault, that at 7 she should be doing more, doing better. Without a caring environment and parents she felt safe enough to turn to, she turned to the self help sections of libraries. It made her ultimately feel worse that she was so insecure when no one abused her the ways others had.

Being raised in a church family, that was her next step. What would Jesus do? He was persecuted, again much worse than she ever had, nonetheless she still tried. The next year or so, she spent with the hope in her heart that the Lord’s salvation was what she needed to stop the bullying. It didn’t work, and she kept it internalized, always turning the other cheek. Jesus wouldn’t retaliate, he’d spread peace and love. Thus her optimistic facade was really cultivated; needless to say, the bullies only upped their game. After all, how dare Karen try to be happy? She was in foster care once, so surely she’s unwanted, unnecessary, etc. Of course the unkind words and the violence hurt her heart as much as her body, but she didn’t feel like a victim.

Stuck in her own mind that her trauma wasn’t bad enough to be abuse and that she couldn’t really be a victim, she made a list of things she was bullied for, and worked out a plan to fix them. She was dirty, so she made a point to at the very least, hose herself off and to make sure to always brush her teeth and wash her hands. As she worked on the list of things, the bullying decreased, and it strengthened her mindset that it wasn’t really that bad. Until eventually the list got to things like never having new or clean clothes. That was the first huge turning point in her life, she offered her to babysit kindergartners and preschoolers for a very low wage at the age of nine. Over the course of the year, making almost fifty dollars biweekly, Karen was able to afford to wash her clothes at a laundromat, and even an old used sewing machine. She started taking up sewing classes, home economics, and for the first time in a long time, she started being happy again. At the age of eleven, as she was starting the sixth grade, she came to the realization that she worked. Not just that she was practically working part time to be able to afford the new clothes and school supplies she needed that her parents were supposed to buy for her; she realized she was never really taken care of. Not the way kids should have been.

It made her start to resent her parents, though she debated on it a lot, she never went back to being vamp. The physical rebellion that was getting a new wardrobe and going though all the steps was more than she could do. They neglected her for a long time, but she still loved them. Rebellion of her choice was to do what she needed to do, for years they practically told her she’d never be anything because she was poor growing up, so she used actions to tell them to fuck off. She started babysitting almost daily, and sure it sucked not having smoothies with Tricia after school as often, but when she did, she felt less guilty about not making more money.

The next two years really just went by the same, until at fourteen she learned about Van Life YouTubers, they taught her things like that she could get a membership to a gym to take showers, so she got one in her mom's name. Then she went on to discover the dumpster diving side of YouTube, it taught her about minimalism, how much waste corporations made, and that at the end of the day, most grocery stores threw out their produce. Now she thought getting berries and stuff from the trash was gross, but that didn’t stop her from getting things like bagged salad, and returns boxes. Taking home her trash treasures on her bike, which helped her develop a love of candles, and over the next year it helped her furnish her room. Rich people threw out perfectly good furniture that she balanced on skateboards and brought home with her to clean up and even repaint.

When she turned 16 in April, she got her first job part time as a cashier at the grocery store she dumpster dived at. Her life isn’t much, but she keeps it stable, and her savings aren’t too bad, but she couldn’t live on her own.

Sample paragraph:

In most cases, Karen liked to think that the moment she clocked out of work, that customer grievances didn’t matter anymore, or well, that’s how it was supposed to go. She had just started to unchain her bike, putting the lock and chain in the basket of her bicycle, starting to walk beside it through the lit parking lot. Her plan was to check the dumpster for a returns box, then go home, but certain external forces prohibited that from happening. A large silver soccer mom car came slowly creeping along beside the brunette. The parking lot was rather large, and it was still well lit, so she wasn’t concerned about anything yet, they could be lost.

Her work uniform could be seen under a loose track jacket, slowly making her way towards the back of the store, by the dumpsters, when the mom van sped up, and making a sharp turn to cut in front of her. Instinctively, Karen swings her leg over the bike, her shoe resting atop of a peddle. She wasn’t one to assume she was in danger, and as the stranger rolled down the window, her panic began to subside. It was a nice enough looking middle aged lady, but her words threw Karen for a loop.

“My son likes that bike, he’s a good kid you should give it to him.” This brought everything to a stand still. What? The only intelligible thought that popped into her head, her fingers tightening on the handle bars. Her heart pounding in her chest, reverberating through her body, the confrontation was nothing like she thought it’d be, and she wasn’t even sure what to say.

“But it’s mine?” The statement came out sounding more like a question, her voice sounded almost uncharacteristically shrill, but that happened sometimes when she was uncomfortable. The woman in the car just rolled her eyes, sending Karen’s stomach plummeting, she just knew this wasn’t going to resolved quickly, and being the bag of bones she was, she had no way of defending herself if the woman exited the car.

“You work here, I can see your uniform, bikes are for kids, and kids can’t get jobs.” The strangers logic, left Karen silent, this bike was something she saved up her hard earned money for, so the thought of just giving it away was painful.

Slowly creeping backwards on her bike, giving herself more space to turn around, and her light wasn’t on, which could potentially be really useful. The woman didn’t seem to notice that she was trying to escape. She just looked stern, and if it weren’t for the fact she needed the bike to get back and forth, she would have handed it over. Instead she mustered up every bit of courage she had, her foot springing into action. “No.” Peddling past the car into the darkness, trying to go as hard and fast as she could, going the direction away from here home. This woman was not finding Karen’s home, not if she could help it. After pedaling through a bike path, she stopped at a small out of the way park, in a place she recognized, it wasn’t the park by her house, but it was well lit, so she felt safe enough being here for half an hour, until she could be sure, it was safe to go home.

Headcanons:

She's not really into astrology, but likes knowing what her sign for each planet means, it's more or less a curiosity thing.

Karen's very hardworking, especially in her classes, and has no fear of failure. She'll get right back up again.

The most useful hobby of hers, in her opinion, is her love for cooking. She's been taking a culinary arts class at the community center, and adores it. Not only does it help her fill out her life skill repertoire, she gets to take home good food.

Due to her health, which she's aware is piss poor, she's terrified of going to a doctors office. Her root fear in this, is that she might be taken from her parents again, and she'd be stuck back at square one.

Ever since Kenny and Kevin moved out, naturally the McCormicks' had more money, which results in Stewart being more drunk than per usual. Though her mom fights that the money should be saved, it never is.

The only "useful" tip her mother ever told Karen, was that if she was going to get pregnant, the father better be rich.

She desperately wants a pet, but she can't afford one, so she visits the dogs and cats at local shelters, because it helps her fulfill her emotional need for an animal in her life.

No doubt about it, Tricia is Karen's best friend.

Anything else: i love u gays

#Karen McCormick #application #submission

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spnandshitold · 6 years

Text

Music To My Ears.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 3113

Warnings: language, partial nudity, fluff, making out.

A/N: none of the lyrics in the fic are mine. The 3 songs are Punchin' Bag - Cage The Elephant, The Middle - Jimmy Eat World, Every Other Freckle - Alt J. As always any feedback is appreciated.

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"She's a stone cold straight faced killer and a lover and she once pulled up with another brood who only wants to bruise her take her love and then abuse her." The lyrics flooded through your headphones as you became your own band lying across the back seat of the Impala occasionally busting out an awkward dance move making Sam and Dean chuckle.

"What crap do you think she's listening to today Sammy?" Dean asked his little brother smiling at the sight of you play air drums with your eyes closed.

"You know a lot of her music is really good and I think if you just gave it a listen you'd really enjoy it." Sam replied making Dean scoff.

"You're kidding right? There's nothing good about any of that shit she blasts." Dean would never admit to Sam or anyone for that fact that actually he had listened to your music as you sang along in your room at the bunker but that's mainly because your singing voice was part of his idea of heaven.

In fact, you were his idea of heaven. The way your H/C hair fell around your face or the way that you twirled it around your finger when you were concentrating on research or reading or the way it shone in the sunlight. Even the way you effortlessly detached the head from a vamps body without them even noticing; your eyes were his favourite, the shade of E/C was stunning and Dean loved seeing the rare sparkle of innocence in them when you watched you favourite movie. Everything about you was perfect even your flaws were perfect to him.

He was glad that he was driving along a straight, freshly paved road since he'd just zoned out for a solid 15 minutes. When he looked at you still lying in the back seat he noticed you weren't violently playing the air drums and were this time lip synching.

"It just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride, everything, everything will be just fine." You really connected with those lyrics since you'd started hunting no matter how bad things got it would always get better especially with Sam to talk to and Dean to, well Dean to be Dean.

Dean was always a bit weird around you from the first time he saved your life, you tried not to be weird around him too but you couldn't help it you were in love with him. You hadn't realised at first but as soon as you moved into the bunker it was crystal clear that you loved him.

You'd always felt a strong connection to Dean, almost like there was some unknown force drawing you towards him. But he didn't feel the same way, you thought he saw you like a little sister. All you could do was fantasize about the man you love and hope that one day things could be different between you two.

"Hey chunk, how far out are we? I might have a nap." You asked Dean with the nickname you gave him for no particular reason. You called Sam sausage and Dean was called chunk, not because he didn't have perfectly chiselled abs but because you knew he didn't really care for nicknames and that was the only one that seemed to have an effect on him.

"Not too far 'bout two hours I'd say." Dean replied suppressing the giant grin that was dying to show itself.

"Then y'all had better be quiet for an hour and a half. But you got to wake me up when we're 30 minutes away." You chuckled out pulling the plaid, wool blanket that was folded in the foot well over you closing your eyes putting you earphones back in quickly dozing off.

Dean was fully focused on the road until you fell asleep and not a word was said until Sam sighed loudly breaking dean's intense concentration.

"Dude, when are you going to say something? The tension between you two makes the air hard to breathe in here." Sam stated earning a confused look from Dean who looked over in the rear view mirror to make sure you were still asleep.

"Say what, Sam? What do I say to a girl that perfect who only sees me as a friend. Besides she'd never go for a guy like me, you're way more her type. You look more like those dicks she leaves the bar with." Dean answered his brother quietly, trying not to wake you up.

"Gee thanks, but trust me man, she's into you, you might not see it but the way she stares at you, it's- it's how I used to look at Jess. She loves you man, you're just too blind to see it." Sam looked down at his hands at the thought of his dead girlfriend feeling the hole shaped like her in his heart twinge. Dean sighed and focused back on the road.

Dean rested a hand on your shoulder over the seat and he shook you gently causing you to stir. "Hey kiddo, we're half an hour away from home." Dean spoke softly, smiling as you groaned.

"Thanks chunk." You smiled sitting up blissfully unaware of the conversation Sam and Dean had while you were asleep. Your smile grew when you thought of your dream about having a normal apple pie life with Dean; you smiled again when you thought of having the exact same life you had now but sharing it with Dean, you thought of the occasional night you had to share a motel bed with the eldest Winchester and his gentle snores and his morning hedgehog hair the feeling of waking up next to him made your heart swell and your cheeks burn pink.

"I want to share your mouthful. I want to do all the things your lungs do so well. I'm gonna bed into you like a cat beds into a bean bag. Turn you inside out and lick you like a crisp packet." You sang along to one of your favourite songs while you showered after returning to the bunker. Dean stopped and listened smiling as he was walking past the bathroom then he heard the water turn off and panicked in case you caught him listening to you so he set off running down the hall slowing to a walk when he was far enough away that you wouldn't know.

Dean rounded the corner into the kitchen grabbing a beer from the fridge as soon as he un-crouched from getting his beer Sam shut the fridge door.

"I am going to go out for a couple hours and when I'm out you are going to put your pride aside for a while and talk to Y/N about how you feel because I can't take anymore longing stares or tension." Dean stood there in shock without a chance to reply as Sam had already left.

You snook into the kitchen and slipped your hand between Dean's ribs and arm to grab the bottle out of his hand without touching him. The second it left Dean's hand he spun around and had you pinned against the fridge, your bodies pressed together as your giggles and immature smile faded into something different. Neither of you moved, you stayed exactly how you were, staring into each other's eyes for what felt like forever. You had to look down to avoid the urge to kiss his pink plump lips. Dean noticed you look away from his gaze and eased up away from you. He turned and started to walk away.

"Dean wait." You reached you hand up and grabbed his arm "oh wow." You muttered under your breath as you felt the muscle under his henly shirt which made him smirk.

Dean sighed "Y/N I need to talk to you." He looked into your eyes and your hand dropped from his arm.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, please don't hate me I don't want us to be weird. Oh chuck, don't tell Sam about that, he already thinks I'm desperate for you, I mean he's not wrong but if he knew he was right he'd have my life litera- Dean what are you laughing about." You spoke quickly wishing he wasn't still pushed against you, so close you could smell him; he smelled amazing like leather and whiskey, coffee and pie and- and home. You smiled breathing deeper.

"Why do you assume no one can have feelings for you? If I'm completely honest if you hadn't looked away I would have kissed you." Dean admitted.

"I could ask you the same thing chunk." You smiled up at him breathing a laugh while you stared into the depths of Dean's heavenly green eyes allowing your gaze to flutter to his lips that were parted ever so slightly.

"Can I- can I kiss you?" Dean leaned closer so his forehead was resting against yours. You gathered the strength to bring a hand up to rest on Dean's cheek pulling him slowly towards you.

"That is the best idea I've heard all day." You allowed your lips to brush his as you spoke and that was all it took for Dean to wrap his arms around your waist and press his lips against your softly, no tongue just his lips moving against yours. Then he pulled his lips away from yours prematurely causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

"Hey you wanna make Sammy uncomfortable? He went out so I'd have a chance to talk to you alone, said he'd be back in a couple hours." Dean asked you keeping one hand on your hip and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

"What are you proposing Winchester?" You smirked at him mischeiviously.

"Wanna go make out in Sam's bed?" He asked mirroring your smirk.

"Let's go!" You exclaimed excitedly pulling Dean's hand towards Sam's room. Watching as Dean pulled out his phone and start typing. "What are you doing now chunk?"

"Just texting Sammy that it's safe to come back and that I found his secret Netflix addiction in his room." Dean replied coolly donning his evil smirk.

"Dean Winchester you must be after a girls heart." You flopped on Sam's bed pulling Dean with you as soon as he sent the message and dropped his phone in his pocket.

The pair of you lay there for a minute getting comfy so Dean was lying on top of you, you pulled his shirt off so he was in his jeans as Dean pulled yours off too leaving you in shorts and a sports bra.

Once you were comfortable and half naked with your shirts littering Sam's floor Dean pulled out his phone and read the message from Sam aloud. "Why are you in my room Dean, get out! I'll be there in 10!" Dean chuckled and put his phone back in his pocket and then started to lean down on you making sure he didn't crush you but applying enough weight to trap you there not that you'd want to be any where else.

Dean quickly started his attack in your mouth. It was fast, all tongue and teeth, small moans and grunts flowed out of your mouths. By the time Sam barged in you were out of breath but the shock of the door hitting the wall startled Dean and he accidentally bit your lip a little too hard drawing blood.

Fully aware that Sam was there watching, Dean pulled back just a touch and licked the blood from your lip as he stared into your eyes. Dean pushed himself up just enough to show Sam your small form.

"Dean what the hell are you doing?!" The second Sam saw you his face changed from anger to shock. "Y/N what are you doing? Also where is your shirt." You giggled as Sam looked away to avoid staring at the exposed flesh of your chest that turned into your cleavage.

Dean got off you and you bent down to grab your shirt. Dean got up after you and tapped your bum as you tip toe ran across the room squealing at the gentle touch while blushing at the gesture.

"Oops, uh, 'scuse me Sammy." You winked back at Dean pushing past the taller brother through the doorway into your own room across the hall closing the door behind you feeling the red heat on your cheeks.

You leaned your back against the door, sat down giggling to yourself at the fact that you had just made out with Dean Winchester on Sam Winchester's bed, your oldest living friend and long term major crush.

You hear Sam talking to Dean but you didn't hear much through two closed doors and across a hall. "Okay man I'll be honest, I'm glad you two sorted your shit out but did you have to sort it out on my bed. I sleep in there dude." There was a couple of seconds of quiet where you assumed Dean was talking quietly. "She was half naked under you on my sheets! Did I mention you were half naked too?! I'm so going to get you back for this one Dean. The prank war is back on again, and you are dead." You heard the brothers laugh and the door open so you quickly jumped onto your bed and grabbed a book of some kind.

Your door slowly opened and you looked up from your 'reading' to see Dean. "Hey sweetheart. Interesting book?" Dean turned his head and upper body so his head was upside down so he could read the title of the book you were holding upside down. You blushed and looked at the pages hiding your face in the book. "How much did you hear?"

"Well I mainly heard Sam talking, he did sound uncomfortable at the fact that we were half naked in his bed." Your devilish smirk returned. "Also the prank war has returned and I want in but I wanna hide it from Sam for a while so I can get him good and blame you." You beamed making the apples of your cheeks show and your dimples shine. Dean's heart melted at the sight of you being smug and planning something wicked.

You and Dean then deduced the best plan to prank Sam; you called it operation fucking brilliant. Phase one included gathering some sexy lingerie and a pair of Dean's jeans, a t shirt and a pair of his boxers.

Phase two meant going on Dean's laptop and finding a porn video that was loud and sounded realistic so you could play it and it would be heard through the whole bunker, you made Dean handle that part.

Then phase three, you told Sam everyone was out of bathroom supplies. This meant he would have to go on a supply run into town which bought you and Dean some time to set up phase four.

Phase four was the most fun part, you and Dean basically wandered around the bunker making out and dropping layers of clothes, sourced in phase one, towards Sam's room dropping the lingerie and boxers right by his door. You then texted Sam and found out how far away he was and played the porn video when he said he was close.

Phase five meant you and Dean had to stash cameras around the bunker to catch his reactions from a secret hiding places known as Dean's wardrobe.

"I just heard baby's engine in the garage! Quick play the video, play the video!" You whisper shouted at Dean knowing he would tease you for asking him to play a porn video that excitedly but that was a problem for later. Once the video was playing you and Dean sprinted into his room and hid in his closet watching the live video feed from all your secret cameras on your iPad focusing on the front door.

"What the- Dean I've told you a thousand times do your own.. damn.. laundry.. what is that noise." Sam trailed off as he walked towards his room stopping dead in his tracks when he saw dean's favourite jeans in the corridor. That was the exact moment he recognised the sound playing from his room. "Oh shit, YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE FUCKING IN MY BED OR I SWEAR TO CHUCK!" You struggled to hide your giggles as Sam shouted along the corridor.

Sam saw your sexy lingerie just outside his door and burst in expecting to find his brother naked in his bed with you but was very confused when the room was empty and the only thing out of place was Dean's laptop playing the video and a piece of paper that read "turn around."

"What the-" Sam turned slowly and the second he was facing into the corridor Dean smacked him right in the face with a pie tin full of shaving foam. After the tin fell to the floor and Sam wiped his eyes you attacked him with as many different types of glitter your hands could hold.

Dean fell on the floor from laughter while you took photos of your best friend covered in shaving foam and glitter.

Hours later, after Sam forced you and Dean to tidy up the mess you had both made and the hall was spotless again, the three of you sat together in Dean's man cave on a large cushiony sofa. You lay most of your body on Dean enjoying his warmth and comfort and protectiveness; you lay your legs over Sam's thighs while he scrolled through Netflix to find a movie for you all to watch.

This wasn't anything how you saw your life being when you were 7 years old and running through muddy fields in princess dress up and trainers, but hell, right now you wouldn't change a damn thing. Dean mustered up the courage and asked you to be his girlfriend eventually, Sam called off the prank war for the special occasion that his brother grew the balls to ask you to be his girlfriend and after you said yes the three of you got drunk and had a hilariously embarrassing night in.

There was not a thing you would change about your life right now; you wouldn't get rid of the monsters or hunting, you wouldn't stop singing for the boys once they'd told you how much they loved it, and you definitely wouldn't trade waking up next to Dean in the morning and seeing his precious hedgehog hair and the peaceful look on his face.

Your life was perfect as long as those bastards didn't stay dead.

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A/N: Just another gif that inspired me to write the prank scene 😂😂.

Hey everyone I've moved to a different blog to make interacting with you guys easier. Go follow @spnandshit-new that's my new blog

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x y/n #cage the elephant #jimmy eat world #alt j #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn fangirl #spnfamily #always keep fighting #spnandshit original fanfic #from ma brain

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jxhnnyvincent · 6 years

Text

Writing Prompt

Protective Tom (Requested By @LiaTaylorDae)

The rain in Bullworth was pleasant for some of the students and townspeople, feeling lavished with minuscule droplets that pampered their skin soothingly. The rain’s touch was gentle, a sprinkle of showered raindrops pecking them with soft kisses. It felt like an earthly tranquility, refreshing the people as they inhaled the olfactory telluric scent of the precipitating rain. However, for some of the others they absolutely held a vast disdain for the rainy weather, especially the preppy, fortunate students and the affluent townspeople that inhabited the Bullworth Vale, a whole castle caped with luxury and expensive indulgences. They had been apprehensive and afraid of taking a risky chance of getting their wardrobe grimed with the wet rain. The jocks were also whirled in angst, worried of getting their jerseys mucked with mud all over the fabric by slipping or exercising on the mud-caked football field. There was also a few who simply didn’t care, specifically pertaining to the greasers and nerds, and a couple non-cliques.

Meanwhile, Sabrina was enjoying herself, relaxing inside of the boys dorm, specifically in Jimmy’s room. She couldn’t help but observe the rain at a pure focus, admiring the rain for what it was worth. The skies were gloomy and a cloudy gray, and although they seemed depressing, Sabrina however felt at ease.

“Isn’t Tom supposed to pick you up soon?” Jimmy had pondered. The two chums were both sprawled on his bed, aligned opposite of each other.

“Yeah, in a little bit,” Sabrina answered, craving the palate of nicotine. Perhaps she could ask Ricky to lend her a smoke, but currently she had been lost in her mind. She was in a lazy daze, wishing to not invoke in anything at the moment.

Jimmy propped himself up on the bed in a sitting position, extending his arms out in a stretch. He gazed at the beautiful female Vincent, slightly envious of Tom for being in a relationship with one of the Bullworth girls that held the finest qualities. She was exquisite in everything and her personality was the sweetest, if one was on her good side. In some terms, she would be arrogant towards one if they were either an arch rival or one who she utterly despises.

With a flick of his hand, he smoothed out some of the tendrils in his copper hair that was growing in a taper haircut. Throughout the course of the year, his previous buzz cut had conveniently grown, the flock of hair standing in an upright direction. A few of the girls, including Sabrina, had found it quite attractive on him as they had a preference for boys with sprouting locks of hair. It made him look like an actual teenager with his style of hair, making him appear as the young adolescence he was. Not to mention his hair coordinated so immaculately with his rosy cheeks and dollop of freckles, emphasizing his appearance as a natural ginger.

“What do you do to get rid of stress Sab?” He asked, heaving an exasperated sigh.

Sabrina shrugged, resting her arms against her chest. “I don’t know, I mean drawing usually works for me when I’m bored. And smoking helps.”

Jimmy frowned, not being one to smoke. Being the typical bad boy he was, he had tried a swing at inhaling a breezer from one of the myriad of stepfathers he had, but was disgusted by the taste and regretted it instantly. Also, he hadn’t been the one to be exactly phenomenal or skilled with the arts either.

“Damn, those methods don’t really help me.”

Sabrina furrowed her eyebrows and gaped at him, her chocolate pupils swept with concern. That had been another ideal that Jimmy had admired about her, which was how true she was with her feelings.

“What are you stressed out about?” She asked, her voice so soft it sent tingling shivers down his spine.

“It’s those damn jocks, I’m tired of them picking on the weaker kids in school! They think they are all that just because of their oversized pituitary glands.” He clenched his fists tightly, shaking his head in disbelief. He remembered his recent encounter with Ted and Damon, how they were harassing his buddy Pete for nothing at all. Ever since, it fueled his anger and pure resentment towards them more. Sabrina couldn’t respond much, as she was a cheerleader which meant she was partially involved with the jocks herself.

“Yeah, they suck, especially Damon.” She simply agreed.

“Aren’t you a cheerleader?” He asked, remembering her position on the squad. He earned a courteous nod from her and was silent for a moment.

“So,” he began, “what do I do Sab?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I do to get back at those brainless roid monkeys?” He inquired.

She bit down on her bottom lip and pondered, thinking of a solution for her friend. The least she could do was help him, assist him as he had helped her with so much. It had been a variety of circumstances he had aided her in, and the one she was grateful for most was helping her brother become stable without the presence of the promiscuous Lola. He had also been there for her as a listener, helping her cope with anything assessed and a strong supporter throughout everything ever since he arrived here. She was truly grateful for their strong friendship, the two kindled in an inseparable bond.

“I mean, I guess you could ask Earnest for help.” She suggested, hoping it wasn’t a half bad idea. Which in this case, it wasn’t.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow and rubbed his chin, considering her idea. “Not bad, Sabrina. That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he agreed to it, resorting to this plan, “you know what, I might go pay a visit to him now. I am sure he’s at the library being a typical nerdling as we speak.”

He sprung up from the bed, determined to plant a vain revenge on those damned jocks who thought themselves as high and mighty just because of their advantage in sports. He was ready to aim fire and fight, prove that just because they weren’t in sports, that they didn’t rule the school. Besides, he was the boss, or will be, and will prove to them they weren’t in charge.

Seeing that she didn’t make an attempt in joining along, he peered over his shoulder and halted to a pause.

“Are you coming or what Sabrina?”

“No,” she decided, gaping at the ceiling, mentally counting the abundant tiles that were scattered all over. She heard the sound of the pampering rain and was eased, immobile.

Assuming she wanted to wait for Tom to arrive, he didn’t protest. He respected her decisions and began to venture on his way out.

“See ya later Sab.”

Now she was alone, remaining in Jimmy’s room. She refused to move, feeling unusually pleasant not being involved in anything at the moment. All she wanted to do was simply relax and see her boyfriend that was planning to pick her up for a date.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the famous greaser slut.”

The sound of that familiar, distinctive voice alarmed her, causing her to hop up from Jimmy’s twin sized bed in a jolt.

“What do you want Gary- oh, I’m sorry, or shall I say, power hungry, manipulative man whore?”

She earned a resentful, hostile glare from the sudden Smith, provoking her in bitter agony. She didn’t hesitate to return the same glare, the tension rising in the air. Thunder roared from outside, suddenly the rain evolving into a major storm.

“I see you are in Jimmy’s room, what, you tired of poor Tom cat?” Gary remarked.

“What are you doing here Gary?” She demanded angrily.

He threw his hands in front then behind, compressing the palm of his hands against each other. “Oh nothing, just thought I might wander around and see what the two morons are up to on this rainy Sunday afternoon.”

“You eavesdropping asshole! What did you hear?”

Gary cackled mischievously and cracked a spiteful grin. “I thought I had mistaken it for explicit, obscene moaning, but turns out it was just two losers talking nonsense.”

“Go to hell Gary!” She cursed, and he sneered.

“Sorry, but an FYI sweetie, I already went to hell and it’s much pleasant down there than it is in this shithole.”

Sabrina’s heart was beating rapidly, practically to the point it could of left her chest if possible. She was fuming with the familiar sense of rage, similar to Johnny’s. But it wasn’t remotely offensive, not like his. It was rare to provoke her, sincerely. However, the only one who would managed to do so was Gary.

“Why do you have to irritate me so much?” She interrogated, her voice faint with defeat. It wasn’t fair how out of the entire female student body, he had only bothered to insult her and treat her negatively. His grin faded, his previous expression that reminded her of the vain and maleficent Joker was subdued. He approached her threateningly, causing her to cower backward towards the wall.

“Because greaser slut, you are easy to manipulate. You are naive, nothing but an opportunity to for me to walk all over you. You may deny this, but you are gullible! You are a weak girl, having to depend on your brother and Tom for everything you do! You are such a fucking slut, walking around having a boy at your arms to be at your defense. You think you are so slick, with your perfect report card and the entitlement of class president, the class valedictorian, and this, and that! The list goes on, but deep inside you are vulnerable and worthless. You account to your imperfections, honey. You may think you’ve got this, but all in are you are just a little bitch. Just know I’m taking you down, and Hopkins too. You, your brother, everyone you ever loved is going to suffer eventually, just you wait!” He vilified, full of pure agony and equipped with disdain. Although the phrase, “sticks and stones may break ones bones, but words would never hurt them” was applied in everyday modern life, however for the female Vincent it had been another story. Hot tears began to stream down her face, becoming a waterfall. She had felt like the pouring rain, all it’s tears spiraling from the sky slamming down against earth’s surface melodramatically. Her chest dropped inside of her, utterly defeated by his bitter choice of words, his own style of melee attacks. As the tears rolled down, so did she. She collapsed down to the floor, unable to concentrate. Her train of thoughts had seized to nonexistence, as if the railroad had suddenly stopped. Gone, nothing but a dissembled passageway causing the fall of the train. She was trapped in fearfulness, worrisome of this malicious sociopath was capable of.

Gary stood with a valiant pride, knowing he had defeated the newly distressed girl with his words, foretelling how disparaged she was. She had been shattered so fragile, soaking her tears on the navy shagged texture of Jimmy’s oval shaped rug.

Thinking he could get away with having the chance of defeating her, he had assumed wrong the moment he turned around. He met up with the sudden Tom Gurney, who has heard the familiar cries of a certain female. He narrowed his eyes once he caught gaze with the manipulative Smith, who handed him a deceitful smirk. Realizing the girl crying in the corner, so vulnerable in defeat was his girlfriend, he rushed to her, kneeling down to her level.

“Babe! What’s wrong?” He uttered out, enveloping her in his hold for support. Her cries worsened, deepening in uncontrolled sobs. He was quick to realizing she wasn’t able to speak, so he simply held her in his arms, caressing her to his chest.

She didn’t mind the soggy, damp fabric of his hoodie, instead holding him tighter.

‘Oh Tom,’ she mused mercifully.

She needed her prince to come along. Now he was here, worried about her current condition. He worried she was about to have a panic attack, aware of how her anxiety had a tendency of getting the best of her. But he was here, in time for her to relinquish in his arms, alleviating her state of emotional distress.

When she was at a somewhat calmer, comprehendible state, he had spoke up, disrupting the silence.

“Babe, what went wrong?” He asked lightly, his voice faint and not levitating louder, fearful it could of disturbed her the wrong way.

She sniffed, a few tears streaming down her angelic face. “Gary.”

One word. One name.

One.

It was all it took for Tom to figure it out, that it was that son of a bitch who was the specific reason for her breakdown.

She sank deep into his chest, hearing the mollified sound of his heart palpitating back and forth. Her head was submerged underneath his chin, sensing his anger levitating. She sensed his fury, and not wanting him to risk of getting hurt, she remained close. Like Sabrina, it had taken a lot for him to get angry, but when it came to his friends, his mother, or her, it was a completely different story.

However, her attempts at refraining him to take drastic measures of possibly hitting Gary ceased to a failure. He pecked her forehead with a delicate kiss and carefully released her from his hold, leaving her at her knees. She gaped up and grabbed him by the arm just as he was about to exit, determined in smacking the life out of this fucking ignorant sociopath.

“Wait, Tom,” she mumbled, causing him to pause in his tracks. She lifted herself up to her knees and to her feet, with the support of Tom to assist her. He gaped down at her face, his heart shattered as he glimpsed at her sad ridden face. Her olive complexion had been masked over with the tint of salmon, with hickory orbs puffy and swollen with teardrops like rain clouds. Her pupils were melancholy, her expression full of sorrow. This had only raised his determination higher, angered by the fact that someone would be so deranged with the idea that it was okay to hurt his girl.

Well that bastard was wrong and would regret having done so.

“I need to teach him a lesson, he hurt you.” He murmured.

Suddenly he received a coaxed kiss from Sabrina, hoping it would restrain him from getting himself into a hassled showdown with Gary. He didn’t escape from this, as he had needed this kiss from her. She wrapped her arms around him, causing him to be stuck in her hold and trailing off into Sabrina world. Perched on her tippy toes, trying her best to kiss her much taller boyfriend was a common struggle for her. So, like he always did, he lifted her up to where her legs were wrapped around his waistline. She was engulfed towards him, nudging her forehead against his. She repeatedly kissed him, trying her best to put him at ease. Listening to the sound of the rain distilling their ears, completing the peaceful mood.

Wanting to romanticize this further, he took her to Jimmy’s bed and hauled himself on top of her, craving her captivating essence. She suddenly felt warm as he compressed his body against hers, with his arms wrapped around her stomach while hers were enticed upon his neck. A combination of senses filled her nostrils, the components being the earthly scent of rain, lab chemicals from Jimmy’s lab set, and her boyfriend’s misty cologne. It was oddly a satisfying kind of olfactory, something that made her crave the distinctive scent and inhale it forever.

The lights were dimmed, the outside was flickering with shards of lightening zapping in an aimed attack towards earth, the rattling thunder representing earth’s battlecry. It settled the mood for them, allowing their moment to be more special.

With an extensive arm, he reached over to close the door slightly for privacy.

Sabrina couldn’t help but giggle throughout the kiss, humored by the choice of setting. Tom’s lips tingled from her adorable laugh, the sound he could hear all day if he could.

“What are you giggling about?” Tom asked.

The two lovers gazed into each other’s orbs, both sparkly. They were full of compassion, admiring each other’s significant presence in each other’s lives.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we are in Jimmy’s room?”

“No, what do you wanna do this in my room?” He wondered.

“No, I guess we can do this here. I just find the setting weird, making out in here.” She admitted, imagining what it would be like if Jimmy had returned from the library and invaded them accidentally. He probably wouldn’t mind, if it had been someone else, it would of been handled much differently.

“Yeah, you are right,” Tom agreed, but he didn’t care, just wanting to be with his girl nevertheless. “Anyways, let’s continue this..”

However, one delicate touch on her cerise silky lips and an unfortunate interruption had ceased their moment.

“Slut!” Gary’s shrill holler erupted from the hallway, angering Tom. He immediately bolted up from the bed and despite Sabrina’s attempts to coax him again, in a swift jolt he approached the irritating bastard. With one hand in the air, he grabbed him by the back of his throat. Forcefully he was spun to meet with Tom, and before he could prevent anything from happening to his poor face, he sent in a grapple. With an elbow angled towards the back, he collided his fist with his gut in a jab. He was plowed to the floor, clenching onto his newly injured rib cage.

“Ugh... you are gunna pay for this....” he huffed in defeat.

“That’s what you get for hurting my girlfriend, jerk!” He spat, shifting his leg in the direction of his side, delivering him a sweeping kick.

Nurse McRae sends her love.

Satisfied with the injury he handed him, Tom crossed his arms and gaped at him in a silent victory.

“No one messes with Tom, his girlfriend, or his friends!”

Arriving from behind, Sabrina rested a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention.

His cornflower blue orbs connected with her hickory eyes, complied with affection. Appreciative of her boyfriend, who deliberately went out of his way of defending her honor stimulated from his protectiveness of her, she pressed her lips against his cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and soon her lips eventually travelled to his.

#tom gurney #Sabrina Vincent #oc #oc fanfic #writing prompt #bullyscholarshipedition

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lostspacecadetleon · 6 years

Text

Fox & Wolf

**Hey all sorry for the Hiatus!!! Here is my Clydeland Shifter AU!! I hope you all enjoy, no smut as of yet but there will be smut eventually!! They know they want to be together but Clyde says something that crushes Stenslands hopes of that...Poor Stens he just wants love.**

Boone County, West Virginia was definitely different from the hustle and bustle of the life Stensland had left behind in Vancouver, he found the small West Virginian country town, quaint and it had its own country charm. Stensland currently lived out of the local motel until he could get back on his feet, his car had broken down just outside of Boone County so he had hauled his luggage to the nearest hotel once inside county limits. Since then he has been on the hunt for a new job in this little town, he has also found the time to go on his late night jogs after his rounds of job searches.

Jogging gave him the freedom he wanted when he wanted to feel free, however his jogs were more so brisk strolls. As a shifter it gave him the freedom to change and dash about and the woods of Boone County gave him the cover he needed to run without being noticed or seen.

Tonight was a perfect night to go for one of his strolls, he hoped he would be able to stop by his favorite stream in the mountains. Stensland made sure he was just inside the tree line when he began to shift, a small slender fox emerged from the tattered striped sweater that he adored. The fox nudged his clothes into a small pile before dashing off through the brush, his little paws carrying him through the woods.

His tail wagged lightly as he came upon the stream he loved so much, his ears swiveled around as he made sure no other intruders were in the area, his soft pink tongue lapping up at the fresh mountain stream.

*SNAP*

Tree twigs cracking under another animals steps caught the small foxes attention, his golden eyes darting around and trying to find the source of the noise. Stensland froze and bristled as his golden eyes caught the deep honey eyes of a wolf. Making an attempt to seem ferocious Stensland growled before whining as the wolf returned the growl deeply.

Clyde ran a small bar known as Ducktape. It was a small shabby place but it was a place he grew to love and care for. The Logan family had been in Boone County for years, they were well known in the county for their misfortune and bad luck. That family couldn’t seem to have a good streak for nothin’.

Clyde at times would ask Jimmy or Sylvia if they could watch the bar so he could go on runs. All the Logans were a part of a pack. Sometimes they would run together other times they would run by themselves when they really needed to let go. Clyde enjoyed the feeling when he shifted into a large gray wolf. He had a spot where he would shift and hide his clothes and his prosthetic arm, then he was off.

As he ran about something red caught his eye stopping him in his tracks. The smallest, cutest little fox sit there lapping at the water from one of the mountain streams. Clyde wondered how long the fox had been coming here and when he had started coming here. Inching forward, Clyde mentally cursed as a branch snapped under his front paw, startling the little fox.

He could almost chuckle as the fox growled, he growled back slightly letting the fox know this was his area, his land. His ears flipped back as the fox resorted to whining. Moving out of the foliage he made a soft bark and got down on his belly crawling carefully towards the fox. He didn’t want to scare the beautiful creature away. When he got close enough he flipped over on his back and bared his belly to the fox, showing a submissive act to let the fox know he meant no harm.

Stensland was ready to bolt before he heard the soft bark. His head tilting as he watched the wolf get down to his level and crawl towards him. Furthermore he was impressed that the wolf showed submissive behavior. Stensland tilted his head as he noted the wolf only had one front leg and the other leg seemed to stop three quarters of the way before what would be his other paw.

Stensland sniffed in the direction of the wolf before hopping across the small stream and edging closely to the wolf, sniffing again to get the wolves scent, his head tilting again as he caught a whiff of some type of cologne. Stenslands eyes widened as he thought this may be another shifter, he lightly nipped at the wolves ear as he wiggled with excitement. He must of looked silly to the other as he wiggled and rolled around while rubbing on the wolf, he was just happy the he may have found another shifter.

Stensland was also thankful that he wasn’t in heat so that he didn’t seem needy. Soft yips emitted from him as he rolled around before flopping on his back and kicking up at the air.

Clyde was tickled by how the fox was acting, he soon realized why the fox was acting the way it was. As he sniffed the small fox he could catch the scent of cheap cologne, another shifter! Maybe the fox was lonely and was just excited to find someone of his own kind. Clyde understood how hard it was to be on your own as a shifter and it was frowned upon in this day and age to be a shifter. People would hunt shifters and lock them up or sell them off to certain markets.

Clyde made another bark and wiggled on his back in excitement. Soon he went rigid and paused as he picked up that his new friend was an Omega. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fox’s scent and nudging the fox with his nose. He tried to mimic the yips the fox made but failed since his range was deeper than that of the fox’s shrill noises.

Soon he got up before shifting back into a human, it didn’t seem to bother him that he was nude before the fox, or that he was nude in the woods. Gingerly Clyde reached down and scratched behind the foxes ears, causing the creature to smile and yip. “Well hello there little fella, I’m Clyde.”

Stensland kept rolling around, concern bubbling as the wolf went rigid until he realized why. The Alphas scent his him like a brick wall. He yipped as the wolf nudged at him with his wet nose, then watched as the wolf shifted into his human form.

Stens couldn’t contain himself, his tail wiggled frantically and he rubbed against the mans’ legs. His ears perked up as the man spoke, his voice was smooth like honey but had a bit of a rough sound. Yips emitted into the air as the man reached down and scratched behind his ear. He supposed it was his turn to reveal himself.

Dashing away slightly Stensland went in a small circle before shifting to human. “H-hello I’m S-stensland, nice to meet you Clyde.” Blush crept across his cheeks as he watched the man study him for a moment. A nervous laugh left his lips as Clyde gaped at him. “I-I’m fairly new here.”

Clyde gaped in awe at the man before him, his voice even made Clyde melt. H wanted to protect and love the man before him. From first glance Clyde already adored Stenslands’ pale skin and the red hair that was a mess. He adored the peppering of freckles along the mans’ shoulders, chest, and hips. He longed to trace the paths of the freckles and love each one. He wanted to take Stensland with him and hold him close.

“Well if ya like I can show ya around sometime Stensland, how does that sound?”

Stensland was shocked by Clydes’ words. “R-really you’d show me around?” He scratched the back of his neck as he drank in Clydes’ physique. He wanted nothing more than to feel those arms around him. He felt Clyde was meant for him but he was bad at expressing things.

“Well ya yer new around here and it’s best if you know the lay of the area so you don’t get lost in this town. Though be careful shifting, people kinda don’t agree with or like shifters here.” Clyde rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground as he said the last part.

“Ah so it’s like back home, no worries then I will be fine, I know how to hide it.” Stensland gave Clyde a small smile. “Uhm I don’t have a car but I can walk to meet you somewhere…”

“No that’s alright I’ll come and get ya, where do you live?”

Stensland hesitated a bit. “I currently take up a room at the Crooked Creek Inn, it’s all I could afford…” He looked at the ground in embarrassment. “I’ve been scouring for jobs so I can get back on my feet.”

Clyde frowned slightly, a beautiful thing like this did not belong in a seedy place like that. “Ya know anything about bartending Stensland?”

Stensland looked back up at Clyde with a glint of hope in his eyes. “I know a little bit but I am willing to learn more.” He moved towards the larger man. “That’s if you’re willing to take the time to teach me.”

Clyde swallowed as the smaller man approached him. “Of course I’d be willing to teach ya, and if you wanna save money, you uh- uh can stay at my place for a bit until you get back on your feet. I have some extra rooms.”

Stensland lit up then blushed and looked down. “I don’t want to be a hassle for you… we just met and you’re so kind but I couldn’t ask for things like that.”

“Stensland I am offering it. Will tomorrow at noon work for yer tour?”

Stensland looked back up at Clyde. “Yeah that’ll work fine. Thank you Clyde, you are so kind.”

Clyde smiled. “Nah I’m just a gentleman, if ya change yer mind about taking up a room just bring yer luggage with you and we’ll set up a room for ya. You seem like a neat friend to have Stensland and I hope this grows into a great friendship or whatever.”

Stensland gave a halfhearted smile, deflating slightly at the word ‘friend’. Deep down he wanted Clyde and he hoped Clyde would want him but now he thought Clyde saw him as more of a pal and not a potential mate. “Alright I’ll think about it, I’ll see you tomorrow Clyde.” He smiled and winked before shifting and dashing off. While he was excited for tomorrow he was a bit crushed, though he wouldn’t give up his quest for Clyde. He knew already he was going to take up Clydes offer of a room. He just had to figure out how he was going to get Clyde to fall for him.

Stansland dressed inside of the brush then walked back up to his hotel. He closed and dead bolted his door behind him then flopped down onto the raggedy hotel bed. He smiled to himself as he thought about his encounter and sleep took him off to pleasant dreams.

Clyde stood there for a bit smiling to himself, he hoped Stensland would move in with him. He wanted to keep the little guy safe and wanted to be closer to his potential mate. It was like electricity had pulsed through him when he caught the omegas scent. Hearing a howl in the distance Clyde shifted and went back to the bar. Getting himself ready to open and run the bar into wee hours of the morning.

Clyde smiled to himself the whole night as he planned the tour for tomorrow. Jimmy laughed but was happy that something had seemed to have made his brother so happy. When Clyde told Jimmy about the encounter Jimmy was cautious but happy for him and Sylvia was over the moon that Clyde had found another shifter that he not only liked and had interest in but a possible mate as well. Jimmy and Sylvia had been lucky to find one another by chance of fate. Even if Sylvia was a bob cat she was still accepted by the Logans and their pack. She knew introducing Stensland over time would mean the world to Clyde if everyone welcomed and accepted him. She couldn’t help but be tickled by how love struck Clyde was.

After the bar closed Clyde drove home and made himself a late snack, lounging around he thought of all the places he could take Stensland. Sleep took him while he was on the couch watching T.V. The small red fox riddled his dreams that night.

#stensland #clydeland #clyde logan #kylux adjacent #fox!Stensland #wolf!Clyde #shifter au #my work #my writing #they so cute #shy bois

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